Page 35 of By Sin To Atone

“Where did you get them all anyway? Are they trophies or something?” I ask, trying for casual but failing.

“My brother’s wife’s clothes.”

“She knows I’m here? That you’re keeping me prisoner?”

He sets the backpack on the bed and unzips it. “Is this your go bag?” he asks, ignoring my question.

He begins to unpack it, taking out my laptop. Well, not actually mine but possession is 9/10ths of the law, right? I fold my arms and watch from my place, trying to keep my expression neutral as he empties out the contents, some clothes, shoes, jackets, baseball caps for Wren and me, the envelope of money and our old IDs.

“You got your electric bill,” he says, laying what looks to be my mail on the bed as well. “And… Saved the best for last.” He reaches into the bag again and draws out the Ziploc with the pistol in it.

The backpack was one thing but this? How did he find it? I feel the blood drain from my face at the sight and when the ringing between my ears starts, I reach for the edge of the nearest piece of furniture to stay upright but I find only air.

I stumble, but strong hands close over my arms to steady me.

“Easy, Blue.”

I feel his warmth, the heat of his body. I set my hands on his chest, concentrating on breathing, and try to keep him at arm’s length.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

He’s right, I’m not fine. I shake my head. I just need a minute. I let my fingers rest against his chest, feel the beating of his heart beneath the wall of muscle.

“Look at me.”

“I’m fine.” I feel queasy and if I had anything in my stomach, I’d probably have thrown it up.

“Blue?”

I force myself to open my eyes and it takes a moment for my pupils to focus, to see him clearly. He’s so close. Why is he so close? Why is he looking at me like he is?

But then his eyes flit to the scar and I turn my face to hide it from him.

“What just happened? It’s the second time I’ve seen you like that.”

I give a shake of my head, extricate myself and put some space between us. “Nothing,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

“You stumbled. If I didn’t catch you, you would have fallen.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman? Oh wait, you’re not. Let me go. I’m fine.”

He raises his eyebrows and I know he won’t release me until I tell him.

“It’s nothing. I just get a little dizzy now and then. It takes a minute, and it passes.”

“What happens when you’re driving, and it happens? Or you’re at the top of the stairs?”

I give him a firmer shove. “I’m just hungry,” I lie. “Low blood sugar.” I pull free and take several steps away. “But it’s touching that you care.” I walk closer to the bed, eyeing the contents.

“Cynthia is preparing some food. We’ll eat soon.”

“Who’s Cynthia?”

“Cook.”

“She knows I’m here?”

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