15
Dax
“No. It’s not safe.” I fiddle with my earbud, turning it over and over in my fingers. “You’re staying here.”
“Excuse me? I’m staying here? I don’t think so.” Evianna slams the lid on her laptop and stalks into my bedroom.
I shouldn’t follow, but she’s like a drug. One I don’t think I can ever quit. Touching her, being close to her, talking to her—even when she’s mad at me—fills a hole inside me I’ve lived with for way too long.
“Evianna, we don’t know anything about the asshole who attacked you.” I sink down next to her on the bed, and skim the tips of my fingers along her cheek underneath the bandages. When she winces, I curl my my hand around the back of her neck. “You could have been killed.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who couldn’t breathe when he had his hands around my throat. I’m the one who was shoved into a bookcase so hard I have bruises in the shape of the spines on my back.” Her voice cracks, and she pulls away.
“Fuck, darlin’. You should have told me.” I slide closer, frustration lending an edge to my tone. I can’t take care of her. Can’t see where she’s hurt, if she’s tired, happy… “Do you need a doctor?”
“I’ll be fine. As long as I can figure out why Alfie didn’t tell me about the break-in. Why she wouldn’t turn on the lights or call the police. And the only way I can do that is if I go into the office.”
“You have your laptop. Why can’t you do the work here?”
The duvet rustles as she stands. “Because I need an Alfie unit. Preferably two of them. Cables. And a second machine. It would be even better if I had my Alfie unit. But I can remote into her and pull the logs—if I’m at my office. I can’t do that from here. Our software prevents it.”
Dropping my glasses on the bed next to me, I rub my eyes. The migraine from last night hasn’t hit full force, but it’s still threatening. And I can’t take anything but Tylenol. Not if we’re leaving the apartment. Hell, not if we’re staying here either. My defenses are down. That’s the only explanation for losing control and kissing her this morning. For that new box of condoms in my nightstand drawer. The one I hid there while she was showering.
“Dax? My office is safe. No one’s going to try to kill me in the middle of the day with twenty other people right outside my office door. I’m going whether you want me to or not. I’d rather you take me.”
The quiet determination in her tone carries an undercurrent of something I can’t put my finger on. Warmth. Tenderness, maybe. And right now, I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do for her. “Fine. We’ll go. But you have to promise me one thing.” I reach out for her hand, and she curls her fingers around mine.
“What?”
“Once I drop you off, you don’t leave your office until I come back for you. No running down to the Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee. No quick trips to the drug store. Do not get onto the elevator until I tell you I’m in the lobby. Okay?”
“I promise. Now can we go?”
“No.” Pulling her back down next to me, I fumble for her other hand. “A few weeks ago, Wren asked for my help. Her brother OD’d on heroin, and she was convinced it was murder. I…didn’t believe her. Thankfully, Ryker did. He saved her life. More than once.”
“But she’s okay, right?” Concern and worry fight for control of Evianna’s voice, and she tightens her fingers on mine. “I mean…she and Ryker are together.”
The ball of self-hatred I carry around with me every day crashes against my chest. Sure, Wren and I talk regularly. But…never about Russia.
“Dax?”
Breathing in Evianna’s scent, I pull myself back to the present. “Wren taught me the importance of promises. She risked her life because of a promise. Almost died because of a promise. And…fell in love with Ry…because of a promise. Because to her, promises are everything. When I ask you to promise me you won’t leave your office, I’m not using the word lightly.”
Evianna squeezes my hands. “I promise. I won’t leave without you.”
“Then I’ll call a car.”
Evianna has her seat belt unbuckled before the car rolls to a complete stop. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m ready to go,” she says and gives my hand a squeeze.
“Wait. I’m going to walk you to the elevator.” I slide out after her, ignoring her protests. “It’s not because I don’t trust you. Or even because I think there’s danger. But I need to know the layout of your building. How to get in. Where to go. In case I need to get to you.”
I’m not lying. But I’m also not ready to leave her yet.
“Okay,” she says with a hint of reluctance to her voice. “Tell me what to do.”
“Don’t take my arm. How far are we from the north corner?”
She hums for a moment. “Five car lengths or so. And we’re directly in front of the door. Maybe twenty feet away.”
