Later.
Later, I will let myself feel all of it.
Now, I get her into the car.
The black SUV waits at the curb, engine running, rear door opening before we reach it. Rocco is at the wheel. Another of my people stands near the passenger side, scanning the street.
I get her in first.
My hand stays at her back until she is seated. She moves like her limbs are not fully cooperating, stiff and shaky in a way I hate.
I slide in beside her, and the door shuts.
The SUV pulls away from the curb before I finish drawing her into me.
For two seconds, Victoria sits upright, rigid as glass, staring straight ahead.
Then she folds into me.
She simply turns into me, one hand clutching my shirt, her forehead pressing hard against my chest like she’s forcing herself to hold it together.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer.
“I have you,” I say against her hair. “You’re safe.”
She shakes her head.
“I have you,” I repeat.
Her breath hitches.
Then she whispers, “They knew.”
“Who?”
“How did they know?” Her hand presses suddenly to her stomach, and her whole body goes rigid again.
The world narrows to that movement.
My hand stills on her back.
There are many things that sentence can mean.
This is not the time.
Oh, the time is coming. That, she can be sure of. But this is not it.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does not.
I take her chin carefully and tilt her face up.
Her skin is cold. Her eyes are wet, terrified, unfocused in a way that makes me want to tear the city apart piece by piece until someone gives me some damn answers on how this happened.
A tear slips down her cheek.
She presses her lips together, shaking harder now.
