Minutes ago, I came here gasping in fear. I was sure that the men who murdered that cop followed me. I snuck around the city trying to find something that would help me find my way here, to the only friends I have.
And now… the man who’s the epicenter of every damn fantasy I’ve had in months is here.
Touching me.
Okay, so he’s not exactly touching me in the way I’ve imagined, but right now, his hands—those strong, masculine, capable hands of his—are cradling my injured leg.
“How did you get this injury?”
“It’s just a scrape,” I tell him, trying to ignore the way I shake when he touches me. “I wouldn’t exactly say it’s aninjury.”
A sharp look makes me snap my mouth shut.
Okay, it’s an injury.
“I fell when I was running,” I tell him truthfully. Running for mylife,convinced I was being followed, determined to survive.
“You ripped both knees and tore up your hands from one fall?”
I look down. For some reason, I’m ashamed, like I’m a clumsy child.
“It was… a few times,” I say honestly. I look away. My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“Savannah.”
I’ve never heard his voice so gentle, yet he still holds the command of a man that’s used to getting his way. I don’t know what he does for work, but I would imagine it has literally nothing to do with doing what anyone else tells him to do.
“Yes?” I whisper.
He smellsso good.All virile and masculine. I’m not sure if it’s aftershave or bodywash or cologne, but I want to continue to sit here just so I can inhale deep lungfuls of him.
When he cradles my injured leg, he flicks away the fabric from the wound with his thumb. A thread gets caught in the torn shreds of my skin. I gasp and draw in a quick breath at the sudden sharp stabof pain.
“You’ve got bits of fabric embedded in the skin,” he says with a scowl.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure why.
He looks back up at me. “Savannah,” he says sternly, that scowl between his brows making my heart go pitter-patter. There’s my name again. My mind somehow short-circuits when he says my name.
Goddammit, I need to get a grip.
“Do not apologize. You were not the one who caused this.” I have the strange and sudden desire to sayyes, sir.
“You look angry.”
Still holding my leg, his dark blue gaze meets mine. “I’m fucking furious, but not at you.”
I nod and swallow, unsure of how to respond. I’ve never heard him string together so many words at once. He’s a man of few words, dark and mysterious, and sometimes brooding.
We don’t speak again while he treats my wounds.
I’m caught halfway between observing every detail of my interaction with Thayer—he’s touching me—and reliving the shocking events of the night.
Someone’s life was taken tonight. Someone who woke up this morning and likely ate breakfast with his family and fully anticipated coming home this evening, lies cold and lifeless. He was a man of the law. A uniformed officer. Someone who dedicated his life to justice, who provided safety to the vulnerable.
And now he’s dead.
That quickly. One minute he was breathing, his heart beating, his body alive and vibrant. The next… he was gone.
