Then I move towards the kitchen.
My hands tighten into fists, flexing in anticipation.
If someone’s over there, hurting Bea…
Just before I round the corner to the other side of the island, I scan the kitchen again. Everything looks normal. The window that overlooks the backyard is closed and locked securely. Aside from the faint scent of peanut butter and sugar in the air, there’s nothing concerning—no coppery tang of blood or the acrid burn of gunpowder.
For a moment, I think,Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she saw a spider in the bathroom. A wasp.I remember my mom shrieking in fear whenever she’d find a scorpion back at our house in Texas, and how my dad would reassure her that it was more scared of her than she was of it.
Then.
I see Bea.
She’s huddled on the floor, tucked into a defensive ball, legs pulled up to her chest and her hands clamped over her ears.
She’s shaking all over. Whimpering. Crying.
I crash to my knees beside her, momentarily torn between pulling her into my arms and following procedure.
“Webb,” I call out. “Ace. I’ve got her. Check?—”
“Clear in the bathroom,” Webb replies briskly.
“Bea,” I croon. “Hey. Can you talk to me?”
But she doesn’t respond. She just sits there, hugging herself, trembling.
I touch her arm gently. “Bea. I’m here. Can you look at me? Tell me what’s wrong?”
She jerks at my touch, smacking the back of her head on the wooden cabinet.
Shit.
Lifting my hands in the universalI’m not a threatgesture, I say, “It’s just me. Indy. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe. I promise.”
Guilt slashes through me as the words come out.
How can I even say that? When something obviously isn’t right?
Then she lifts her head to look at me.
The fear in her eyes punches me right in the gut.
“Clear in the rest of the apartment,” Ace announces. He walks into the kitchen, stopping beside Webb at the end of the island. “Is she having a flashback?”
But before I can answer, Bea flings herself at me, burying her face in my neck. Rough sobs wrack her body. Her heart thunders against my chest.
“Indy,” she moans.“Indy.”
Guilt flays me open.
I don’t know what happened. But I should have been here.
Gathering Bea into my arms, I carry her over to the couch and try to set her down, but she won’t let go of me. Her grip on my neck just gets tighter and she starts crying harder.
So I sit down and arrange her on my lap instead. Then I stroke her hair as I say, “Bea. It’s okay. You’re okay. Deep breaths. Okay?”
“I don’t think she can hear you.” Webb carefully sets Bea’s implants on the coffee table. He glances at me with a worried expression. “They were on the floor. Over by the fridge.”
