The difference between the two is everything. And I'm trusting him to know where that line is.
4
HOLDEN
Protection detail. Right. Like I can keep my hands off her when she's standing in the wreckage of her life looking like she might shatter.
Fallon moves through her destroyed apartment with mechanical precision, picking up pieces of a slashed quilt and folding them into a garbage bag. Pain flickers across her face when she bends to retrieve a photo frame, but she doesn't make a sound.
Three months of watching her from a distance taught me stubbornness runs deep in her. Five minutes of helping her clean teaches me she's also too proud to admit when she's hurting.
"Let me get that." The frame is in my hand before she can lift it.
"I've got it." She pulls it back from me, glass shards tinkling onto the hardwood. Blood wells on her thumb where a piece caught skin.
I grab her wrist before she can wipe it on her jeans. "Hold still."
She goes rigid under my touch. Not afraid, but wary. Like she's waiting to see if I'll cross a line.
Good instincts. Wrong timing for them.
A first aid kit comes out of my go-bag, and I guide her to the couch. What's left of it, anyway. Someone slashed the cushions with methodical violence, stuffing scattered across the floor like snow.
"You carry a first aid kit in your truck?" Fallon asks as I clean the cut with an antiseptic wipe.
"Always." I apply pressure to stop the bleeding. "Occupational hazard. SEALs tend to get creative with injuries."
"Is that what I am now? An occupational hazard?" Her green eyes meet mine, sharp despite the exhaustion pulling at the edges.
"You're someone who needs help whether you want to admit it or not." The bandage wraps around her thumb, my touch light and professional. "And I'm someone who volunteered to provide it."
She pulls her hand back as soon as I'm done. "Why did you volunteer?"
The question hangs between us. Honest answer? Because I've been wildly attracted to her since the first morning I saw her crouched by a tide pool, auburn hair catching the sunrise, completely absorbed in whatever sea creature had caught her attention. Because watching her has been the highlight of my morning runs for three months. Because someone tried to kill her, and the thought of that succeeding makes me want to hunt down whoever's responsible and ensure they never get another chance.
Safe answer? "Because you needed help and I was available."
Fallon studies me like one of her research specimens. "You're lying."
"Not lying. Just not telling you everything." I stand and survey the damage. "Where do you want to start?"
She looks around at the chaos. Drawers dumped, books torn apart, even the kitchen cabinets emptied. Whoever did this wanted her to feel violated.
"Bedroom," she says finally. "I need to see what they did in there."
The bedroom is worse. Mattress slashed on top, but when I flip it, the underside is intact. Clothes pulled from the closet and scattered. Underwear drawer dumped on the floor in a display of deliberate invasion. Fallon's jaw tightens, but she doesn't break.
"Bathroom first," I suggest, giving her an out. "Get the glass cleaned up before someone steps on it."
She nods and disappears into the small bathroom. I hear the sound of a broom, the clink of glass into a trash bag. While she's occupied, I take inventory.
Minimal furniture. No artwork on the walls. One suitcase in the closet, half-packed. Passport in the nightstand drawer along with cash. Bug-out bag under the bed with clothes, toiletries, more money.
Fallon McKay has been living like a fugitive. Ready to run at a moment's notice. No roots, no connections, nothing that would slow her down if she needed to disappear.
The ex-boyfriend did this to her. Bruce Tanner, Seattle PD detective. He made her so afraid she changed her name and fled three thousand miles just to feel safe.
Rage burns hot and bitter in my gut. I channel it into work, mentally cataloging every security vulnerability in this apartment. First-floor corner unit. Two windows facing the parking lot, one facing the courtyard. Ground-level access from all windows. Door lock is standard issue, easily picked. No deadbolt, no chain.
