Murphy stumbles through the open cell without looking back and disappears through the side door leading to the stairs.
With a silent breath out, I will the storm of nerves still twisting in my gut to calm.
Across the cell, Decker watches me, his posture slowly relaxing and the anger etched into his features melting away.
He’s different from what I remember. There’s an edge to him now—a hardened exterior, an air of violence he didn’t have before. The clean and pristine, straight-edged boy scout I knew as a teenager now doesn’t seem all that different from the men who raised me.
Except this man has a badge and a gun, and my hands are still locked behind my back. This type of scenario has historically not worked out for my family.
He approaches, and despite how badly I want to cower in this corner, I push to my feet and stand my ground.
Never let ’em see you sweat.
“Turn around,” he says.
I scoff, trying like hell to keep my knees from trembling. “Like I’d giveyoumy back.”
With a sigh, he reaches around me, pulling my chest against his, practically hugging me as he fiddles with my cuffs. He smellslike Old Spice, peppermint, and coffee. A light scruff dusts his chiseled jaw, his nostrils edged with blood from my well-aimed hit. He keeps his eyes locked with mine as he works to release me. Brown eyes. No, amber. The colour of a dark whiskey, with little orange flecks decorating his irises.
I swallow. They’re nice eyes. Like his face. Decker’s always been easy to look at, until he opens his mouth, that is.
When the restraints binding my wrists open, I resist the urge to rub my sore, bruised skin.
Taking a step back, he tilts his head. “You still punch like a girl.”
The comment brings with it a memory of the last time I saw him. Ten years ago. The moment before my world was turned upside down and I was ripped from my home. My mom was half dead in the hospital, Jimmy was packing our bags, and Decker had just slapped a pair of handcuffs on Axe. I was a pissed-off sixteen-year-old girl with a hell of a punch, thanks to my upbringing. Decker’s face just happened to be within swinging distance.
“And you still bleed like one,” I bite out. “I think it was your lip I got last time, though.”
He chuckles, but when I don’t smile, he sighs. “I’m not your enemy, Grace.”
I lift my chin, certain the tender spot where Allen slammed me into the doorframe is already bruising. “Tell that to my face.”
“I didn’t know he was gonna do that, all right? Let me see.” He reaches out a hand.
Before he can touch my cheek, I dodge him. “I don’t need another cop putting his hands on me tonight.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair and lets out another sigh as he shifts back again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks sorry. “Right. Well… you’re safe now,” he says. “That won’t happen again.”
Irritation sparks in my chest. “Suppose you want me to thank you for coming to my rescue?”
“Was just doing what’s right.”
“Lincoln Decker. Forever the boy scout.”
He gives me a half smile, but there’s no joy behind it. “You’ve been gone a long time, Gracie.”
“Not long enough. Can I leave now?”
A sigh escapes him, his chest deflating. “I can’t authorize your release. OPP’s got jurisdiction.”
“What the hell you keeping me here for?” I ask, temper flaring. “I didn’t do anything. And why’s OPP so interested in a small-town traffic stop?”
“It’s complicated. And you punched me in the face. They’re more interested in that. So, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ll have to wait for your lawyer.”
My heart sinks. “I don’t have a lawyer.”
“No, but Axe does.” He wanders towards the cell door. “Woman’s a damn pain in my ass.”
