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“Stay where you are,” he orders. “Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.”
He hangs up and the front door bangs downstairs. It was unlocked. They didn’t have to force it, but they still opened it like they’re an invading army. Men shout back and forth to each other. My heart races. This is like when the cops came to Leo’s house, only worse. Heavy footsteps rattle the floor. They’re searching for him.
For us.
Quick footsteps on the stairs. So many people. It scares me, and I’m in the middle of swallowing that fear when Leo strides in through the studio door.
He takes one look at me and his mouth drops open, his eyes going wide with relief. One hand comes up over his eyes—a second, then he drops it—and I scramble down off the stool to meet him.
Leo hugs me so hard my feet leave the floor. He smells like the snow and his house, clean and cold and familiar, and I can’t help hugging him back. I can’t help pressing my chin into his shoulder. I can feel his heart pounding through his shirt. He’s not wearing a coat. I was right. He’s prepared for violence.
I’m so heartbroken. I’m so relieved. I want Emerson so much, but I don’t want a life where this isn’t possible.
Men come into the room behind him, telling each other that it’s clear, it’s clear. They go into my bedroom. They go into Emerson’s room. Stop, I want to tell them. There’s nothing for you in there. But I can’t argue with this many uniforms. The FBI. A SWAT team. I don’t think they usually let people come along on rescue missions like this, but despite all their guns and their code words, I can’t imagine them winning an argument against Leo.
He lets out a breath and puts me back on the floor. His hands come up to my face and he peers into my eyes. “Are you okay? Tell me if you’re not. Tell me now, Daphne.”
“I’m okay.” He brushes my hair back, checking my eyes again. “I’m not drugged or anything. I’m really okay.”
Leo nods, but he has to make sure for himself. He reaches down and checks both of my ankles with his hands, a soft touch, then stands up and takes one hand in his. He pushes my sleeve up so he can see one wrist, then the other.
Checking for bruises, I think. Marks. He’s checking to make sure I wasn’t chained. My heart breaks a little more. He tips my chin up. There are no marks on my neck, but Leo seems relieved all over again to discover it for himself.
There’s no damage.
“Who did this? Whose house is this?”
I shake my head, buying time.
He sighs, like he knew this would be the answer. Like he suspected that someone had terrified me. I hate letting him think Emerson did that to me. That Emerson threatened me with consequences if I gave his name. He didn’t. He’s never asked me to keep him a secret from anyone.
Emerson knew this would be a possibility the whole time.
I’m not giving him up, even if he thinks we can’t be together.
You’re a work of art. My favorite piece.
“Okay.” Leo puts his arm around my shoulders and ushers me to the door. When I was younger, he would have carried me in his arms. If I’d given him any hint that I wasn’t okay, he’d do it now. Instead he tucks me into his side and takes me out.
A man on the stairs tries to stop us. “There’s a space we’ve set aside for the interview. We need to do that before—”
“Not now.” Leo doesn’t give him a second look.
“The investigation—”
“You can conduct your interview when I’m sure she’s up to it.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t want to be taken to a separate room with strangers to be questioned about what happened to me. I’m still not over watching Emerson disappear into the ocean. I still need time to think about what I’m going to say.
It’s such a horrible crush of emotions. I’m relieved that Leo can see me so that he won’t be worried. I’m terrified that he’ll never understand. I hope he will. And I need Emerson. I miss him with a physical pain. My muscles ache with the fact that he’s gone. With the way he tried to end things.
At least Leo is going to be okay now. I bet he hasn’t been sleeping. He has dark circles under his eyes. I’m tired, too. Tired of all this. Tired of fighting. Tired of not knowing where Emerson is, even though it’s only been a few minutes. If he’s safe. If he got away. My heart keeps speeding up with the uncertainty. It’s like being denied paint. Or denied air.
Where? That voice asks again and again and again. Where is he? How is he?
How long does he have before he starts to panic?
It was a little while when he rescued me. He should still have some time.
