Page 116 of A Secret and a Lie
He chuckles roughly just as the bright sunshine hits my face, and I turn to face him now that we’re on the busy sidewalk, a lunchtime crowd bustling around us. “Remind me not to become your enemy.”
I grin, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He blushes, his pale complexion pinkening.
“You’re such a good boy,” I murmur, for his ears only. His neck and cheeks shift from pink to red, and my smile widens. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The moment I take a step back, a thunderouscrackbooms through the sunshine like a bolt of lightning and hands grip my shoulders from behind. I’m tossed to the ground as Elliott’s body jerks, a full-body flinch that tosses him against the wall of the bistro as if he’s a ragdoll.
Something partially blocks my vision, but I still catch sight of the white bricks now stained bright crimson as streaks drip down the wall, pooling around Elliott’s slumped body that’s now on the ground. My eyes triple in size, my stomach churning as my throat constricts.
A volcano of noise erupts around me, and I think I cry out, scream maybe, adding to the cacophony. I attempt to move, but the strong bands holding me down tighten.
“I’ve got you, Gen. You’re safe. James is bringing the car around.”
The words settle around me like snow, the deep, smoky sound cocooning me in peaceful protection. Seconds later, my husband’s arms lift me into the air as I’m whisked toward the street.
Over Ford’s shoulder, I watch as first responders gather around Elliott, but their bodies block his face from view so I can’t tell if he’s alive. Based on the amount of blood on the sidewalk, it doesn’t look good.
Ford shoves me into the backseat of the SUV, and James pulls away from the scene before Ford’s even shut the door behind him. It’s not until I curl into his body, my hip jammed against something harder than muscle that everything off about this situation slams into me.
“Why are you dressed in full tactical gear?” I ask as I rear back, glancing at the gun wedged between us. “And what the fuck was that back there? Why were you even there?”
I was meant to be doing this on my own. He wasn’t supposedto be here. I wasn’t wearing a wire, so how did he know something was going down? Unless—
“Drake and I were…monitoring the situation.”
I want to be mad at him for watching me, but how can I be angry about that? Besides, I don’t want to be upset with him. Not when he was looking out for me; not when he saved my life…
After all, he didn’t actually intervene in my meeting with Elliott, only when I was actually in danger.He loves me.
My heart leaps as if a ballerina is performing in my chest just as it did when he told me the first time. The words almost hurt, spreading through every cell in my body like an inflammatory disease. But the kind of plight that I wouldn’t mind succumbing to. Iwanthis love, covet it.
“I don’t think that bullet was meant for Elliott,” he mumbles. A bubble of silence fills the car, the muted sound of heavy traffic and air conditioning unable to pierce the quiet stretching between us.
There’s a stern set to his eyebrows, his lips pressed into a firm line, and he appears aggravated, angry even. Then he stretches his fingers, the veins in his forearms bulging, before fisting them tightly.
“Where’s the shooter—”
“We’ll talk later, in private,” Ford interrupts me, but it’s his sharp glare that shuts me up, and I zip my mouth closed.
Genevieve
“Don’t we need to check in with Drake?” I ask as we step into the foyer of the penthouse.
“Later,” he grumbles. Scooping me into his arms, my stilettos clatter to the floor as he carries me into the primary bathroom. As soon as I glance in the mirror, I understand why he brought me straight here. Blood and dust are caked onto my skin, coating my body and clothing in a layer of debris from the white brick that crumbled around me as bullets lodged themselves in the wall.
He sets me on the black marble counter next to the porcelain sink and my eyes track him, shamelessly admiring his sculpted ass in his black pants as he moves around the bathroom. Now that the danger has subsided and the adrenaline is waning, I’m able to appreciate just how good he looks in his gear, like a warrior, and I make a mental note to ask to see more photos of his days with the Marines.
Placing a first aid kit next to me, he twists the knob to run some hot water. There’s tension to his jaw as he waits for the water to heat, and he rubs at the back of his neck before dampening a small washcloth. When he steps in front of me, his blue gaze is stony, lips pressed in a flat line, and his broad shoulders are bunched up tight.
“Ford,” I whisper, but he shakes his head. “Are you—”
“Dammit, Gen,” he exclaims sharply, dragging a palm down his face and across his mouth. When he blows out a breath, I don’tget the sense that he’s…angry, but things aren’t quite adding up. My eyebrows pinch as he lifts the rag, swiping it over my cheek. “Just…let me clean you up.”
I don’t speak again as he continues to glide the warm cloth over my face, neck, and arms, a heavy silence blanketing the bathroom as the minutes pass.
“You could’ve died, Genevieve,” he murmurs finally, unfolding my hands in my lap so he can clean my palms with a new rag. “I could’ve lost you.”
Oh.
