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He lit it for me with my Zippo, like in an old black-and-white film. I smiled around my cigarette.
“Are you going to make it a habit?” he asked.
“Make what a habit?”
“Scaring me to death.”
“Depends on how much you piss me off. You forgot to tell me you almost got assassinated. By my father, no less.”
“He sent a shit aim,” he responded, some of the metal returning to his voice. “He was only half serious about killing me. I do, after all, hold his daughter hostage.”
To that, I said nothing.
He got up from my bed, his lithe body no longer tensed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
He was going to leave, I realized.
My eyes glanced at my wristwatch. It was three in the morning. He needed to be up early for his flight to Springfield.
But I couldn’t bear the idea of him leaving me today after he showed me affection. I didn’t want to lose it. Didn’t want us to go back to what we were a few hours ago, before my life was on the line.
Two strangers who enjoyed dry-humping each other and shared a dinner table every once in a while.
I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to go back to the previous state.
And that if he left—we would.
“No,” I croaked when he was at the door.
He turned around slowly, scanning me. It was all in his expression. The dread of knowing what I was about to ask.
To him, I was an asset. Now that he knew that I was okay, he could go about his day. Or rather, night.
“I don’t want to stay alone tonight. Could you…only for tonight?” I blinked, hating the desperation in my voice.
He peeked at the door again, almost longingly.
“I have an early morning.”
“My captor has given me quite the comfy bed,” I patted it, blushing under my bruises.
He shifted from foot to foot.
“I need to let Sterling know that you’re okay.”
“Of course.” I tried to make my voice sound chirp, blinking back the tears. “Yes. She’s probably super worried. Forget what I said. Besides, I’m tired. I think I’ll fall asleep before you close the door.”
He nodded, leaving the door ajar.
I was too tired to mourn my unfulfilled request. I fell asleep a minute after he left my room with the half-smoked cigarette swimming inside my water glass, a habit that made Wolfe cuss under his breath as he collected the glasses after me.
When I woke up the next day, the clock hit seven. I tried to stir myself awake, but felt massive weight pressing against my body.
God. How badly was I hurt?
I could barely move an inch.
When I tried to wiggle my right arm, reaching to the alarm clock to slam the button and stop its chirp, I realized that it wasn’t soreness that stopped me from moving.
