Suddenly, the door opened loudly, banging against the stopper. My vision pitched, and I couldn't pull in any more air. I braced myself against the table, gripping it hard.
"Thank you for your time, officer. Miss Hathaway will be leaving now."
I knew that voice. But it couldn't be. My panicked mind was playing tricks on me. Letting me believe something that couldn't be true. I lifted my head slowly. I remembered how to breathe again.
It was him. Benjamin stood in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob and his eyes practically licking with blue flames. He was wearing the shirt he'd been in yesterday, but the dark blue was rumpled and rolled up to his elbows. Despite the shadows beneath his eyes and the windswept look to his dark hair, he looked commanding. Furious.
I felt my mouth open in shock. Naya stood angrily. "Sir, this is a confidential interview."
"Is she being detained?" Benjamin asked curtly.
The officer hesitated. "No, but for her safety, we?—"
"Then she's leaving." Benjamin held out his hand to me, but his eyes stayed trained on the officer. "Evelyn."
I stared up at him in shock. The officer scowled. "Evie, you don't have to go with this person if you feel unsafe."
"No," I gusted out, standing. I took Benjamin's hand, and it was warm and dry. He closed his fingers around mine, and I could have wept, it was so comforting. "I'll go."
Benjamin pulled me into him, and I let him close his arms around me. I could breathe. Sweet, clear air flowed into my lungs, and my head cleared. I heard him talking, but more than that, I felt it. I felt the rich hum of it resonating through my body as he pressed me close to his chest. "I explained to the other officers, but Evelyn has post-traumatic stress disorder from her parents' death. She was questioned here as a child."
"Oh," the officer said with dumbfounded surprise.
I couldn't see past Benjamin's throat, the undone buttons of his shirt, the two days' worth of beard growth on his chin. He continued speaking. "She is understandably overwhelmed by interviews with authorities, but her lawyer will be here shortlyto clear up any misunderstandings and give you an official statement."
"I see," Naya said faintly.
"We'll be going now," Benjamin said firmly. Then he guided me out of the room. I had to leave the shelter of his arms, but he put a hand to the small of my back, and I sucked in another calming breath.
I walked back out of the police station in a haze. My mind was clearing slowly, but the more it did, the more horrified I was by what had happened in that room. I'd been completely insane. I'd looked like a simpering lunatic. My hands were still shaking, and even as Benjamin led us out of the building and into the rain, I barely felt the cold pinpricks of it on my skin. Duvall's police department had a long, generous parking lot out front with flowering trees down the center, and Benjamin's car was parked in the middle. He urged me forward, trying to get us out of the rain.
I stopped him under a young birch tree, heedless of the rain. I stared up at him in confusion, in mounting gratitude. "What?" I choked out.
He humored me even though his nice, linen shirt was getting soaked. Water sprinkled his curly hair, and he bracketed my upper arms securely. "Ghost told me everything."
"He—how?" I stared, horrified. "Hecalled you?"
Benjamin shook his head, his eyes bright blue against the gray afternoon. "I came back."
I gaped. "You came back."
"Sweetheart," he said almost matter-of-factly, "I would love to hash this out with you, but you are suffering a trauma response, you have cuts and bruises all over your body, and you're shaking. Can we please get out of the rain?"
My eyes danced between his. "No, we cannot."
He scowled. "Why?"
"Because you shouldn't be here." I said stupidly.
"Okay," he rolled his eyes. "Listen. If I scoop you up and shove you in my car, I'm going to bring down even more suspicion on my head than I already have. They think I'm your abuser."
That shocked me out of my stupor. "No, they—they brought me in for questioning."
"Because you look like abattered woman, Evelyn," he growled, his hands tightening. "Because you put yourself in dangerconstantly. Because you don't think twice about your own goddamned skin, and you go charging through forests with gunmen on the loose and throw yourself between a barrel and your Nan without an ounce of self-preservation." He shook me then, and I realized his restrained anger wasn't all for the police department. "You look like a victim even when you refuse to act like one."
I stared again, too confused to find a response to that.
"Please," he hissed, and the rain bounced off the plea. "Please get in the car."
