Page 10 of Extracted

Tears rolled down her cheeks, nearly undoing him. She sniffed and pressed the heel of her palm to her lips. “No. They weren’t supposed to do that. I thought . . .” She launched herself at his chest.

He caught her, somehow managing not to teeter backward. Before he could even process her words, he folded her into his arms. The sickness in the pit of his stomach expanded. She buried her face into his throat. Her tears soaked his neck but he didn’t give a damn.

Never had Gemma showed this kind of emotion. He’d seen many sides—sexy, playful, angry, indifferent—but they all seemed to be a front for something deeper.

She choked on a sob. “I was so scared you didn’t get out. When you showed up at my door, I saw you were angry. I thought you hated me. That—”

“Shhh.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back until her shoulders stopped shaking. She kept her grip around his neck as he stood, walked the few paces to the bed, and sat.

She hadn’t planted the bombs.

That tidbit of information changed everything. His anger dissipated. He’d come here prepared to walk away for good and now there wasn’t a chance in hell that was happening. Back to the once-a-year fuck. Awesome. “Tell me what happened.”

She wiped her cheek with her hand but didn’t pull away from his collar. She snorted. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Work your way backward. How’d you get out of there?” He lifted the still-damp strands that had fallen over her face.

“I was climbing over the rock wall at the side patio when the bomb went off, sending me to the ground.”

He froze. “Are you hurt?” He hadn’t noticed an injury, but that didn’t mean she was unscathed.

“No, I’m fine. It wasn’t too far of a drop.”

“Didn’t you have an escape route planned?”

She chuckled lightly. “I was about to figure that out when you caught me and pulled me into the closet.”

He grunted. “No regrets there.”

Another little laugh met him, and the resistant, stubborn part of his heart melted even more. “What happened before you went outside?”

Her shoulders slumped. He ached to move her away so he could study her face, but the luxury of having her cuddled against his chest was too great to part with.

Silence beat the air. He kept his hand still on her spine, forcing himself not to push her.

“I told them where their target was.” Her small voice held the weight of remorse and doom.

Her admission hit him with the force of a missile. “Target?” The word came out raspy. His windpipe constricted, making his oxygen intake minimal. “Who, Gemma? Who was the target?”

She wiggled. “I’m not sure I should . . .”

He didn’t push her away, though part of him wanted to toss her off him and pace the room.

He had to cool down. This could have nothing to do with his contact.

Yeah, right.

“I need to know.” His tone came out harder than he’d intended, but dammit he wasn’t going to let her clam up.

A long, deep inhale came next. “You smell like home.”

The sudden change of subject scrambled his brain. Was that a compliment?

“Reminds me of the woods. Hiking. You smell like cedar.”

She liked to hike. He tucked that little fact away and stored it to remember later. A treat he’d allow himself when he could forget his muscle-numbing rage.

Whoever had their talons in Gemma would pay. He’d make sure they never used her again. “Who made you do hellish things?” He shook his head. “Who was your target?”

---