The same hands that could probably kill me without breaking a sweat.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, heat curled low in my belly, dangerous and insistent.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Xavier worked through the vest, the torn shirt underneath, the remains of tactical pants. Checking every seam, every pocket, every possible place something could hide.
Found a knife sheath. Empty.
A radio holster. Also empty.
Ammunition pouches. Nothing.
Whatever gear he’d been carrying was long gone. Lost in the river, maybe. Or stripped before he escaped. Either way, nothing remained but the clothes themselves.
Tension settled in his shoulders, the way his fingers pressed harder into fabric like he could force answers from empty pockets.
Nothing. Of course nothing. That would be too easy. Can’t have actual answers when felonies and mystery are so much more fun.
“I’m sorry.” Meant it. “I was hoping we’d find something too.”
He went through it again. Slower this time. Double-checking every spot, every seam, every goddamn thread like maybe he’d missed something.
Still nothing.
Xavier’s palm pressed flat to the ruined vest. Shoulders bowing under weight I couldn’t see. Defeat in every line of his frame.
My chest tightened.
Reached out without thinking. My hand covering his on the bloody Kevlar.
He went still. Dark irises finding mine.
“We’ll figure it out.” The promise came easier this time. “There are other ways to find answers.”
Like what? How exactly are you planning to identify an amnesiac mute wanted by police?
Details. I’d figure it out.
My phone buzzed from the counter.
Xavier’s attention snapped toward the sound. Body coiling defensive.
“It’s fine. Just my phone.”
Except it kept buzzing. And I’d been ignoring it for hours. And maybe I should actually check what the hell was so urgent.
Stood, crossed to the counter. Grabbed the phone before it could wake the entire building with its vibrating.
News alert. French. Big bold letters across the screen.
La chasse à l’homme se poursuit près de la frontière franco-suisse.
Manhunt continues near the French-Swiss border.
My stomach dropped.
Xavier watched me. Reading my face, my body language, the way my fingers tightened on the phone.
