Page 35 of Protected from Malice (Blade and Arrow Shadow Team #1)

I look up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” He stops. His jaw works. “I’m just going to miss you.”

If my heart wasn’t a puddle already, it sure is now.

And before I can stop myself, the words that have been spinning in my head for days, weeks—if I’m honest with myself, years—come spilling out.

“I love you.”

Rafe’s face jolts in surprise. “What?”

My cheeks go hot. “I know it’s not the right time. Standing here outside my work like this. But… I do. I love you. So much. It’s okay if you’re not there yet. I don’t expect you to say it back, I wasn’t planning to say it today but it just came out, and?—”

Augh. Stop babbling. Just stop.

“Anyway,” I blather on, “I mean it. I love you. Everything about you. And I know you have this idea about me needing a white knight, but it’s not true. I need you. Just?—”

Rafe silences me with a kiss.

Then he looks at me, and everything he’s feeling is right there in his eyes.

“Eden.” He swallows. “I love you, too. And whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.

Protection. Safety. Someone to bring you to work.

To counseling. Someone to play trivia with.

To cook for you. Everything you need, Eden.

I want to be the man who gives it to you. ”

Oh.

My nose prickles. My vision blurs. To keep myself from crying, I bury my face in his neck. Once I wrest back control of my emotions, I lean back and meet his gaze. “Everything you need, Rafe. I’ll give it to you, too.”

“Brain.” He strokes my cheek. “You already have.”

I was a little worried being back at work would feel strange, but it’s been reassuringly normal.

Aside from the initial ‘ how are you feeling ’s and ‘ good to see you back ’s and from one lab tech who tends to talk before thinking, ‘ I can’t believe someone tried to kill you! But I’m so glad you’re okay ,’ I was able to settle back into my regular routine fairly quickly.

Walking back into the lab to see all the equipment ready and waiting for me, catching up with the rest of my research team, even sitting in my lumpy office chair that I can never quite manage to set at the right height… It was exactly what I needed.

Normalcy.

Feeling productive again.

Making progress towards a goal more than two decades in the making.

I don’t talk about it much—my dad’s death and how it’s pushed me to go into medical research—but it’s always there in the back of my mind. I’ll never forget watching him grow progressively sicker; watching his body fail him even though his brilliant mind was still so strong.

There had to be a way , I told myself back then. With all the advances in medicine, there had to be a way to fix him.

Two decades ago, there wasn’t.

Now? There could be, if only this drug I’ve been working on succeeds. I know it won’t bring my dad back, but if I can prevent other people from losing their loved ones, it will all be worth it.

Just a couple more weeks, and I’ll hopefully hear back about the CTA application.

If it’s accepted, we move on to phase one trials.

It’s not a sure thing at that point, by any means, but it’s one step closer to bringing the treatment to market.

And once it’s there? Honestly, I’m not sure what’s next for me.

Another disease to research? Maybe a shift to working at a university? Or?—

If I’m still with Rafe, maybe kids are an option. He’s already forty, but lots of men have kids way older than that. I know he’ll claim he wouldn’t be a good dad, but that’s patently untrue. Rafe would be a wonderful father.

Although, if we have a girl, her prospective boyfriends might not agree.

A rueful chuckle slips out before I can stifle it. Look at me, already thinking about kids with Rafe when we haven’t even talked about where he’ll be living next month.

A quick glance up and down the hallway reassures me that, fortunately, no one’s around to hear me laughing to myself. Not that I haven’t seen other people laughing or talking to themselves while they walk around the building, but still. It would be a little embarrassing.

I’m in the clear, though. The hallway leading to the employee lounge is empty, which is actually pretty surprising. Usually when I make my mid-morning trip to get a cappuccino from the vending machine, I run into at least one or two people with the same goal as me.

No, the cappuccino isn’t very good. It’s from a vending machine, after all. But it’s much quicker to head to the lounge than the coffee shop two blocks down. Plus, I promised Rafe I wouldn’t leave the building alone.

Could I? Sure. With Gayla, Chris, and the original would-be kidnapper in jail, heading outside on my own is perfectly safe.

But do I want to go out on my own? Not really. Not yet. Not when the memories are still so fresh.

As I push open the door leading to the lounge, I recall what my counselor said at our last appointment.

“Baby steps, Eden. You’ve been through a lot in a short time.

It’s normal to have some anxiety. Don’t think of asking for help as a weakness.

It’s a strength. And the people who care about you; they want to help. ”

It’s an attitude shift, for sure—going from hiding my struggles to openly admitting them.

But she’s right. I didn’t ask for help before, and it just made things worse.

So this time, I tell Rafe when I have a nightmare.

I talk to Indy about things I used to worry might upset him.

And I might— might —even tell my mom about everything. Eventually.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice the man standing by the vending machine right away. Which, great job . I only just escaped two kidnapping attempts and an attempted murder. Maybe I should be a little more observant?

To be fair, the building is very secure. It’s not like random people can just waltz in off the street. You either have to be an employee or be approved through HR to visit. But really, I should try to be more aware of my surroundings, even here. Rafe would. So would Indy. Which means I should, too.

My hand is still on the door when the man turns around to look at me.

He’s wearing a suit, which is unusual for this part of the building, and at first glance, he looks to be somewhere in his late twenties.

Kind of conventionally attractive, with that floppy hair some of the guys like, and a tan that looks too dark for the early spring Portland weather.

I can’t help the initial rush of anxiety that comes with being alone in a room with a strange man. But I try to push past it, forcing a reluctant smile as I meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he starts, shooting me a quick smile in return, “do you know how this machine works?”

