During the ride, he decided his only job was to hold her. However, everyone else seemed to think his job should include nonstop information briefings. Eric—and Nikolett, though she’d need to hear it again—had been brought up to speed on what happened while they were blissfully ignorant in the hotel room.
The team had realized the person they identified as the Spaniard had doubled back to the hotel. They’d explainedexactly how and why they figured it out, but frankly, Eric didn’t care.
The team assumed Nikolett was the original target, everything else a feint, and mapped out their attack accordingly, including Grigoris dropping down onto the balcony. Apparently, that was Grigoris’ go-to plan and Eric couldn’t fault it.
Regina and Grigoris had been so sure and confident in their explanations, he’d almost hated to tell them that there was a piece of missing information.
Luckily at that point, Nikolett had roused enough to pass Grigoris her phone as Eric quietly explained that Nikolett had texted Gus only after Regina announced the Spaniard was sighted. Nikolett blearily explained it was a quick test to see if they were the same person.
Grigoris had started cursing quietly at that point while Regina shook her head muttering, “I thought she was going to be the reasonable one.”
A nonanswer was supposed to be an affirmative that Gus was the Spaniard. Instead, the Spaniard had apparently abandoned his plan, thereby avoiding their trap, all because Nikolett asked Gus to come over for coffee.
By that point, Nikolett had been asleep again, curled up against Eric. Even with her asleep, everyone had carefully avoided discussing Gus’ reasons for changing course.
“Still hurting?” he asked softly once she’d settled back in the large leather airline seat. They were in the front row of seats, directly across from the door of the twenty-seat private aircraft.
“Not yet. Not really.” She looked around, blinking, then after a soft sigh, relaxed sideways against him. “I’m tired of being injured.”
“I’m pretty done with you getting hurt too. I’m going to die young because every time you’re injured, it takes ten years off my life.”
Nikolett snorted, sounding more awake. “You’re too old to die young.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t old.”
“You’re not. But too old to die young.” She shifted, tugging at the brace wrapped around her ribs just under her breasts which strapped her arm to her body with Velcro wraps at elbow and wrist. Given the shallow cut on her neck, a sling for her arm hadn’t been an option, but the arm had to be kept immobile to avoid putting stress on the wound and possibly popping the stitches.
Nikolett sighed, sounding weary. “What did he say?”
“Nothing yet.”
At that, she looked surprised. “How much tranquilizer did Grigoris give him?”
Eric scratched his chin.
Nikolett sighed. “What did you do?”
“He woke up, briefly, once we were on the plane. He looked around and started laughing.”
“At which point you…”
“Punched the smug fucker in the face.”
Nikolett picked up his hands one by one with her unstrapped arm, examining his knuckles.
“I only hit him once,” Eric said, explaining the lack of damage.
“Such self-control.”
“I thought so.”
Nikolett started to tuck her chin, a sure sign she wasn’t feeling like her normal, confident self. He grabbed her chin before she could finish the movement and possibly stress the cut on her neck.
He’d already put up the armrest between their seats, so it was easy to grab her knees and force her to turn sideways, pulling her legs across his lap, her good shoulder leaning against the seat.
Despite all the years he’d known her, and as much as he loved her, Nikolett was in many ways still a mystery. He wanted to see her face. To maybe, hopefully, see in her expression the things she wasn’t ready to say.
What he saw there broke his heart.
