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“Shh! Listen, Reggie. Estrada wants me to change my story so Matteo walks, to keep him from talking in exchange for a deal,” I hiss, eyes torn between drinking in Reggie's wonderful tear-stained face or staring at the heap of human scum bleeding on the carpet.

“That means whoever the mole is doesn’t know about your flash drive evidence.”

“And they didn’t know that the wedding was fake.”

“It’s not a field agent, then. It’s someone with limited clearances but who’s in Powell’s inner circle. Someone who only hears bits and pieces but knows enough to turn off the GPS tracking on your phone. Fortunately,” Reggie snags my purse off the top of the cracked TV, “we had backup. My phone.”

“Tell me more in the car. We have to get out of here.”

“Yes. We do. We have to get far,farout of here.” Reggie hesitates at the door, looking at the kidnapper. “This is a bad man. A killer. A kidnapper. A terrorist, a trafficker, and God-knows-what-else. I am a protector of the innocent. I cannot let a man like this exist.”

I swallow. I know what he wants to do. Part of me agrees. A larger part just wants to get away safely. “I need to pee.”

“Understandable. Make it fast, okay?”

“I will.”

I barely make it to the toilet. The trip is two-fold. I figure we might be in the car for a while, and I don’t want to know what’s happening outside in the hotel room. I hear the door open and close, and then a soft, reassuring voice says, “Don’t worry, honey. Just putting out the trash.”

“How very domestic of you.”

“Some gorgeous, smart woman told me I’m good husband material. Do you need help? Your hands probably aren’t working too well.”

Okay. I’m marrying this man. For real.

This man saved my life—and now he offers to help me use the toilet because my hands are still half-numb stumps with purple fingers that won’t bend.

“I’ve finished the necessary part, but I can’t button up.” I’d managed to push the button through with my thumb (which was still numb but solid enough to do the job). Pulling the button back through while holding the buttonhole steady is another matter.

Before I can blink, Reggie is next to me in the tiny, dusty bathroom. He washes both of our hands with lukewarm water and sticky orange soap from a broken bottle on the wall. Once we’re clean, he stands behind me and buttons my shorts like a pro.

“How?”

“Injured friends. Scared children. Sick people. I protected so many... But I didn’t protect you. My love, please—”

“I forgive you. This wasn’t your fault, and even if it was, I would forgive you a million times. I love you, you big gray tank,” I manage a feeble laugh. Reggie smiles at me as he turns me to face him. “I was so scared,” I breathe out as I collapse on his chest, safe in the muscular shield of his arms.

“I know, babe, I know. It’s all my fault, I—”

“How is it your fault? You didn’tdoany of this. I know someone did something to you to allow this to happen, to create the opportunity. I even thought to myself—” I look up at him, eyes overflowing, “I thought to myself, ‘They killed Reggie. That’s the only way they could get to me.’ But even though they took your powers somehow, you still saved me from the—where are they?”

“Behind the dumpster.” Reggie picks me up again, even though I was limping along.

This time, I don’t ask if the men are alive or not.

Chapter Seventeen

In the car, we watch the police descend, but we’re not there to talk to them. Not in person.

“If those guys die, I could be charged. I don’t care, but it’s going to make our wedded bliss a little iffy,” Reggie eases the car into traffic.

“But you were saving me! I’ll tell them!”

“I know, but they might argue that I used unnecessary force. I can’t really explain that I’m a golem. My regular force could crush a car if I wanted.”

“And yet you’re still so gentle,” I sigh, snuggled up against him, seatbelt straining across my chest.

“There have been way too many cases of victims and heroes getting sued or arrested because they saved someone’s life by putting a hurt on the real threat. And while you sit still, waiting to be on the witness stand for Delgado, or Estrada, or those shitheads, or God forbidme, you’ll be a sitting duck. But you can tell me to drive you straight to police headquarters or down to D.C., and I’ll do it.”