The instant I hear his voice, my heart stops.

“I’m here visiting my college buddy,” he continues, “but he’s meeting with his dad right now, so he sent me here to grab some coffee. Matt Langworthy. You know his dad, I’m sure. He’s…”

He trails off as recognition washes across his face.

A beat later, he tries to mask it.

This stranger—the origin of my nightmares—rakes his hand through his hair. A large, gold ring glints beneath the fluorescent lights.

A ring that looks an awful lot like a fraternity ring.

A fraternity ring I tried to describe to the police, but I couldn’t remember enough about it to be useful. Not in my terror. Not when my vision was blurred with tears.

“Well,” he says as he takes a step towards me. “I think I’ll just go to the coffee shop instead.”

Instinct screams at me to run.

But my body is frozen.

I can’t speak. Can’t move.

My brain is stuck on a loop; hearing his voice over and over.

Hearing that distinctive, hoarse, southern twang, not talking about coffee, but threatening me. Warning me to be quiet. Telling me I’d hurt so much worse if I tried to fight back.

It’s him.

It’s him .

I never saw his face, but I know it’s him.

His voice. His ring.

I know it.

A low, keening sound works its way up my throat.

Tremors ripple though my body.

It’s him.

How can this be?

“Hey.” His voice deepens. His eyes narrow as he stares at me.

Then he takes another step forward.

My heart feels like it’s about to explode from fear.

The logical part of my brain shouts, Run! Get out of here! Get away from him!

But my stupid muscles won’t work.

His gaze flickers to the door. As he continues advancing towards me, he seems to get taller. Bigger. Even more threatening. “I think we need to have a talk,” he says, “before you get any crazy ideas.”

Move!

Run!

Don’t just stand here like a willing victim!

What would Rafe do?

He’d fight back. But that’s not an option for me. Not without my pepper spray and taser, which are unhelpfully back in my office.

But I can run.

Call for help.

The man keeps moving.

My lungs seize.

Run!

RUN!

And like a damn bursting, my body springs into action.

I spin around and bolt through the door.

I can hear his footsteps behind me, gaining in speed.

There’s no one else in the hallway except for us.

What if he tackles me? What if?—

No.

Think of Rafe.

Think of his confidence. He wouldn’t think of what could go wrong. He’d just focus on what needs to be done. Getting away from the man who attacked me. Calling for help.

Calling Rafe .

Belatedly, I remember my phone tucked in my pocket. But I don’t dare slow down enough to use it.

I need a hiding spot. But my office is too far away.

Think.

A frantic glance up ahead gives me an idea.

“Wait,” the man calls from behind me. He’s even closer than before. So close?—

NO.

There’s a bathroom. Two doors up ahead, on the right. I can go in there.

Putting on a burst of speed, I lunge for the doorknob, praying the room’s not already in use.

My hand is so sweaty, it nearly slips off the knob as I grab it. But it turns. Oh, thank you, it turns.

I yank the door open and lunge inside, then slam it shut behind me. With shaking hands, I twist the lock just as a thunk sounds on the other side of the door.

Sliding down to the floor, I press my back against the door, as if my weight might keep the man from breaking it down.

He wouldn’t. Right? Not here? Where anyone could come by and see him.

But then again, where is everyone? Why is no one making a coffee run right now?

Then it hits me.

The owner’s son is in town, visiting. And to celebrate, there’s a brunch being offered in the conference room in the east wing. A brunch I vaguely remember reading about in an email, but immediately put out of mind because of everything else going on.

So everyone is probably there.

Except me. And the man on the other side of the door.

Call Rafe.

Describe the man to him. Have him… what? Call the police? Send someone? Can he get here in time?

It takes me three tries to dial Rafe’s number, and by the time the call goes through, I’m sobbing so hard I can’t even talk.

“Hey, Brain,” he answers. “Are you—” His cheerful tone shifts to a worried one. “Baby. What’s wrong? Is it too much, being there? Do you want to go home now?”

“It’s him. Oh, Rafe.” My voice cracks. “It’s him.”

“What?”

“In the lounge,” I stammer. “I heard his voice. The man who—” Another crack. “I know it’s him, Rafe. I never saw his face, but I know his voice. I… I hear it in my nightmares. It’s him.”

“Fuck.” A car door slams. “Eden. Where are you now?”

“In the bathroom. In the west wing of the building, on the basement level. I—” A sob escapes. “I think he’s still outside the door. Waiting.”

“Is the door locked?”

I cast a frantic look at it. “Yes.”

“Okay. I want you to stay right there. I’m on my way.”

“Rafe.” My voice wobbles. “I’m scared.”

“Baby. It’s okay.” Rafe pauses. A burst of chatter—women excitedly talking about happy hour this evening—cuts in. Then silence again. “Eden. What does he look like?”

I squinch my eyes shut, as if it could protect me from the memory. “He’s wearing a gray suit with a… a blue plaid button-down. A small pattern. And his hair… it’s short in the back but long in the front. Kind of… floppy.”

“Good, baby. You’re doing really well. What else?”

“He has blue eyes. Thick eyebrows. Brown, like his hair. And he’s wearing a fraternity ring, I think.”

Rafe exhales heavily. “Okay.” I can practically hear his jaw grinding. “Okay. Just stay there, baby. Alright? I’m on my way.”

“Should… should I call the police?”

There’s a brief hesitation before he replies darkly, “No. We don’t need the police.” And then, with the promise of danger in his voice, “ I’ll take care of it.”