“You're not leaving it,” Diaz said.“You are letting us process it.There is a difference.I'll call when we have it cleared.Tonight, your job is to keep breathing and not fall over.”
Sabrina opened her mouth to argue.Her knees chose that moment to wobble.
Colby tightened his arm around her.“She's not wrong.”
Diaz pointed toward his truck.“Inside.Now.That's an order.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” he said.
He guided Sabrina toward the truck parked near the trailer, his hand firm at her back.She moved like a person who had just stepped off a spinning ride and was still testing the ground.
At the passenger door, she paused and looked back.
The framed cabin stood in the field, backlit now by the flash of emergency lights and the sweep of headlights.Officers moved carefully, placing flags near the spilled fuel, taking photos.
“It should feel ruined,” she said quietly.“It doesn't.”
“What does it feel like?”he asked.
She swallowed.“Defended.”
He felt a lump form in his throat.“Good.That's what we're going for.”
Back at his cottage, the normalcy hit him hardest.
The lamp on the end table.The stack of mail by the door.The faint hum of the fridge.
Colby locked the deadbolt and turned to find Sabrina still standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself, as if she wasn't quite sure she was allowed to relax.
“Come here,” he said.
She crossed to the couch on autopilot and sat.He detoured through the kitchen, ran cold water over a clean dish towel, and wrung it out.
When he returned, she was hunched forward, her elbows on her knees, and her hands hanging between them.Her gaze stayed fixed on some point on the floor.
He held out the cloth.“For my face.”
She blinked up at him.“You want me to…”
“Do the honors,” he said.“I would say I can't reach, but that would be a lie.I just like your hands better than mine.”
Something in her expression loosened.“Sit.”
He dropped onto the couch beside her.Their knees brushed.She turned, angled toward him, and raised the towel.
She touched it to his cheek as gently as if she expected him to shatter.
He hissed.“That feels amazing.”
“Liar,” she murmured.“You have a full-on fist print.”
“Adds character,” he said.
“You had plenty of character before,” she said.“You didn't need his help.”
He watched her work.The little furrow between her brows, and the way her hands steadied now that she had something to do.
“You scared me,” she whispered.“I knew this might happen.Diaz told us.We talked about it.I thought I was ready.I wasn't.”
