He clutches at his forehead. ‘Jesus Christ. Let’s stop doing this, all right? Let’s find a way of catching the serial murderers without getting ourselves nearly killed in the process.’
‘Okay.’
Emma seems very agreeable, which is unlike her. His hands brace on her shoulders as he lowers his head to find her eyes. ‘That’s the fourth time you’ve said “okay”.’
With what looks like a concentrated effort, she grasps his forearms. He changes his grip so she’s propping herself on his arms, their hands at the crooks of each other’s elbows. Their faces are close and Travis can feel her breath on his lips. Her eyes are still hazed, and he doesn’t think she’s back inside her body yet.
‘Travis …’ she whispers.
‘What do you need?’ he whispers back.
‘I’m dizzy.’ She’s trembling, and her eyes are very wide and dry.
‘It’s okay. Emma, it’s all right. Hold on to me.’
Her mouth works for a moment before she finally gets it out. ‘Can you hug me?’
‘Jesus, of course I can hug you, come here.’
Travis shifts his hands again, draws her close. And it’s … perfect. It’s what they both need, he realizes. He doesn’t know why they weren’t doing this sooner. All this time he’s wasted, when he could have been hugging Emma.
Her whole body is shaking, the curve of her cheek tucked into his neck. Her tiny earrings are cold on his throat. ‘It was him.’
‘I know. I saw you with him, and I just …’ He pulls himself back from that edge. ‘I called it in over the transmitter. That’s how the unit arrived.’
‘How did he get away?’
‘I got no idea.’
‘It was scary.’ Her breath, humid on his skin.
‘I know.’ He holds her more firmly. ‘This okay?’
‘Yes.’ She’s still shivering. ‘God. Ohgod, Travis.’
‘Hold on to me, Emma. It was scary, but it’s over. We’re safe now. You’re safe. Just breathe.’
Emotion spilling out of her, making her words choke. ‘I was down there. He grabbed me, and …’
‘It’s all right.’ He cups the back of her head, makes steadying strokes over her shoulder blades with his palm. ‘You’re not down. You’re not down.’
‘I get stuck down there.’ Tears in her voice now. ‘I get stuck in that goddamn basement …’
‘I know,’ he says quietly. ‘But you’re not there anymore. You got out. You’re here in the real world, with me.’
She presses a hand against his chest, squeezes like she’s trying to sink her fingers into the earth, trying to find solid ground. Then she runs the same hand up his neck and digs her nails through the hair at his nape, into his scalp. He swallows hard. Through the open door of the office, he can hear a slow ballad by Foreigner – in the aftermath of the raid, they’ve let the music continue.
Residual panic seeps out of him, into the air. He’s on his knees, cradling Emma in this dingy office. She is warm against him, bony and delicate as a bird. Their breathing has synchronized, rising and falling together. He keeps stroking her back gently, and then he remembers that she’s not allowed to fall asleep. And he remembers the transmitter, realizes that nothing about this moment is private, feels a shattering pulse of resentment.
‘Emma …’ He has to clear his throat. Even then his words come out gruff and soft. ‘You’re not going to sleep on me, are you?’
She shakes her head against his neck.Oh my god, this girl.
‘Okay.’ He has a heightened awareness of every point of contact. Fights it, because she’s drug-impaired and vulnerable, and he has no right to be feeling this stuff. He’s also aware that these quiet minutes are about to be interrupted, and he needs to warn her. ‘They’re gonna be back in here soon.’
‘I know.’ Her voice is a drowsy whisper. ‘Stay with me?’
‘As long as you need me.’
