Page 20 of Edge of Secrets (The Edge Trilogy #2)

He backed away, gun wavering, swinging wildly. The gathered onlookers screamed, scattering like startled pigeons.

“You don’t need to shoot,” I said. “Who hired you?”

“Some stupid fuck. Shut up. Don’t talk to me.” He backed up farther. “Back off. Everybody! Get the fuck back!”

Then, suddenly, he turned and ran, his legs a blur, like a double-jointed cheetah.

Nell sagged down onto the sidewalk. I dropped to my knees to break her fall, held her up. Fished my cell phone from my pocket—only to realize my fingers were shaking too much to enter the number.

Damn. I must be getting soft. Going civilian.

It took me a few tries, but I finally got Gant’s phone ringing. At that moment, his car pulled up, and he unfolded his long, lanky self from the seat, holding up his ringing phone.

I stopped the call and dropped my phone back into my pocket. The asshole was long gone, but I relayed the info with weary precision.

“Three of them. One’s rabbiting down Great Jones Street.

Blond, six-one, jeans, gray sweatshirt, goatee.

Armed and dangerous. Glock 9mm. The other two are long gone.

One was a Black man, tall, thin. He ran, too.

The car was a silver Jeep Cherokee. Busted front passenger window.

Didn’t get the plates. Didn’t get a look at the driver. ”

Gant relayed the info into his radio. He was a square-jawed guy with cold blue eyes and sandy hair, buzzed off short. He looked down at Nell, still curled up on the sidewalk. “This is her?”

I pulled Nell to her feet. “Nell, this is Lt. John Gant of the NYPD.”

She swallowed, coughed. “Ah, hi. Good to meet you.”

“You okay, miss?” Gant asked.

“Been better,” she croaked. “I’ll be fine. I think.”

“Did he hit you? Hurt you?”

“She broke his nose,” I announced in ringing tones. “She broke that fucking son of a bitch’s nose. Saved my ass doing it, too.”

Gant blinked at the fierce pride in my voice. “Uh, wow. Hot damn. How’d you do that, miss?”

Nell held up the plastic shopping bag and fished out a massive volume that she could barely hold in one hand. “The complete works of E. E. Cummings,” she said. “Just bought it.” She started to giggle. “I had no idea what a good deal I was getting.”

Her face crumpled, and she covered her face with her hands. I stared at her in helpless dismay. Fuck. Again. Gant gave me the hairy eyeball and jerked his hand toward Nell, snapping his fingers sharply.

Hug her! Asshole! he mouthed.

I flipped him the bird behind Nell’s back and pressed my nose into her perfumed curls again, inhaling her scent.

The next couple of hours were long and grueling at the police station.

She spent a long time on my cell phone, pouring her heart out to her sisters, first one, then the other.

Hashing the whole thing out and filing the report took forever, and after a while, I started eyeing Nell’s pale, stiff face and staring eyes.

I wondered uneasily if I’d been stupid not to insist that she get medically evaluated.

She’d told everyone she was fine—maybe a bruise or two at most—but I hadn’t considered psychological damage.

I was as tough as boot leather myself. I was used to rough treatment.

I’d forgotten what a tooth-rattling, shocking insult that violence was to normal human beings.

Her hand was icy cold. I rubbed it between mine. “I need to get some food and a good stiff drink into her,” I said to Gant. “Can we finish this up another time?”

Gant studied Nell with narrowed eyes. “Miss D’Onofrio, do you have someone to stay with tonight?” He shot me a keen glance. “A family member, maybe?”

She looked lost, chewing on her soft, cushy lower lip. “Ah ...”

“She’s staying with me,” I blurted.

Nell blinked at me, startled. I stared back, willing her not to fight it. It seemed so obvious to me, so inevitable.

She let out a long breath in short, jerky segments and nodded. “I’ll stay with him,” she murmured to Gant.

A jolt of hot triumph shook me. Urgency, too. I wanted to get her home now. Trap her in my lair. Before she changed her mind.

I made sure the car service was waiting before I let her leave the building. There could be snipers after her, for all I knew. I bundled her hastily into the car and gave the driver my address.

“Wait,” Nell said. “My place, first.”

I rounded on her, ready for battle. She put her fingers over my mouth. “Shhh. Don’t start. I need to touch base. I need fresh clothes.”

“I’ll buy you clothes.”

“Not at one in the morning, you won’t,” she said. “And I need to check my answering machine. And pick up my laptop.”

“Those guys know where you live,” I growled. “I don’t want to come across like I’ve got no balls, but I wouldn’t mind avoiding any more mortal combat this evening. If it’s not too fucking much to ask.”

