Reid leaned slightly toward Eleanor.
“Your car’s down the block, right?”
She nodded.
“Go get in. Drive home.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll call a ride. I’m not letting them follow you.”
“Reid—”
“Eleanor.”
His voice softened.
“Date’s over. Not because I want it to be.”
A beat.
“Because this is where I draw the line.”
The reporters shouted again.
“Did Mercer kill her?”
“Are you blocking the investigation?”
Reid stepped more firmly between her and the lights.
“Go,” he murmured.
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
He walked her to the car, his hand steady at the small of her back.
He opened the door.
Flashbulbs exploded again.
She looked up at him.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I did.”
He leaned closer so only she could hear.
“You don’t have to fight them alone anymore,” Reid said, his voice a low vibration beneath the noise of the crowd.
A beat.
“Not here,” he said quietly. “Not ever again.”
Eleanor looked at him, and for the first time, she didn’t see the district attorney or a potential conflict of interest.
