Page 83 of Looking Grimm

It never felt like an option not to. Even when I was tempted to blow off Tobin and Felix’s pleas for help, leaving the Lyles to die at Grimm’s hand was not an acceptable loss. They were a lone, lingering part of my life before the Bloody Hex, reminders of a time when things were different. WhenIwas different.

I nibbled my lip ring. “You’re one of the last people who remembers when I was good.”

Holland’s features went slack, and she turned away. She looked like she wanted to pace, rather than move, she pressed her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes, smudging the day-old makeup.

“What am I going to do with you?” she groaned.

It wasn’t a question I could answer.

Her cheeks puffed through a noisy exhale as her hands fell limply at her sides. “Frankly, you aren’t safe here. I can’t control the people or their opinions, and I’m afraid a single good deed does not outweigh a decade of bad ones…” Another long breath preceded her conclusion, “I don’t want to punish you, Fitch. I think you’ve been punished enough.”

It reminded me of our conversation in the bistro when she’d threatened to arrest me. She was ever aware of protocol and procedure and of the polarity between her position and mine. I’d asked her before what the other options were, but I couldn’t bring myself to wonder now.

Behind her, the glass doors swung inward. Nash barreledinto the building, his red hair ablaze in the afternoon sun.

At the sight of him, a stifling weight lifted off me. I stood and shouldered past Holland in a scrambling dash. Nash and I met in the open middle of the room where I flung myself into his arms. He hugged them tightly around me, lifting me onto my tiptoes in a rib-crushing embrace.

It hurt every bruised and broken bone in my body, but I’d never felt anything so good.

He nuzzled into my hair, planting kisses between breathless whispers. “You did it. You fucking did it.” Grabbing my shoulders, he shoved me back and pinned me with a stern but teary glare. “And you’re never doing it again. That scared the shit outta me.”

He dragged me in again, grabbing my cheeks and kissing me fiercely on the lips. When he withdrew the second time, he fixed his eyes on mine as he asked, “Where’s Grimm?”

Breathless and suddenly choked, I glanced at the reception desk and the crime scene it obscured. “He’s gone,” I rasped. “They’re all gone.”

Nash didn’t look at anything but me as he replied, “Good.”

My eyes ached from too much crying, and they burned dry now. I squeezed them shut as if blanking out the reality of what surrounded me could make it all go away. Everyone could go away, too. Everyone but him.

I felt Nash tense and peered out to see the cause. Holland had closed the distance to us and stood a few feet away, visibly reluctant to interrupt.

Nash stepped up beside me. He tucked me under his arm and against his side as he faced the investigator. I snuck a glimpse of his features in profile. They were set and stern ina way I was coming to recognize. Assertive. Protective. Of me.

I pressed harder into him, and he responded with a reassuring squeeze around my shoulders.

“Mister Nash, is it?” Holland asked him.

“It is,” he replied.

Holland extended her hand for a shake. “I understand I also have you to thank for what happened out there.”

Nash stood, unmoving. “Respectfully, Miss Lyle, I didn’t do it for you.”

Holland’s cheeks pinked, and she let her hand drop. “Regardless, the city is in your debt. And Mister Vaughn’s, as well.”

The reminder prompted me to peel myself off Nash long enough to ask, “Is Rip all right? And Maggie?”

“They cleared out,” he told me, then added to Holland, “But I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He had yet to relax. His stance was set, and his fingers dug into my bicep while he stood snugly against me. The mention of Ripley and Maggie’s departure spoke for what he doubtless wanted, as well. He must have wondered what we were all waiting for.

“Nash—” I stopped myself, then corrected sheepishly, “Nick, do you mind giving me a minute? Loose ends and all.”

The corners of his mouth dipped in a frown before he loosened his grip on me.

“You’ve met Briggs.” I nudged him toward where the older man loitered beside a cluster of potted plants. “He was my dad’s partner. I think you’ll like him.”

In Nash’s absence, Holland ventured closer. While the other men engaged in awkward conversation, she turnedtoward me with a wistful smile.

---