“We’ll make sure.”
They progressed down a hallway, a foyer.
She’d been saved. Freed.
People were talking. Sounds were swirling around her. Yet it felt strangely as though she had cotton in her ears ... as if she were floating through a loud movie of a crime scene inside a bubble of drastically subdued sound.
“Britt?”
The spell altered just enough to allow her to distinguish her name.
“I’m Detective Kurt Shaw.”
He was tall and bald. “Nice to meet you,” she replied automatically.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Good.” His astute gaze ran over her. “Looks like your wrists are injured.”
Surprised, she noticed that he was right. In addition to the scratches on her palms from the pipe, the tie had chafed her skin in places until it bled. “It’s—” She found she needed to swallow. “It’s just scrapes. I was trying to tug my wrists free.”
“All right. We’ll get that taken care of outside.” He made a mannerly gesture for her to go through the doors ahead of him. They emptied into a crowded parking lot.
“Zander helped us find you,” Kurt said.
Her chest throbbed at the mention of Zander’s name.
“He’s here,” Kurt continued. “Would you like to see him before we have someone look at those wrists?”
“Yes. I’d like to see him.”
Squad cars jammed the lot. A van. An ambulance.
Numerous people were going about their professional duties, yet she had the sense that they were all also cataloguing her appearance. She was their ... kidnap victim.
She was exactly who she’d always been, just more than a little shaken up. The idea that these people saw her as something different—kidnap victim—was an odd revelation to absorb. So odd, she felt the bubble rising around her again.
To these people, she was like the daughter in the movieTaken. Which tempted her to grab a megaphone and make an announcement.I’m perfectly fine, everyone! No harm done.
“He’s just there.” Kurt pointed. “I’ll come get you in a minute.”
Britt glanced in the direction he’d indicated and saw Zander, standing as still as a tree in the middle of a swarming army. He was watching her, red and blue lights revolving behind him. Slowly, she walked forward.
His feet were braced apart. His arms hung by his sides, his knuckles angry red. He wore the black T-shirt and worn jeans he’d had on earlier. Furrows marked his inky hair. His fair skin was whiter than usual, which caused the bruise that ran beneath one eye and across his cheekbone to stand out starkly in contrast.
He had the look of a vase that had been fractured but hadn’t yet broken apart.
It had been a very bad day for them both.
When she reached him, he enveloped her in his arms. Her head notched into its place just beneath his chin, her ear pressed to his heart. He rested his jaw against the top of her head.
They were circled by benevolent, heroic strangers who’d successfully rescued her and reclaimedYoung Woman at Rest. However, he was the only person here who knew her. And he was wondrously familiar.
