His hair fell in his face, and blood had stained his mouth and chin from where Eric had broken his nose, though someone appeared to have made an attempt to clean up some of the blood.
Eric kept his hand on Nikolett’s back as they stepped into the cell, thumb sweeping in a comforting arch across her shoulder blades, though he wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to soothe.
She said something to Iacob in not-Hungarian. He nodded and slipped out the door, murmuring a question as he did.
It was the Spaniard who replied in the same language.
Nikolett’s muscles tightened under Eric’s fingers. If Eric were a betting man, he’d say that Gus had just spoken fluent Romanian.
Nikolett said, “Yes, close it,” in English to Iacob, who closed the door reluctantly.
Eric knew their security people were probably having kittens, but he supported Nikolett’s desire for privacy for this conversation.
Nikolett glanced at Eric, silently asking if he wanted to go first.
Eric raised a brow. “I’m not going to ask any questions. I’m just here to hit him if you need me to.”
“Brute ignorance?” The Spaniard smirked.
“That sneer might work better if I gave a shit what you thought about me.” Eric shrugged. “But I don’t.”
“You will.”
“Fucking doubtful.”
“Eric.” Nikolett put a hand on his arm, and he shot her an apologetic smile.
“You’ve tamed the savage?” the Spaniard said with a sneer.
But the Spaniard—Gus—hadn’t looked at Nikolett. Almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to.
Eric glanced at Nikolett, studying her objectively, seeing what the Spaniard would see. They’d cut off her bloody sweater and put her into one of his black button-down shirts. It was comically large on her, and they’d left the top unbuttoned, revealing part of the large white bandage on her upper chest and the smaller line of bandages on her throat. In the too-large shirt, she looked small and vulnerable, the bandages reinforcing that impression.
Eric glanced from Nikolett to the Spaniard and back, an odd feeling gripping his gut. The man was avoiding looking at Nikolett because he didn’t want to see what he’d done.
“Why?” Nikolett asked simply.
“Aren’t you going to start by asking my name?”
“No. I just want to know why.”
He smirked, but didn’t answer.
Nikolett waited, silent and steady. She shifted only when the plane dipped and the pilot announced they were beginning their descent. Eric wrapped an arm around her to brace her.
He caught the moment something close to satisfaction flashed in the Spaniard’s eyes as he watched Eric touch her.
Alarm shot through him and he pulled Nikolett back against the wall.
He’d developed a private theory in the hours he’d been sitting on the plane listening to various reports and action plans while holding her. A theory strengthened by everything that had happened since they walked into this makeshift cell.
The Spaniard was in love with Nikolett.
At some point, he’d fallen in love with her. She’d started out as his target—the reason for that still to be determined—but along the way, he fell in love with her. Eric could sympathize as someone who’d tried hard not to love her.
The Spaniard loving Nikolett explained so many things. Why the attacks on her had stopped once she met “Gus.” Why he’d come to the hotel, seemingly abandoning his theft plans, the instant she texted.
Why he hadn’t hurt her when they’d been alone together in her suite.
