We shake hands, and I tell Shadow to gather the supplies and men he needs to complete his mission. Looking at the clock hanging above one of the garage doors, I see it’s been several hours since I’ve checked in with Lynx.
She definitely is a quick learner, just like she said. I showed her our booking software yesterday afternoon, and she created a workflow that completely overhauled the old, clunky system we’ve had in place since before I took over.
I quietly step into the lobby, looking around for the object of my obsession. She’s straightening a stack of magazines inthe corner, and I lean against the wall, taking a moment to appreciate her curvy figure in the late morning light.
Lynx stares out the big display window, wrapping her arms around herself as the sunlight kisses her cheeks and nose. She still hasn’t noticed me, so I take a few more moments to study everything about her, from her button nose all the way down to her ratty Converse shoes, and everything in between.
Suddenly, she gaps and widens her eyes, stumbling away from the window and dropping to the floor for cover. I race toward her, not sure what happened. Lynx folds herself into a ball, trying to be as small as possible. It breaks my fucking heart.
I look at the window, but I don’t see anything that could be a threat. Larry, the hardware store owner, is sweeping his sidewalk across the street, but that’s it. I don’t see why Lynx would be afraid of a middle-aged man with a potbelly and thinning salt and pepper hair.
“Lynx?” I ask as I sit beside her on the floor. “Lynx, you’re safe here.”
She mumbles something, but I can’t hear it from where her head is buried in her arms.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” I say softly. “You’re safe here, remember?”
Lynx uncurls herself from her uncomfortable position on the floor, looking around the lobby and then outside. “I thought I saw him,” she murmurs.
Her voice is shaky, and her eyes shine with unshaded tears. It’s the same distant, panicked look she had when I found her in the truck yesterday. Whoever she thinks she saw was most definitely responsible for the bruises and scars littered across her delicate skin.
“Let’s get you to the back room,” I offer, holding out my hand once I’m standing. The trembling woman in front of me glancesout the window, then at my hand, and then finally rests her eyes on mine. I silently beg her to trust me, which is another first.
After what feels like an eternity, Lynx finally nods and slips her much smaller hand into mine. I pull her up and wrap an arm around her waist, half-walking, half-carrying her down the hall.
By the time we reach the couch in my office, Lynx is nearly hyperventilating. I grab a water bottle and kneel in front of her, much like I did yesterday. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths while her clouded, unfocused eyes dart around the room. She’s looking for a possible threat while also making note of the exits. How many times did I do the same thing when I lived on the streets?
“Breathe for me, beautiful,” I murmur, rubbing a hand up and down her forearm to get her attention.
Lynx flips her hand over, her fingers wrapping around my wrist in a tight hold. At first, I think she’s telling me to back off. But then her fingernails dig into my skin, and I realize she’s holding on to me as an anchor in the tempest of emotion and adrenaline roaring through her.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’m right here, okay?”
Tears stream down her lovely face as she struggles to return from whatever nightmare she was trapped in. “Reaper?” she chokes out, recognition slowly overtaking her features.
“That’s right,” I confirm. “You’re safe. Now, take a deep breath, dandelion. You’re going to pass out on me.”
I gently unwrap her fingers from their death-grip around my wrist, guiding her hand to my chest, right over my heart. Lynx presses her hand further against me, as if to prove I’m real. Slowly, so damn slowly, I cup my hands around the sides of her neck in a gentle, barely-there hold. My thumbs stroke her jawline, and she relaxes, unclenching her jaw and dropping her shoulders with each soft, steady movement.
“That’s it, Lynx. Just focus on even breaths and relaxing your muscles.”
The panic fades with each inhale, and she lets go a little more with each exhale. Finally, my girl blinks a few times, coming back to her body. I drop my hands from her neck and rest them on her thighs. I can’t seem to stop touching her in some way.
“I… I’m sorry,” she says, her voice scratchy from crying. “I just… I just…”
Lynx is trying to come up with a cover story for her panic attack, but she’s too exhausted. I see the moment she lets go of the pretense, the pride, and the fierce independence that only comes from surviving trauma.
“I thought I saw my dad,” Lynx admits. “He’s… not a good man.” She fidgets with her hands, then balls them into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. I cover both of her hands with my much larger one, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“Thank you for telling me,” I reply, meaning every word. It’s not much, but it’s a tiny piece of her story. Rage burns through me at the thought of her father laying hands on her and making her so afraid that even the sight of him sends her into a panic spiral. “Lynx, I’d like for you to stay with me. Just for a little bit,” I add when her eyes widen in surprise. “My house isn’t far from here. You’ll have your own room with a lock on the door so you can keep me out.”
She blinks a few times, her lips twisted to one side as she considers my offer. “But… why?”
At least she’s not outright refusing. She must be more afraid for her life than I thought. “Because I have a feeling you and your father have unfinished business, am I correct?”
Lynx nods, then bows her head in shame. I hook my forefinger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet my gaze.
“If he comes around again, I’ll be the one to finish it.” A soft gasp falls from her lips, those heart-wrenching green eyes slicingme open so she can examine my heart and soul. “Do you trust me, Lynx?”
