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The man dropped his arms and Alexa fell to the floor, gasping.
Nick wanted to go to her, to scoop her up and tell her it would be okay, that no one would ever hurt her again, but all he could see was the figure in front of him, reaching inside his jacket as he turned toward Nick.
Nick brought the knife down again. It slid into the man as easily as a knife through butter. He twisted and the man issued a guttural moan, his hands coming up around Nick’s forearms as he tried to push Nick off him.
Nick removed the knife and pierced the man again, oblivious to the blood coating the handle, coating his hands as he plunged the knife into the man again and again.
He didn’t stop. Not when the man’s arms fell to his sides or when he dropped to the floor with his eyes closed.
He didn’t stop until he felt Alexa’s hands on his shoulders, until he heard her voice choked out on a sob.
“It’s okay. He’s dead… he’s dead.”
Nick dropped the knife and turned to her. Tears streaked down her cheeks, her blue eyes wide with shock.
He thought she might recoil from him, from the blood coating his hands and body, the knife still in his hand.
Instead she pried the knife out of his hand and let it drop it to the floor. Then she was in his arms, her sobs the only sound in the quiet hallway.
29
He pulled the sheet up around Alexa’s shoulders, savoring the weight of her nestled into the crook of his arm in the big hotel bed. They were both wearing hotel robes, but holding her again, feeling her heart beat against his, was all the intimacy he needed.
He’d almost lost her. Had almost lost her before they’d even really begun.
He didn’t know how long they’d sat in the hallway of her apartment, their arms around each other, the dead man still on the floor. By the time Nick had stood to help Alexa up off the floor, his mind had reached the cool comfort of clean up mode.
She’d been shaking, and he’d led her into the living room where he’d wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, made her drink some water, and told her the truth about what he would have to do next.
He’d expected her to fight him. She worked for the AG’s office. The law was her life and her work. But she’d only nodded in agreement. He’d said it again to be sure she understood.
I’m going to call someone, someone who will help us clean this up. Once I do, you can never tell anyone what happened here or what happened after. Are you sure you understand?
She’d nodded again and he’d made the call. He hadn’t waited for the clean up crew to show. MIS had used them before. They would do the job and do it well. When Alexa returned to her apartment — if she returned to her apartment — it would be like nothing had ever happened.
He’d wanted to take her home, to surround her with the love and care of his family, to hold her on the bed that he’d never shared with anyone, but they both knew that was impossible. He’d packed her an overnight bag and driven to the Four Seasons instead, wrapping her in a long coat he’d found hanging in her closet to hide the blood on her sweats.
They’d taken the elevator to the suite without speaking and had immediately gotten in the shower. He’d washed her carefully, soaping her hair and body, watching as blood swirled down the drain.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked.
He stroked her wet hair. He wanted to tell her everything. Wanted to tell her how Erin’s overdose had decimated his family, how it had made them all bitter and angry. He wanted to tell her how his time at BPD had only solidified the impression, that sometimes people did get justice but just as often they didn’t.
Just as often the good guys didn’t win.
He wanted to tell her that he didn’t see himself as a bad guy even if he didn’t quite see himself as one of the good guys either, that the truth was more complicated than that.
“Not right now, no,” he said.
He thought she might say something to reassure him that he could trust her, but she just turned her head to kiss his chest.
Now that the shock was passing, Nick knew she would second-guess what he’d done in the aftermath of the mess at her apartment. She would wonder why he hadn’t called the police, who he’d called instead.
She wouldn’t know he hadn’t called the police because MIS couldn’t afford more scrutiny, but he couldn’t worry about that now. What had happened at her apartment was behind them. He couldn’t do anything to change it, and he wouldn’t even if he could.
If it meant saving her, he would kill a hundred men like the one who’d broken into her apartment.
“What’s going to happen?” she asked. “With us, I mean?”
