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Shit. None of usreallyknow her.
Naomi left a few minutes before Aria to head to the station, and now the only thing left for me to do is wait. Adam and Bill will be gone soon as well, one of them to start their shift and the other to head out and restock the fridge. It’s clear none of them want to leave me alone, though.
“I’m fine,” I assure them. “I’m going to take a shower and go over the information Aria left with us to make sure I’m absolutely prepared.”
Which I certainly will do. Once I make it into position. But my front works better than I bargained for. The others leave me alone with only the barest warning not to do anything stupid. No stupidity here. I’ll be absolutely as careful as possible.
No way am I letting Aria go into the lion’s den alone without at least a little backup.
I’ll be her eyes and ears on the outside. Tracking her, making sure I’m there, and hoping I wouldn’t be too late if they gun her down at the front door.
I shake my head against the thought, my brain taking the dive into the worst-case scenario with ease. I hadn’t clutched her to my chest and pleaded with her to stay the way I wanted to. I hadn’t repeated my promise to take care of this for her even though I have no damn idea how to do it, alone or with a taskforce. None of those things. I’d stared after her until she bobbed her head, a silent acknowledgment of the silence between syllables. Then she walked off.
Nothing to it.
Right?
She’s a competent young woman who has taken care of herself for a long time. Except I want to be the man who stands at her side and helps her. The one who makes her better, the way I smooth out and feel better when I’m with her.
Except I’m not just thinking about how every part of this option hinges on Aria’s acting ability. I’m obsessed with the possibility of never seeing her again. Naomi and I know to meet at the warehouse separately tonight. The plan is in place.
Why can’t I shake the feeling something is about to explode and not in a way we’ve anticipated?
The feeling sticks with me, a knife between my ribs, and no matter how many times I go over the details in my head, the sensation refuses to dislodge.
Impetus takes me up the stairs with fog in my ears. Just to watch her, I tell myself, breath thundering in my lungs. To make sure she is okay and through the door and no one is suspicious of her.
The only thing I trust innately is that things will go bad. Things will go wrong.
Even with me there to watch her, the probabilities are high.
Cold air shoots straight down my throat on my first inhalation outside. The initial taste of chill autumn air finally splits into car exhaust, fried peanuts, hot dog water, and stale garbage.
She didn’t take the car, preferring to walk, thinking it would somehow make her less visible despite the cameras on the traffic light. I take a left to mimic her most likely trail.
Somewhere along the line, Aria became more than a thorn in my side or a gorgeous nuisance, much more than a temptation who took advantage of me.
Like I had no choice.
I’ve had a choice this entire journey, and the wrong path has always felt more tantalizing. Except I’m not sure the wrong path is that anymore. How could it be wrong when it brought me to her?
She’s the brightness of a sunbeam in a stormy sky.
She’s the North Star leading me not toward the man I used to be but the person I’ve always wanted to become. My thoughts spiral closer and closer with each heavy step along the sidewalk.
A stronger man who is able to stand up to the weight of his own demons. Which is on equally terrifying footing as standing up to the violence of the city. In my opinion.
My focus fuzzy, I accidentally shoulder-check a man on the sidewalk and pause only to offer a half-hearted apology.
“Well, well. The cat's been dragging in all kinds of dead things lately. My luck,” the man says.
The voice is one I’ve heard a thousand times before and most recently bragging about a week booked in the Cayman Islands for a well-deserved and overdue mastervation.
I square my shoulders, my heart giving a single thud as the rest of me went south fast. Anchor to the bottom of the ocean fast. “Jerry.”
“Devan.” He’s close enough for me to see the nose hair he needs to trim, to recognize the angle of his hat as one that only happens when he’s had too much coffee and not enough leads in a case he’s working. A vein in the side of his face throbs in time with the beat of his heart, and the edges of his mustache bristle along with the tempo. “Now that we remember each other's names, I’m going to need you to come into the station with me.” He flashes a smile. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
