Page 115 of Amnesty

I was mad, though. Flaming, red hot, wanting to leave a fist-sized dent in anything nearby.

“I g-got some in-information,” she said, her teeth chattering slightly.

“It wasn’t worth the price you paid.”

“I think maybe it was,” she refuted.

The way she shivered proved her wrong. The way she collapsed into my arms when I stepped off the elevator proved me right.

My heart damn near stopped in my chest when she was immobile in my arms, unresponsive to any of my attempts to wake her.

I’d never seen anything like it before. Not until Am. The way the past took over, sweeping in without even a second’s notice to push out all the present and quite literally drag her back into the bygone.

Even though she appeared somewhat peaceful as I supported her body in my arms, it was anything but. I knew a war waged inside her mind. I knew she wasn’t really present with me when a memory took over.

The minutes I had to wait it out, to keep myself from literally losing my shit, were long and arduous. I took her down the elevator, back onto the floor where we’d been waiting. Mary B saw me step off the car with her and opened her mouth to yell for help. One firm shake of my head and the words died against her tongue.

She led us into an empty room, the closest one she could find. It was way better than the waiting room, as I wasn’t sure what kind of condition Am would be when she came back to me.

This time she didn’t run from the room or vomit all the contents of her belly. But it hadn’t been a cakewalk either.

The second the past let her go, her body went rigid in my lap. I stayed still for long moments, my arms and hands hovering around her in case she jerked so fast she tumbled off me toward the floor. I didn’t touch her, though. I was afraid to. I had to see what kind of condition she was in before I wrapped her close.

The last thing I wanted was for her to feel trapped or confined.

She glanced up, breathing heavy, wetness covering her cheeks. I clenched my jaw, my back teeth slamming together as I tried not to react the way I wanted, instead trying to be what she needed.

Am reached for me, fisting her fingers in the front of my shirt and curling into my center. That was my cue, the signal it was okay to hold her tight.

We sat there a while. I didn’t say anything, though I sorely wanted to give her hell.

What the fuck was she thinking just disappearing like that? Slipping out of the waiting room while I talked to the cops. When I saw she was gone, my fucking chest nearly collapsed.

Wild fear shot through me, adrenaline surged, and I searched everywhere I could think of. Just when I was about out of my ever-loving mind, I remembered the widow.

“Don’t do that again,” I intoned. I guess I wasn’t done scolding her.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Please don’t be mad.”

I groaned. I swear, women (this one in particular) would be the death of me. “I’m not mad at you, baby.” My fingers dragged up and down along her side. “You scared me.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know.” I kissed the top of her head.

“Are the police still here?”

“Not a clue,” I remarked as though it didn’t even matter. Though, inside, everything was on high alert. Why would she want to know about the cops? Did she have something to tell them? I wanted to demand the answers, but I knew better. Pushing her would cause her pain, and frankly, that outweighed my need for info.

“Where are we?” She glanced around, still not lifting her cheek from my chest. It was telling, you know. The clinginess.

That memory hadn’t been pleasant.

I was starting to wonder if she had anything good at all from her past to remember. All she ever remembered was hell.

“Just a private room. Same floor as the waiting room.”

“Any word on Robbie?”

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