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“Mark,” she whispers, wrapping a slim arm around my waist. “I was so afraid I’d lost you.”
Her lips press against my neck, and her breath hiccups. I reach for her chin and lift her lips to mine, kissing her gently. I taste the salt of her tears; I feel the damp on her cheek, and everything in me is focused on comforting her.
For the first time since we left the club, the tension in my chest eases. I tighten my hold on this woman who will be my wife. This woman I will never let go to prison for ridding the world of one of the most hideous monsters I’ve ever encountered.
I kiss her head, wanting to hold her until the fear subsides. At the same time, we don’t have a moment to lose. Gavin has shown his hand, and we have to move fast before he starts destroying evidence we can use against him. If Gavin recorded everything, that means he has Lara’s reason for killing Guy somewhere on video as well.
I intend to find it.
“Lara?” My voice is gentle. “I love you.”
Her body relaxes more, and I hug her closer. I can’t remember if I’ve said those words out loud since our reunion. I’ve shown her so many ways, with my body, with my plans. I’ve asked her to marry me…
“I love you,” she whispers, and my planning momentarily stalls. I’m fucking king of the world.
I hug her closer, kissing her head, relishing this moment, and my mind is flying, hours down the road.
“We have to go to New Orleans, my love.” I kiss her head again. “Now. We don’t have time to lose.”
She nods against my chest, seeming to understand the urgency. I hold her a bit longer until she sits up and pushes her hair away from her face. She touches the tears away, and with all the warmth burning in my chest, I watch as she summons that incredible strength she’s always had.
I saw it the first time she climbed the ladder after falling. I saw it again on that train to Canada, and now, after being hit with a low blow, I see it rise again.
“I’ll tell Roland. We can be ready to leave as soon as you are.”
* * *
Lara
Molly stands at the dresser, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
She’s defiant, but she doesn’t know what I’m up against. She wasn’t there when I killed Guy, and I’ve never seen a reason to tell her about it. I’m not looking to give her another excuse to justify her vigilantism.
“We’re going back to New Orleans. Mark booked us tickets to leave in two hours.”
“I’m not going back there.” Her eyes are flinty, and I know we’ve reached the fork in the road, the place where we go our separate ways.
“I thought you might say that.”
“So?” She shakes her silver mane off her shoulders. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to know your plans. What will you do?”
She goes to the closet and carefully takes her jacket off the hanger. “For starters, I’ll find a place to live.” She places the garment in the base of her suitcase then continues to her toiletries, collecting them in order of use, morning first.
“Did you have something in mind? What about a job?”
“Joshua offered to let me crash at his place until I find something.” Her expression is neutral as she arranges the breakable items between socks and underwear.
“He has a crush on you.”
“A crush.” She says the words like they smell bad. “I’m nineteen years old, Lara.”
“I didn’t say you had a crush on him.” I step back, allowing her access to the drawers where her shirts are arranged by color. “I only thought you should know he might have more of an ulterior motive than sh
eer generosity.”
“I don’t think Joshua has an ulterior bone in his body.” She places the shirts in her bag ordered by color.
