It had only been two days – two days – since he’d seen her last, and yet he’d missed her every step of the way. How was that possible? To miss someone you’d scarcely had in your life at all? For all his knowledge, he had no answer, only knew that every moment spent by her side made it that much more difficult to leave again. To accept the incoming battering of noise, the necessary barrenness of his life. The loneliness.

He could hear the music of her voice so clearly as she spoke now, every inflection, every intonation. And the world around them, too – birds on the wing and children laughing. Her presence was a continual surprise, one that made him by turns calm and edgy and covetous. And mindful, his responsibilities, self-appointed though they were, crowding back into his mind on a silent sigh. The Descent was still closing in on him, and Dmitri still lived, which meant there was too much left to do and no time for distraction. But still...

Nicholas wanted to scream until his throat bled. Or tear apart a wall of concrete with his bare hands. Anything – anything – to get the woman off his mind. The temptation she offered. The peace, the hope. They were killing him, taking away the need for revenge and replacing it with the need for her. As though she alone could collect the torn pieces of his life, stitch them back together, and help make him whole again.

He couldn’t take it, feeling again. Needing again after so many years spent in disconnect. It was too much, and if he hadn’t run from her like a total coward, he would have succumbed – lost himself inside the woman and given up to oblivion without a single ounce of remorse.

I’m by myself,” she said finally. “No family to speak of.”

“I see.” Leaning forward again, he rested his arms against the table. “That must be rather difficult.”

“Sometimes.”

“And lonely, I imagine. Perhaps that is why you came here tonight?”

Her jaw popped under the strain of maintaining decorum. “First: I said I was alone, not lonely. There's a big difference. And second: is that really why you think I'm here?”

“I do not know what to think. I know you must have reasons for being here other than what you have already hinted at. Reasons important enough to make an otherwise intelligent woman not only bring food to a stranger so late at night, but also accept his invitation to sit inside an empty motel room without a second thought.”

“Why don't you just call me a hooker while you're at it?

That last night,” she said quietly. “Why did you say you hoped you'd never see me again?”

He hadn’t said it; it had been his last thought when he’d turned to leave. But he didn’t seem to notice the discrepancy as he looked at her now.

“Because,” he began before faltering, his voice leaving on a sigh. His left hand reached to rake a path through his hair, scattering the inky thickness in all directions. “The more I learn of you, the more difficult it is to stay away.

When he’d woken that morning to find her gone, he’d used the time alone to clean himself up in every sense of the word. Decisions about his future had been part of it, but there'd been more, too. Because in all the time they’d known one another he’d been completely unconcerned with his appearance. Now, however, he wanted to show her the man he truly was. More than that, the man she’d helped him become: healed, strong, capable. No longer in the shadows, but bathed in light. No longer in need of saving or protecting or anything. Except her.

Take this message to your people, you obsequious little worm,” I murmured. “Anyone who lays a hand on Jordan Amador will have to answer to me. Now do me a favor and go to hell.”
I removed my sword from his hand and then decapitated him. His severed head tumbled across the floor like a wayward bowling ball. Good riddance.
I set my sword aside, found a stool in the corner, and climbed up in front of Jordan. Her handcuffs were attached to a huge meat hook bolted into the ceiling. I lifted her off of it with great care, unsure if she had the strength to stand. As soon as her arms were free, she looped them around my shoulders and pressed her face against my neck. She was trembling, but not crying. I sank to the floor and cradled her in my lap, breathing out the last of my anger now that she was safe.
“‘M sorry,” she mumbled in a small voice. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”
I snorted. “What the hell do you have to apologize for? You got kidnapped. Pretty sure that’s not your fault.”
She shook her head, her words partially muffled as she pressed her face against my shirt. “Should’ve been stronger. I could’ve gotten you killed.”
“By Heckle and Jeckle here? Not likely.”
A shaky laugh rattled through her. She slid her fingers into the hairs along the nape of my neck and hugged me tighter. I knew from experience she didn’t want me to see her face because she knew she was only seconds away from breaking down. No one would ever accuse Jordan Amador of being a crybaby, not if she could help it. It was a ridiculous notion at best, but I indulged her anyway.
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job. But you’re welcome.”
I smoothed the sweaty hairs away from her forehead enough to kiss it. She didn’t move away. We stayed there for a while without speaking, just clinging to each other until we felt strong enough to separate.