Page 87 of Damaged

“Well… a truckload of priceless artifacts did get stolen. A manwaskilled.”

“Whatever. I prefer to stay out of the limelight. I don’t appreciate having my picture on every single major media outlet’s front page.”

Is this story really that widespread?I wonder, my heart drumming with a new kind of anxiety—fame. I have to force myself to speak. “But it is a good picture,” I tease. I tilt my head and grin and manage to steal a smile out of James.

“Yeah. It’s a good picture.”

“Apart from the dead guy in the background.”

“Really? I thought the corpse kind of emphasized the chaos.”

“You’re a sicko.”

James walks closer to me. “If a man kicks you like a dog and ties you up with duct tape, consider him very, very lucky if all he gets is a quick bullet to the head.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless. I know he’s serious. He’d do far more for me than shoot an armed robber. “Thank you, James.”

“Stop doing that,” he says.

“What?”

“Thanking me. I don’t like it. This is all the bare minimum.”

“I’m pretty sure you could’ve dropped me off at the ER doors and told me to send you the bill.”

“Fine. Bare minimum by my standards.”

“So, are you in trouble?”

“For what? shooting a man who’d tied you up as a hostage and then pulled a knife on me in my auction house?”

“When you put it that way…”

“That is the way. There’s nothing else to it. The police want a statement from you because they want to try to catch the rest of these guys, but I figured you didn’t know much.”

I shake my head. “No. I only saw the one. I heard another voice. They were all… American. Men. Middle-aged. That’s all I can say.”

James nods. “We’ve got an entire team on this. We’ll catch them.”

There’s something unconvincing in his tone. There’s a little too much enthusiasm. It feels fake. Like he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. He’s just trying to make me feel better.

I don’t believe him, and my face must give me away, because suddenly his hand is resting on the top of mine.

“Sophia.”

I meet his eyes.

“I’m never going to let anything bad happen to you again. This is not an empty promise or words to help you sleep at night. It’s the truth. My life isn’t madness like this. It’s just… a couple cases of very bad luck.”

I nod, like I believe him. In a way I do.

And I know he must like me to do what he did last night. But I wonder how those feelings will hold up. The way he looked at me under the lights at the ice rink could have me thinkinghappily ever afterthoughts. But maybe that’s just how James looks at what he wants.

I want to ask him what I’m doing here. Whatwe’redoing here. Are we dating? Coworkers?

Attempted friends with benefits?

I have absolutely no idea, and I don’t have the guts to ask.

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