Everything happened in slow motion.
Eugene’s arm moving. The knife arcing toward Nora’s chest. Nora’s eyes going wide with terror.
Carson fired.
The shot was perfect, hitting Eugene in the shoulder—the knife hand. Eugene screamed and stumbled back, the blade clattering to the floor.
Carson was on him in an instant, weapon still trained, kicking the knife away. “Get down! On the ground now!”
Eugene collapsed, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “You shot me. You shot me!”
“You’re lucky that’s all I did.” Carson’s voice was ice. “Move again and the next one goes through your skull.”
But his eyes were on Nora. She’d slumped against the bathtub, gasping for air, red marks already forming on her throat where Eugene had grabbed her.
Sirens wailed outside. Backup arriving. Too late to help but in time to witness.
“Nora.” Carson couldn’t go to her. Not yet. Not while Eugene was still conscious and dangerous. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”
“I’m—” Her voice was raspy. “I’m okay.”
She wasn’t. Carson could see the shock setting in, the trembling in her hands, the glazed look in her eyes. But she was alive. Breathing.
That was all that mattered.
Finn burst into the apartment, weapon drawn, followed by two uniformed officers. “Jesus Christ—”
“Suspect is down,” Carson said. “Gunshot wound to the right shoulder. Attempted murder, breaking and entering, assault. Cuff him and get an ambulance here. And I want him in interrogation the second he’s cleared by doctors.”
The uniforms moved forward to secure Eugene, who was alternating between groaning in pain and muttering about injustice.
Carson finally holstered his weapon and went to Nora. She was still pressed against the bathtub, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.
“Hey.” He crouched in front of her, careful not to touch her without permission. “Nora. Look at me.”
Her eyes focused on his face. Then, without warning, she launched herself at him.
Carson caught her, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest and sobbed. Her whole body shook with the force of it—fear and relief and trauma all pouring out at once.
“I’ve got you,” Carson murmured, holding her tight. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“He was going to kill me. The knife—I saw it—”
“But he didn’t. I got here in time. You’re safe.”
“You shot him.”
“I did.”
She pulled back enough to look at him, her eyes red and swollen. “You saved my life.”
“That’s my job.” But even as he said it, Carson knew it was more than that. So much more.
This wasn’t just another victim. This was Nora. The woman he’d kissed last night. The woman who made him feel things he’d sworn he’d never feel again.
The woman he was falling for despite every reason he shouldn’t.
EMTs arrived, flooding the small bathroom. They insisted on checking Nora over—examining her throat, checking her vital signs, asking her questions Carson knew were meant to assess shock.
