Page 64 of Critical Strike

“I hope you’re right...” She wanted to believe him, he knew she did. Though the fact that there was any doubt didn’t exactly thrill him.

He guessed he’d be afraid to bask in victory if Ballard had burned him so many times. Not only Ballard—life had burned Claire again and again for years. No wonder she was hesitant to rest easy.

If he had his way, that would never happen again.

“So, what now?” Claire’s head found his shoulder and she let out a soft sigh while she snuggled in. He stroked her wet hair, still heavy with the smell of the river.

“First, we shower.”

She snickered. “I thought that went without saying.”

“Then, we settle you in so you can get some sleep. You can’t burn the candle at both ends forever. We spent all last night going over the plan. Clearly, the effort was worth it. Now you need to sleep.”

“You know I appreciate how much you care about me, right?”

“Right.” He sensed there was something more to it than that.

“But I don’t need you to tell me to rest. I know I need to sleep. I wasn’t talking about this very night. What’s our next move?”

Brax met his gaze in the mirror, eyes crinkling at the corners. He could afford to smile, couldn’t he? Claire wasn’t the love of his life. If they were still kids, that little grin would’ve earned Brax a punch in the arm.

A punch in the arm sounded good right about then, all things considered.

“Can’t it be enough for now to rest and regroup?” he asked Claire in a softer voice than before. “You faked your death not forty-five minutes ago. If anything you’ve ever done has earned you the right to unplug for a minute and recharge, it’s what you just pulled off.”

She went silent, which he wasn’t sure was a good sign. His mom would go silent like that whenever she was good and frustrated with his dad.

Which was why he didn’t push Claire to answer.

The ride to the safe house felt like it took years, thanks to the roundabout route Brax followed to get them there. “Just in case,” he muttered more than once, taking them down unlit roads, sometimes doubling back. Once he felt comfortable there was no one on their tail, he took them the rest of the way to the safe house.

It was dark and empty. Weston and Chance had made it their business to be seen around town earlier in the evening prior to settling in at home—well before Claire had played out her one-act drama with Detective Arellano—just in case Ballard had been watching for signs of life from them.

Brax entered first, checking for any signs of trouble before waving them in. Luke hurried Claire up to the front door, an arm around her waist, his head on a swivel. They couldn’t be too careful, even now.

Once they were inside and he could see for himself that all was well, he allowed himself to breathe. No one could ever call him lazy or out of shape, yet the events of the evening had left him with a bone-deep exhaustion now that the rush of adrenaline had tapered off.

“You okay?” Brax asked while Claire went to shower off the river’s stench. The frown lines creasing his brow revealed his concern.

“Fine. Glad that’s over, for sure.” Luke opened a bottled water and downed half in one desperate go, signaling dehydration. “Is it possible to sweat bullets while you’re underwater?”

“You were worried about her.”

“No kidding. Of course, I was. It was the longest few minutes of my life between her rolling onto the bridge and falling off.”

“She’s gutsy, I’ll give her that. She held up under pressure.” Brax elbowed him, and a little of his usual good humor flashed in his smile. “You chose well.”

Brax couldn’t understand, so Luke didn’t bother to explain the finer details. There had been no choice involved. Life had put them together, and something about Claire had spoken to something inside him. Maybe his protective nature sensed someone in serious need of someone like him.

Rather than try to explain, he stripped off his wetsuit and ducked into the shower once Claire was finished. Her skin was pink, like she’d scrubbed it within an inch of its life. He couldn’t blame her. Even though he’d been covered while underwater, he soaped up twice and rinsed in water as hot as he could stand before stepping out.

He found her sitting on the bed, combing her hair, and his heart swelled with love and relief. Was this how it would always be? Every time he saw her, even if she were engaged in something so commonplace, would he have this same reaction? He hoped not, on reflection, since he planned on their lives being very dull and ordinary once Ballard was out of commission. He wouldn’t carry the constant fear of losing her.

“In case I didn’t make it clear to you before now, you were amazing.” He dried off and dressed quickly before he sat next to her. “You couldn’t have done any better out there. I hope it doesn’t come off as condescension when I tell you how proud you make me.”

Her hand closed over his. “You don’t sound condescending at all. I’m just glad it’s over and I don’t have to dread faking my death anymore.”

Rather than give him time to draw her into his arms, she all but jumped up from the bed. “I know how to finish this.”

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