Page 18 of Protected from Malice
As the officers split up—two of them heading back outside and the others moving through the house—Rafe turns to me. “Come on, Brain.” His lips curve slightly. “Let’s take a look at your hand. See if you need stitches.”
On numb legs, I let him lead me to the couch and sit me down. It’s the strangest feeling, like I’m a marionette with all my strings cut.
Sitting down beside me, Rafe takes my hand in his. Then he carefully unwinds the towel to look at the cut on my hand. He curses at the still-bleeding wound.
“I think it’ll be okay,” I tell him quietly. “Just a couple of bandages should be fine.”
Rafe keeps staring at my hand. In profile, his face is all hard lines and dark shadows.
“I wasn’t sure,” I start. “I thought… maybe I was imagining things. That I was just being paranoid. That the car last night was just bad luck.”
Or I hoped it was, at least.
“We’ll talk about it,” he finally replies. His jaw works. He wraps the towel around my hand again, his gentleness a contradiction to the fire in his eyes. “Not now. Not until I make sure you’re okay. But then—” His gaze meets mine. “Then you’re going to tell meeverything.”
CHAPTER 4
RAFE
Since we gotto the hotel, I haven’t been able to sit still.
Restless energy pulses through me in waves, each one bringing with it a fresh burst of emotion.
Rage.
Impotent frustration.
Worry.
Then back to white-hot fury again.
The second I try to sit down, I’m right back up, pacing around the room. Checking the locks at the door and the impromptu security system I set up with alarms loud enough to wake the dead if anyone dares try to come in.
From the door to the window, I stare out at the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars with suspicion. Wondering if any of them are hiding the person who broke into Eden’s house and cursing myself again for letting them go.
Iknowstaying with Eden was more important. There was never any question. Protecting Eden is more important than anything.
But shit. If I’d only been faster. If I’d… fuck. Donesomething.
Logic tells me there was nothing else I could do. But logic doesn’t make me feel any better while I’m stuck prowling this small hotel room and Eden is in the bathroom, quietly crying.
She’s trying to hide it. I know she is. But the small sniffles and shaky gasps that keep filtering through the bathroom door are a dead giveaway.
I thought I knew what helplessness felt like before.
Flying back to the States after my mother was killed in a car accident, seeing Indy so hurt back in Iraq, receiving that terrible call about Mandy…
But this is a helplessness I never expected—being forced to listen to Eden cry and not be able to do anything about it.
I know she’s safe. Relatively unharmed, aside from the cut on her hand that makes me want to put my fist through the wall. She won’t be alone and frightened again.
Now that I’m here, I’ll makedamnsure no one hurts her.
But it’s not enough.
Knowing she’s safe doesn’t heal the aching emptiness in my chest.
It doesn’t take away this instinctive need to comfort her. To burst into the bathroom and pull her into my arms like I did back at her house. Hold her until she stops crying.