She tapped my lips again, gently. “Don’t be sarcastic. I am very aware of your big balls. But I doubt very much they’ll be lying in wait for me there tonight. We’ll park right outside the door, we’ll see if anyone’s there, we’ll only be inside for a few minutes. Please, Duncan.”

I settled back against the seat, defeated but disapproving. Her hand was no longer on my mouth. I missed it. It was almost worth it to me to goad her, just to see if she would try to silence me again. I could feel that soft, silky pressure again.

Then another possibility occurred to me.

I reached down and took her hand. A long and cautious minute later, her fingers curled around mine.

The city slipped by, but we were fixed in space.

We were the hub—the unmoving center of the universe—and the rest of the world was a shifting illusion swirling around us. But she was so warm, so soft.

“Thank you,” she said. “For saving my life.”

“Any fucking time.” I punctuated that statement by sliding my thumb into the warm recesses of her hand. I thought about the conference room table, and blood pounded in my ears. I fought it down. “I was, ah, wondering something.”

Her fingers tightened around mine. “Yes? What?”

“If that earns me enough points to cancel out whatever the hell it was I did to piss you off before.”

I braced myself, but she didn’t freak out. She just made an impatient gesture with her free hand. “That’s it, Duncan. That’s exactly the problem—this reductionist idea that you have, that everything can be reduced to an economic exchange. Human emotions don’t run on a point system.”

I sighed. “It’s a goddamn figure of speech, Nell,” I ground out.

“No, it’s not. Not with you. And not with me.” Her voice was soft but stubborn.

Aw, fuck. I drew comfort from the fact that she was still squeezing my hand.

“It’s been a hard night,” I said wearily. “This shit is complicated. Show me some fucking mercy, already.”

She grabbed me and gave me a quick, awkward hug. “Okay,” she whispered. “I can be merciful. I hereby grant you points—lots of points. Are you happy now?”

“Very,” I said. And I was. Hard, too. Like a diamond. I wanted to roll her onto the cushy leather seat and just have at her.

“One question,” she said. “How did you happen to conveniently be there when they attacked? Were you following me?”

Tension gripped me. Here was where I tiptoed over blown glass.

“Yeah, I was,” I admitted. “I, uh, wanted to apologize. But I’m not great at it. And you were crying, and that intimidated me. I didn’t even know what the hell I was apologizing for. So I stalled—until I saw that asshole in the gray sweatshirt.”

“And then I got attacked,” she said.

“You have to admit, it was a great opening,” I offered. “Works like electroshock therapy. The woman just forgets what she’s mad about.”

She snorted with laughter. “Uh, yeah. Right.”

“No, really,” I said. “If not for those guys, you’d still be pissed as hell, and I’d still be as confused as ever.” I paused. “I’m still confused,” I admitted. “And you’re probably still pissed. But at least you’re talking to me. That’s progress.”

She harrumphed. “Talk about looking on the bright side.”

“I might as well,” I said.

The car stopped outside her door. I told the driver to wait and got out, peering around the street before I let her out. I blocked her body with mine as she unlocked the door, then scanned every twist of the echoing stairwell before letting her proceed.

Her apartment was crammed with books, leaving barely any space to move.

The bathtub in the kitchen was covered with a wooden top.

A tiny water closet sat in the corner, and a half-sized refrigerator was tucked beneath the counter.

A two-burner gas range and a toaster oven completed the picture. I’d never seen a place so small.

While she hustled around, pulling a suitcase from her closet, I studied the photos on the wall. Most of them were of two young women and a distinguished-looking elderly woman in different combinations and settings.

“This is your mother and sisters?” I asked.

She glanced up from where she knelt in front of a small chest of drawers. “Yes.”

I studied them. Pretty, like Nell, but in different ways. “They don’t look anything like you,” I observed.

“We’re all adopted,” Nell said. “Lucia took us in as foster children when we were teenagers.”

That information made me curious about what had shaped her—what had made her so smart, so difficult. But not tonight. There would be other chances. I hoped.

She looked exhausted, staring down at two different T-shirts in her hands as if she couldn’t decide which one to bring.

“Pack both,” I advised. “You’re not coming back for a while.”

She shot me a narrow glance. I walked over and knelt beside her. She swayed back slightly, her eyes going wide and wary as I pulled open her first drawer. My fingers closed around a fistful of silky fabric. Panties, stockings. I dropped the tangled wad into the open suitcase.

“Pack a lot,” I said softly.

Her eyes dropped, color rising in her face. Her nipples tightened against the stretchy fabric of her stained, rumpled dress.