She must be feeling similarly overwhelmed, because for a moment all we do is stare at each other. Then she clears her throat. “They’re going to let me go down to the hospital to check on Molly. I can make some calls from there.”
It’s amazing that after such a short time of knowing each other, we can already communicate so much with just our eyes, a brief shorthand, but I know exactly what she’s telling me. The police know that Molly was one of the people being held hostage in the hotel room, and I’m sure Shane will eventually crack and admit who she is and why he was following her. But these New Orleans police officers have no idea the significance of Molly’s last name, Gallo, and no reason to hold her. Hopefully by the time they’ve figured it out, Helen will have made her calls—to Quinn Sullivan and Dan O’Malley and Alex Greene—and secured Molly safe passage to wherever her new life will be.
I’ll need to stay here, to continue the process of remanding Dean into custody, more complicated than usual since we’ve crossed state lines and whatnot. It will be a long night. But it isn’t the late hour or my tiredness that grates me now—it’s not being withher, at her side, making sure she’s safe while she makes sure Molly is safe. Shane and his accomplice are in custody, but there’s no way to know if there are others lurking around.
I want to keep Helen locked in place, right next to me. But I know it’s important to her, to keep the promise she made to Dean and Molly. And I also know, after seeing her with Shane tonight, that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.
“Be careful,” I tell her. They’re two stupid, insignificant words that don’t nearly scratch the surface of what I’m feeling, but they’ll have to do.
She nods, searching my face. “I will.”
I wish I could take her hand, just for a moment. Touch her hair. Hold her in my arms. I guess I could actually do any of those things, but it isn’t just embarrassment at being in a crowded police station holding me back. It’s the depth of the feeling, how much is at stake. It’s too raw and precious a thing to express, even in part, in front of all of these people.
I was terrified of losing you.
I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.
I…love you.
As much as the sentiment startles me, I don’t resist it, because I know instantly that it’s true. It doesn’t make sense. We haven’t known each other for very long, and most of that time I was pretending to be someone else. We’re such different people, when it all comes down to it. So different that these past few days on the road shouldn’t have had the power they’ve had, and yet…I admire her. I care what she thinks. I want to make her laugh. I want her to trust me, to respect me. I want to make the world be as good as she believes it is.Iwant to be as good as she believes I am.
I don’t say any of this to her, though. Not now. I just hold her gaze, and nod. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
The words are nowhere near adequate. But I hope they’re enough.
By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s technically morning, though it’s still dark as pitch outside. I’m half tempted to get another room so I won’t wake her, but selfishly, I need to know she’s all right, safe in bed where she’s supposed to be. I need to be near her.
The room is dark when I let myself in, but I can tell instantly that Helen is awake. In the light from the hallway, I faintly make out her silhouette as she sits up. “It’s me,” I tell her quietly, just in case she’s having as hard a time making out my features as I am hers. After the night we’ve had, I don’t want to startle her or make her even in the slightest bit afraid, not even for a moment.
I shut the door behind me, plunging us back into darkness as I fumble for the deadbolt and the latch. No more surprises tonight. No one entering with a key card he shouldn’t have.
Behind me, Helen switches on the bedside light. “You don’t have to,” I start to say. “I’m sure you’re?—”
Tiredis what I mean to say, but I lose my voice as I turn and see her properly. She was asleep, I can see, tiredness still clinging to the corners of her eyes, her hair lightly mussed. She’s put on my T-shirt again to sleep in, but her legs are bare, twisted up in the sheets.
It isn’t just that she looks so incredibly sexy like that, though she does. She looks sovulnerable. I can’t help but think about what would have happened if it had been someone else coming in here with that key card. She’s so good, so trusting, coming along on this trip with me, putting her safety in my hands, but anything could have happened tonight. Anything almostdidhappen and I was there and I couldn’t have done anything to stop it. I don’t even carry a gun, because I’m an egotistical moron who, before tonight, didn’t really believe anything bad could happen tome.
“Thad.” Helen reaches for me, holding out her hand almost plaintively, like she can sense me spiraling.
I meant to ask her about Molly and how everything turned out. I wanted to tell her about how brave Dean was when it finally came down to it, how relieved he was that Molly was safe and that his mother wouldn’t have to pay off his bond.
All I can do is go to her.
I want to touch her, feel her limbs and legs and fingers, hold her face in my hands and look into her eyes as I ask her if she’s okay, really and truly. I want to kiss her, wrap my arms around her and hold her as she sleeps.
That’s what I’m intending to do.
But as I grip her face in my hands and look into her eyes, I feel the full weight of what was almost lost. It hits me like a wave, threatens to pull me underneath its current. I want to apologize to her, tell her to get as far away from me as she can. Beg her not to leave me. Tell her I think I love her. Tell her she’d be better off going.
“Helen,” is all I manage to say.
Somehow what I’m feeling must be conveyed in that single word, because Helen draws me in. Scooting back against the headboard, she pulls me so I’m half on top of her, my head cradled against her chest so I can hear her heart beating.
For several long moments, we stay that way, until at last, I lift my head so I can capture her mouth in mine. We kiss slowly at first, then more urgently. Our bodies are pressed together, her softness pinned beneath me. There are so many things I’ve wanted to do with her, so much that I’ve wanted to explore, but the urgent need to be inside her is outweighing almost every other impulse.
I push it down, reminding myself she’s a virgin, that this would be her first time, and I’m not sure that’s something she wants. Even if it is, the first time demands some kind of ceremony. It isn’t a frantic, thrusting, needful thing done in the dark. There should be candles and rose petals. It should not follow a day of being held at gunpoint and very nearly killed.
I try to lose myself in the kiss, content to just be near her—until Helen pulls away with a frustrated little growl. “Why won’t you touch me?”
