"No. He's not." He nudges the paper bag closer. "Eat. Even just a bite."
"You always do that."
"Because it works."
I peek inside. "You remembered the mustard."
"Of course I did." His mouth tips, sobers. "Did security see him?"
"I didn't call them. You were there."
His brows draw together. "Next time, call them anyway. I want a record."
"Okay."
I clear the last chart, hand off my final patient, answer one more question from a nurse. Knox stays near enough to feel when I glance up, far enough that no one looks twice. When I clock out and unclip my badge, he's there, falling into step. A nurse calls my name. I answer and promise to follow up tomorrow.
Outside, the evening air washes cool against my face. Knox stops beyond the threshold, turning to face me fully.
"You kept your ground." His fingers brush the inside of my wrist where Harrison grabbed me. Gentle, certain.
"He thinks time is on his side."
Knox's mouth curves with intent. "He's wrong." I search his face. I can see what he's already done with the hours since Harrison walked away. Every angle of this situation mapped, every cost weighed, every move planned before he opened his mouth. "I will keep you safe. No matter what it costs."
My chest loosens. The weight stays, but it distributes. I lean into him without thinking, forehead to his collarbone, his arm coming around instantly. The world narrows to his warmth and the even beat under my ear.
He draws back first, hand at my jaw. "Let's go."
We cross the lot toward his bike. Knox unclips my helmet from the back, fits it over my head, tugging the strap snug. Knuckles down my jaw. I swing on behind him, arms locking around his waist, cheek to his shoulder blade. His hand drops to my thigh. Squeezes once.
I see it. Across the lot. Far corner. A black sedan, parked where the overhead lights don't reach. Engine off, but the driver's window is down.
Harrison is sitting behind the wheel. Hands on his lap. Face turned toward us. Knox goes still under my arms. He's seen it too. The lot is quiet. Wind pushes a receipt across the asphalt. A streetlight hums. Harrison watches. Chin level. Eyes unblinking. The patience of a man who has nowhere else to be.
Knox's hand tightens on my thigh. He starts the engine. The bike rumbles beneath us, low and certain. He pulls out at his own pace, his own terms. I keep my eyes forward. But I feel my father's gaze on my back the entire way to the gate.
He stayed. He waited.
Chapter 43
Knox
Theenginehumsbeneathus as we roll out of the hospital lot. Sloane's arms are locked around my waist, cheek between my shoulder blades. My eyes stay on the mirrors.
Harrison's sedan was in the far corner when we left. I clocked the make, the plates, the angle of his window. Now I'm scanning for headlights that match. Watching for anyone leaving too fast, following too close, hanging too far back.
Three blocks. Four. I take two turns that go nowhere, looping through a residential stretch with no reason to be there except to flush a tail. The road stays clear. No sedan. No second car. By the fifth block, I'm sure. We're clean.
That's when Sloane's hands move. She slips one beneath the leather, palm flat against my T-shirt, feeling muscle. The other follows, under the hem, fingertips tracing my abs with steady pressure.
Her thighs clench around me, knees braced against mine. She crowds closer, breath hot through fabric even as wind whipsaround us. Heat floods low, my cock hardens against denim. I keep my grip on the bars, but tension coils through every muscle.
She sets her mouth to the back of my neck, right where my hairline starts. "Knox." Her voice is rough and urgent.
I veer off the main road. Darkness stretches. The city falls away and trees crowd close. Her hands slide lower, thumbs grazing my waistband, seeking contact. I spot what I need. An old access gravel road, cutting behind a line of oaks dense enough to block sight lines from the main road. I ride in, past the tree line, behind a rusted equipment shed where the bike is invisible from any direction.
Kill the engine. Night closes in. I hold half a breath, listening.
