I lower the weapon and set it on the table.
“Easy, angel.”
My voice comes out rougher than I want.
Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out.
She sways once.
I step closer, slow enough not to spook her.
“Remember me? You looked at me back there,” I say. “I’m getting you out.”
Her breath shudders.
She tries to answer and only manages a broken little sound.
That lands right in the center of my chest.
I shrug out of my suit jacket and hold it out.
“Put this on, angel.”
Her fingers shake when she reaches for it.
She almost misses one sleeve.
I help her without thinking, careful and slow, sliding the jacket over her shoulders and pulling it closed around her. The thing swallows her whole.
Good.
Better.
Covered.
Her knees buckle.
I catch her before she hits the floor.
She gasps and grabs a fistful of my shirt, weak but desperate.
“I know,” I murmur, one arm under her knees, the other braced across her back as I lift her. “I know.”
She feels too right in my arms.
Soft curves. Warm weight. Made to fit there, even shaking like she might come apart.
A fresh wave of violence rolls through me at the feel of her against my chest.
She presses her face into me like she cannot help it, like her body has made a choice before the rest of her catches up.
My jaw locks.
“I’ve got you, angel.”
Her grip tightens.
That’s enough.
I turn and carry her out into the cold night.
Nobody touches her again.
