He pressed his fob and the car chirped behind us. “That’s not what it looked like. You still haven’t told me who that guy was.”
I sucked in a breath and put my foot on the first step, preparing to bear my weight. Memory of the man chasing me crawled through my veins like an army of ants. I didn’t want to think about it until I was safely behind a locked door, preferably one where the owner inside had a gun. Too bad there was a switchback staircase in my way. “I’ll tell you inside.” I took one aching step and winced.
“Here.” Bray reached out for me, and I swatted him away.
“I don’t need your help!”
No one ever offered to help me. I did everything on my own. I’d had plenty of injuries before, but this one felt like it topped the list. I wasn’t sure my ankle wasn’t broken. Perhaps it was because of the fear coupled with the pain and the knowledge they’d found me, and nothing would ever be the same. Or perhaps it was the humiliation of Bray watching me struggle up the stairs. Either way, every step made me want to cry.
I made it to the fourth step with a biting wince when Bray stepped in.
“Okay, this is going to take forever.” He came up behind me and looped my arm over his shoulders.
“Bray, what are you—?”
“Up we go, tiger,” he said and effortlessly scooped me into his arms.
Almost effortlessly.
“Ouch!” I cried when my injured ankle banged into the wall in the narrow space.
“Sorry!” he said and pulled me closer to his chest. “Tuck in your legs.”
“Put me down!” I fought the tight grip of his arms but couldn’t get anywhere against his strength.
“No. You said that guy chasing you wants to kill you, and I’m not about to die waiting for you to climb these stairs.”
He walked up them as if the inconvenience of my weight was a bag of groceries rather than an adult body. My feet bobbed with each step. I felt his arms behind my back and knees, his hard chest pressed into my ribs. He cradled me against him like I was precious cargo, and it sent an embarrassing wave of warmth from my head to my toes.
“This is mortifying. I feel pathetic.”
We rounded the switchback, Bray moving slowly so as not to smash my foot again, and started up the second half of the stairs.
“Are you kidding?” he said. “I saw you scale that fence. You’re a badass.”
I blushed again.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Actually.” He paused to carefully set me down at the top of the stairs. His warm hand lingered on my hip as I found my footing on one leg. “I do. That’s why I asked.” I gripped the short wall for balance both from being set down and the feel of his touch. He fished his keys out of his pocket.
Memories of all the times I’d scaled fences played through my mind like a highlight reel of a delinquent youth. In truth, Icouldn’t even remember the first time; I’d probably been thirteen years old. No one had taught me how to do it. I’d learned out of necessity, either because I was running from bad guys, or Iwasthe bad guy making a getaway. None of it was charming orbadassas Bray implied. It was mostly terrifying.
“I’m not sure it’s in my best interest to confess all my crimes to a government agent,” I told him.
He shoved his keys into the lock and shot a grin over his shoulder. “Well, it’s not like you can run away from me, so.” He glanced down at my swollen ankle, and I knew he’d meant it as a joke, but it served as a reminder that I was trapped. Always trapped.
We entered his apartment to a spacious and tidy living room. He tossed his keys into a bowl on a small table and turned to throw the dead bolt behind us. “Let me get you some ice,” he said and pointed at his couch.
I took in the room, and it was indeed decorated much like my own apartment: soothing neutrals and cozy furniture. The only splashes of color lighting up the walls were a painting and a bookshelf stuffed to the gills.
I pictured him lounging on his couch and turning pages of a book with his long fingers. Perhaps he wore reading glasses. I bit my lip at the thought.
I hobbled over and lowered myself into the plush cushions. I considered putting my foot up on his stone coffee table but thought that might be rude. Instead, I lay back and tried not to think about the fact I’d just been chased by a ghost and what it all meant. I focused on Bray’s living room and not the pain in my leg or the fear in my mind. He had nice furniture and a big, but not obnoxiously big, TV mounted on the wall. Given the tidiness of the space, I wondered if I’d been right about him being a control freak that day we’d first met.
“Here you go,” he said and returned from the kitchen I could partially see through a cutout wall. He passed throughthe small dining room and crossed the room to the couch with a bag of ice wrapped in a tea towel. I silently watched him reach for a pillow and gently place it under my injured ankle. He used another pillow to prop against the ice bag and hold it in place. Then he leaned over me, his chest coming close to my face and the smell of him hitting me like a gust of wind, and adjusted the pillows behind my back.
