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“Whoa,” she says, steadying me before I can stumble. "Breathe, sweetheart. You look like you just saw a ghost."
I blink up at her. Jordan James-Fitzwallace.
She’s stunning—poised and confident, her eyes sharp with intelligence. She’s in an emerald-green evening gown, but there’s nothing delicate about her. The way she carries herself, the way her gaze sweeps the room, tells me she’s used to being in control.
“I—sorry,” I murmur. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
JJ studies me, and I know instantly that she sees too much.
“You don’t want to be here, do you?” she asks, voice pitched low enough that no one else can hear.
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
She glances toward the group of men Hector is talking to, her gaze flicking back to me with a new kind of scrutiny. “Is it safe for you?”
The question knocks the air from my lungs.
“What?”
“Are. You. Safe?” JJ enunciates each word, her eyes locking onto mine.
I open my mouth to say yes. To tell her Hector isn’t like that. That he’s important, that I have no reason to be afraid, but I don’t. Because Hector isn’t safe, and I don’t know why, but JJ already sees it.
She gives a quiet sigh of understanding. “Not all abused women are taken by terrorists.”
The words dig under my skin, hitting raw nerves I’ve spent years burying. She isn’t just talking about the women she and her husband’s organization, Cerberus, rescue. She’s talking about me.
Before I can think of a response, she pulls a sleek black card from her clutch and presses it into my hand.
“My personal number,” she says. “If you ever need help, call me.”
I stare at the card, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “Why are you doing this?”
JJ’s expression softens, but there’s steel beneath it. “Because I’ve seen your face before, sweetheart. On too many women. If you ever decide you want out, I’ll make sure you get the help you’ll need.”
I swallow, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “I don’t need saving.”
Her lips twitch slightly. “Don’t you? Besides, it never hurts to have a backup plan.”
Hector’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. “Cherise.”
I stiffen as he strides toward me, his easy charm laced with warning. His gaze flicks to JJ, sharp and assessing. “I see you’ve met my wife.”
JJ doesn’t flinch. “We were just chatting.”
Hector slides an arm around my waist, his grip too tight, his fingers digging into my ribs. “Cherise, come,” he says smoothly. “We have important people to speak with.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and allow him to steer me away. But as we move through the crowd, I can feel JJ’s eyes on me. Watching. Calculating.
Hector leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “I hope you weren’t embarrassing yourself.”
I force a smile. “Of course not.”
“Good.” He brushes his lips against my temple—a show for the crowd, nothing more. “You know how much I hate being disappointed.”
I nod, knowing all too well. I slip the card into my clutch, my fingers shaking.
Because for the first time in years, someone saw me. They saw the truth. And that terrifies me more than anything.