Page 66 of Looking Grimm

He slid one arm under my knees and wrapped the other around my back, then tucked me tight against his bare chest. I wanted to cling to him, but I couldn’t so much as twitch a finger as he rushed us both out of the building into fresh air.

The sunlight made me squint and, once my eyes were closed, it was a struggle to open them again. When we stopped, it wasn’t in Nash’s car, or even the Bronco I’d left parked out front. Nash laid me in the grass at the edge of the gravel lot, then leaned overhead, his face glistening with tears. I saw his hand cup my cheek, but I didn’t feel the touch.

“You still with me, Trouble?” he whispered.

I wasn’t sure.

This was how Donovan died. And Nash hung on like I had, helplessly watching and feeling the blood run out and the body go cold. I wanted to think that, in death, I’d see my brother again, my parents, too. But I didn’t believe in heaven because I knew I’d never see it, and if there was a God he would surely have sent them somewhere far better than wherever my soul was headed.

The distant wail of sirens caused me to crane my neck toward the sound. My already rushed breaths came faster, and I turned worried eyes on Nash.

“Investigators,” I gasped. “How did they…?”

My thoughts circled a bottomless drain. It didn’t make sense. Had they tracked my phone? Did someone see Donnie’s car?

“I called them,” Nash said. He sounded far away.

I stared at him, emptied of everything except the sudden ache in my heart. “You turned me in?” I asked.

Nash’s face wrenched as he stumbled through a reply. “No, baby, no. It’s just…” His throat bobbed through a hard swallow. “You’re hurt. You need help.”

“That’s not help,” I rasped in response.

He scooped me up and cradled me across his lap with my head on his shoulder. I squirmed weakly against him, sending mental commands my limbs failed to obey. My efforts amounted to nothing as Nash gripped me tighter. I trembled, and he shook, too, his body seized with quiet sobs.

I heard the sirens. Louder. Closer.

“Nash?” I blinked blearily up at him. He was red and gold and always so warm, but even his arms around me felt cold now.

“Don’t send me away,” I wheezed. “Don’t leave me. You promised you wouldn’t leave me…”

But I was the one leaving, sliding down into the clawing darkness that ripped us apart. It eclipsed everything else, and the world became quiet.

After several rounds ofmagical healing and enough blood to feed all the starving vampires in Africa, I bolted awake in the Capitol infirmary. Holland stood at the bedside, facing away. Clearly, she had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on me. With handcuffs on both of my wrists and a shock collar around my neck, it was clear they were taking no chances with their public enemy number one.

The investigator wasn’t alone. Her political alliance of a fiancé, Preston, stood beside her. He was the first to notice I had roused, probably because I was giving him one hell of a stink eye.

“Look at you,” the ambassador crowed. “Quite the comeback kid.” His skin was too smooth from a thick coating of foundation. It cracked around his eyes as he smiled.

Holland whipped around. With her aviator sunglasses perched on top of her head, there was no masking her narrow glare. She didn’t say a word, andthe quiet was somehow worse than anything that could have come out of her mouth.

Preston, in contrast, had no shortage of thoughts to share. “Does the press know he’s here?” He jerked a thumb at me.

Holland shook her head.

“Somebody really ought to interview you while you’re still alive and kicking,” he told me. “It would make a compelling addition to your60 Minutesspecial. Do they do that here?” He glanced at Holland, who had yet to break her visual lock on me.

“Mister Farrow has made plenty of news,” she replied curtly.

My hand and shoulder were bandaged, and I wondered why they bothered. Maybe they shared the same reasoning Ripley had when he fixed my broken nose in prison. Everybody wanted me to look pretty in my casket.

They gave me clean clothes, too, mint green scrubs that smelled like chemicals. I shifted on the thin mattress, too aware of my body as sensation returned. Pain wove through my chest like a ribbon, tugging here when I moved there until I resolved to lay still and let the investigator and her beau silently judge me.

The shock collar remote rested on the tray table next to a Styrofoam cup and water pitcher. Preston grabbed the remote and passed it back and forth between his hands. Every time his fingers strayed near the controls, I tensed.

“You know, I never thought you looked much like a killer,” he mused. “More of a ratty thug than anything. Wouldn’t want to run into you in a dark alley, though.” He snorted a laugh.

I smirked. “Don’t worry, Pres. I’m not contagious.” My smile turned wolfish as I added, “But I do know a guy.”

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