Page 75 of No Good Fight

A door slams on his end. “Did you touch it?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“No. Marcy’s here. The office is full.”

“Back away from the desk.”

“I did.”

“Good. Don’t let anyone touch it.” His voice goes flat, controlled, and worse than yelling. “I’m coming.”

“You have shift.”

“I’m coming.”

The call ends.

I lower the phone and find Marcy watching me.

“Ryder’s coming,” I say, which is unnecessary since my face probably announced it with a full marching band.

Marcy nods once, telling me that she’s kept quiet for a whole lot of reasons that I’m not going to look too closely at right now. “Sam, unlock the front door and make sure that he knows.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Is Ryder going to break the door?”

“Not if it’s unlocked.”

“I hate that that’s a reasonable answer,” I mutter.

Marcy glances at me. “Sit in my office.”

“No.”

“Alex.”

“If I sit down, I’m going to start thinking.” I keep one hand on the back of my chair and stare at the folded page. “And shaking. And I might throw up. I can’t do that yet.”

So I stand there.

For six minutes.

Ryder reaches the newsroom in six minutes wearing his department uniform and the kind of face that makes Sam step backward into the filing cabinet. He comes through the open door fast, but not loud. His eyes find me before they find the desk.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head.

He stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell soap and the cold air from outside on his clothes. His hand lifts, but he catches it before he touches me in front of the entire office.

I almost reach for him.

That scares me badly enough that I fold both arms over my stomach.

Ryder sees that too.

“What’s been touched?” he asks Marcy, though his eyes stay on my face.