That should have been disturbing, but it was actually hot. Not because I thought he'd actually break in. No, there was something about him. Something dark and intense. Protective at the same time. Like he'd break fingers if anyone tried to hurt me.
Like he'd literally say 'touch her and die.'
"Does Woody have broken fingers?" I asked without thinking.
Forrest looked confused.
"Never mind." I needed to stop letting my mouth speak before my brain was engaged.
"Not at all," he said. "Tell me why you asked."
My face hot, I said, "You seem like maybe you'd, I don't know, take steps to stop him from trying to kill me again."
"Ah." He nodded slowly. "I'll put that on the list of things I might do to him if he tries."
"I feel like I shouldn't ask how long that list is." I grabbed my bag and phone and followed him out the door.
"Longer than you might think," he said, leading me over to the elevator. "My tolerance for violence towards women is low."
"Mine too," I said softly.
I hadn't been able to help myself, but I wanted to help other women. And anyone who was treated the way I was.
The night Wolfgang died, I wished I could be as brave as the people who killed him. I got the impression it wasn't their first time. How did you get into doing something like that anyway? Serial killing. It wasn't something you could Google…
Okay, it probably was, but you might get a strange answer from AI.
He regarded me like he was going to say something, but then nodded and pressed the button to take us down to the ground floor.
"You look beautiful tonight," he said, leaning against the side of the elevator car, his gaze on me.
"You don't look so bad yourself," I said.
He looked good in dark jeans, a dark sweatshirt, and a jacket. I wondered if he also had a beanie. It probably wasn't pale pink like mine. He'd look cute like that, though.
"I do all right," he said. "I spoke to Leif. He's excited to meet you."
"Oh. I'm excited to meet him too," I said, hoping like hell I wouldn't put my foot in my mouth. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
Only for the last twenty-five years though.
"Don't worry, you'll do fine," Forrest assured me. "He'll be distracted by the game anyway."
"Right, doesn't his brother play center?" I asked.
Mikko Larsen was something of a legend in the city. Drafted to the NHL at nineteen. Top goalscorer. All of that. I didn't know anything about hockey, but I knew who he was.
"That's him," Forrest said. "He's very intense, very driven."
"Like you," I said, offering a smile.
"He makes me look like a pussycat." He laughed. "Sometimes I wonder if one of them is adopted. They're very different from each other. What about you, do you have any siblings?"
I glanced down at the carpeted floor. "No. It was just me."
Savannah was more like a sister to me than any member of my family. I'd trust her with my life. My parents? I wouldn't even trust them with my cactus. If I had a cactus.
I looked back up. "And you? Do you have any?"
