Page 70 of Guilty as Sin
“Then,” he said, “who are you?”
“I’m a cop.”
He had to take a minute. “Where?” he finally asked.
“San Francisco. Lily was worried about the sale, about the pressure she was getting. I wanted to help her. I switched with her for a while so I could deal with it. I never planned to hurt anybody. I never wanted to hurt you. It was weak of me. I’m sorry.”
That was the second time she’d said that.Weak.Like it was the worst thing there was. “And the gunshot wounds?”
She closed her eyes, opened them again, and he saw pain. More than physical. “I was shot. At work. That’s why I could come up here.”
She was trembling. Too much tension. Too much fatigue. Her hand shook on the glass as she lifted it to her lips, and she winced when it hit her mouth. He let her take her drink, took the glass from her, set it down on the bedside table, and said, “Bathroom’s there. Extra towels in the cupboard. Do you need my help for the shower?”
“No. I can do it.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. Please. If you’d just… leave me. Let me. Please.”
Her self-control, her strength, her courage were just about used up, and she couldn’t stand to let him see them go. He got it. He hated it.
He stood up. “Use my toothbrush if you like. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He left her, then, because she wanted him to.
He felt a hundred years old. He felt like he’d run twenty miles in battle kit.
The problem was—he knew she felt so much worse.
Jace woke up fast, rolled off the couch in the dark, and was on his feet, reaching for the Glock on the table along the way.
Beside him, Tobias whined.
He heard it again. A startled cry. Coming from the loft.
He was up the stairs two at a time, hugging the wall, silent in his bare feet, the dog at his heels. His eyes used to the dark, and seeing only one thing when he got up there. A woman sitting up in bed. Sobbing now.
“Lil—” he began to say, then remembered. “Paige. What’s wrong?” He was at the bed now, sitting beside her, setting the Glock on the table. His heart was still knocking against his ribs like it wanted to get out, but for a different reason now.
She had her good hand spread over her face like she could keep the bad things out or the pain in, and was rocking back and forth, gasping with the force of her sobs. “Paige,” he said, and got an arm around her. She shook her head violently, then gasped again, and he knew why. Because her head hurt, and her mind hurt more. Because she was back there.
“I’m coming,” she said from behind her hand. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Hang on. I’ll get you out. Just hang on.”
He had both arms around her now. “Paige. It’s a flashback. You’re here with me. With Jace. Come on, now. Breathe with me. In.” He hauled in a breath. “Out. In. Out.”
He kept up the count. She didn’t respond at first, and then she did. He kept rocking her, keeping the motion rhythmic, and felt her agitation gradually easing.
Finally, her hand came down from her face. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re all good, no worries. You’re here with me. You’re in my bed, and I’m right here with you. You’re safe. I’ve got you. It’s all over. Count to ten with me on the breaths. One. In and out. Two. In and out.”
Talking. A flow of words, gentle and steady, giving her something to focus on. Breath. The simplest thing there was, and the most important. And when she was lying back, limp, he pulled the pillows up behind her, settled her gently back onto them, and said, “Stay there. Keep breathing.”
“Don’t leave me,” she said, sounding so exhausted. So beaten. “Please. I know you hate me, but please. Please stay.”
This pain. It was a physical thing, squeezing his chest. “I’m not going to leave you. And I don’t hate you. I’m getting you more water and a towel, and then I’ll be back.”
“Thank you.” Spoken so quietly, he could barely hear it.
He was back in thirty seconds, leaving the bathroom light on behind him, because light helped. The bad things loved to lurk in the dark, trapping you there, leaving you nowhere to run. He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her good right side up against him, because touch could help, too, could anchor you here, keep you in the now. She drank her water, and he took the glass away and handed her the towel. When she’d mopped her face with it, she sighed and said, “It wasn’t like a dream. It was like it was happening again.Reallyhappening.”
