Page 15 of Nikolai (Kansas City Reapers)

“What exactly did you hear?” I asked carefully. This was it — the details I’d been hoping for.

“I don’t know!” she nearly shouted with exasperation — or possibly frustration with her memory.

Before I had a chance to respond, Deacon returned, a glass of what I knew to be whiskey in his hand. Without a word, he grabbed the arm of her computer chair, swinging it around to face him as he crouched down to her level.

“Here. Drink.” He held out the tumbler to her.

Her eyes looked at the glass quizzically before meeting his gaze with distaste.

“You want me to drink some unknown substance? No, thank you. I know better than to accept a drink from a man I barely know.” Her nose turned up at him, refusing his gesture.

“Drink. It’s whiskey, and nothing more. But the burn will help. Trust me.”

She regarded him warily, but finally accepted the tumbler with a roll of her eyes.

“Fine.” She took a sip of the drink. I expected the wince and hiss that was sure to follow from any woman I’d ever met. However, much to my surprise, she simply let out a soft moan of approval. She sipped at the whiskeywith a look of bliss on her face. Her shoulders relaxed. It was almost as though I could see the tension leave her body — at least a little.

“Now, look at me,” Deacon all but commanded her. For whatever reason, that didn’t sit well with me. Still, I allowed him to help her. It wasn’t my place. Honestly, I had no idea why the sense of protectiveness and possessiveness had come over me. Shaking it from my mind, I watched as Deacon guided her through a breathing exercise, helping to calm her mind.

It was a tactic we used often in our work. And if anyone knew how to get a person talking, it was Deacon. It was his specialty, as it were.

After a few moments, Maddy had set the tumbler aside and seemed ready to continue.

“I heard voices when I got partway down the hall. It was quiet.” Her eyes focused on some unknown point ahead of her, not looking at anyone or anything in particular. Paper in hand, I listened intently.

“Male or female?” I asked softly.

“I don’t know. Male, I’m pretty sure. I couldn’t make out the words, though. I could just hear mumbling from behind the door.”

“How many voices did you hear? One? Two? More?” I asked gently.

“More than one. But I don’t know how many. I could tell it was a conversation, and I just assumed that if I heard voices, it was likely the bathroom, you know? I… I wasn’t thinking straight.” Her lower lip quivered slightly, her teeth gnawing at it in an attempt to stave off the emotions I was sure were overwhelming her.

“I opened the door and—” Her words halted abruptly on a choked sob, and I glanced up from the paper to see tears filling her eyes, her entire body visibly shaking. It took everything I had not to reach out and pull her into my arms.

I may not have known the girl from Eve, but the desire to protect was not one I could ignore. Not easily, at least. My fists tightened in my lap, clutching the pen like a lifeline as I staved off the desire to give her care and protection.

“Slow, deep breaths, Maddy,” I spoke slowly, mimicking Deacon’s earlier calming tone. Once she had visibly calmed, at least by a little, I continued. “When you opened the door, what happened first?”

“I don’t know. All I remember is blood. And then I ran.” Her tone shifted to one of anger. I knew it well. Anger was the easiest emotion to give in to, much better than fear when faced with the choice.

“Maddy, look at me,” I commanded her gently. With great hesitation, her eyes found mine.

I took a deep breath, grateful when she copied my breathing pattern.

“Now, close your eyes. I want you to stop focusing on what you saw, or what you remember.” My words were calm and soothing, helping her to relax. “Focus on your five senses. Tell me what you heard when the door opened.”

“Nothing. There was no noise. No voices. But only for a split second,” she answered, eyes closed, her head resting back against the chair’s headrest.

“What did you—”

“Wait. Therewasa voice. Right as I was opening the door. He said wait, or stop, or something like that. And the gunshot. I heard the gunshot.” Her voice quivered, her fingers digging into the skin of her upper arms as she held herself tightly. “It was so loud.” The last words were nothing more than a whisper, almost imperceptible had we all not listening so closely.

“What did you smell?” My voice grew quieter, letting her mind take over as she journeyed through her trauma.

“Metal.” The shaky whisper of her voice tore at my heart, but I shook it off. Now was not the time to be soft. Now was not the time for care. It was time for details. The sooner we were able to get some real details from her, the sooner Quinn and his department could hopefully figure out who was fucking behind all this.

“What kind of metal?”

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