—“drained.”
I blinked, staring past the assembled officers and squad cars, the San Francisco streetlights blurring under my tears. “It changed him. When the chief cut me, he changed. He broke through his chains to save me.”
“Sampson’s going to be fine,” Alex said. “I’m sure of it.”
Nina nodded. “He’ll probably even be right back—after the dust settles.”
I let my friends’ assurances wash over me, let the weight of the night sink in. I felt the moist, cool night air on my skin and breathed deeply, rested my head against the open door of the ambulance.
“Rough night,” I whispered.
“Rougher than pot roast night?” Alex said with a grin.
I saw Neils’s eyes go large as Steve strolled up to us, lacing his thick gray fingers through mine. He dipped his head against my thigh and looked up at me, batting his slate gray eyes.
“Steve,” I said, “thank you.” I crouched down to hug him, wincing at the warm ache that surged through me. “Thank you so much for rescuing me.”
Steve nuzzled against me, and I held my breath against his troll stench as he patted my back softly. “Steve wouldn’t let anything happen to Sophie. Steve is Sophie’s hero.”
Alex squeezed in between Steve and me. “I like to think I had a little something to do with this rescue mission, Steve.”
Steve crossed his arms and stared Alex down. “Mr. Superhero likes to think.”
“How did you find me, anyway? And why”—I looked at Alex—“why did you come to find me after the way I treated you?”
“You mean when you stabbed me?” Alex’s face broke into the Parker Hayes sexy half grin, and a shiver went up my spine.
“Yeah.”
Alex shrugged. “I knew you didn’t mean it.”
“And when you stabbed Park—Alex”—Nina smiled sheepishly—“you must have cut yourself.”
I looked down in bewilderment at the ragged split in my palm. “Oh, right.”
“It made it easy to trace you.”
“I helped, too!” Alex protested.
“Sophie was never in any real danger,” Steve said, rolling up on his heels. “Steve had his eye on Sophie the whole time.” He widened his stance, his small hands on his hips, looking satisfied.
“He was hiding in my trunk,” Alex said.
“Steve knew he was not Sophie’s boyfriend,” Steve said, shaking his head toward Alex and then wrinkling his nose. “Something just didn’t smell right about that. Steve decided to trail Alex.”
“Yeah,” Alex repeated, “hiding in my trunk.”
“When I got back to our place, Alex and Vlad told me what happened. Alex had a lead on Sampson—where he might have gone—and Vlad knew that Lucy was after you. We were hoping to catch up with all of you at Mr. Sampson’s. But when we got to Sampson’s place, the smell of your blood and your fear was really strong. And Alex had a feeling about the chief, so”—Nina grinned, her fangs standing out against her red lips—“lucky guess.”
“Lucky twelve-months-of-research guess,” Alex said, his lips close to my ear.
Neils was completely engrossed in our conversation as Steve’s eye narrowed at Alex. I knelt down so I was eye to eye with Steve.
“Look, Steve.” I took both his hands in mine and squeezed gently. “You’re a really great guy—really great. But I just don’t think things are going to work out between us, Steve. Really, it’s not you—it’s me. I’m just not ready for someone as gallant as you.”
I tried to find Steve’s eyes and then followed his gaze over my left shoulder, directly to the impressive cleavage of a female paramedic who was bent over, replacing things in her bag.
Steve looked at me quickly. “Steve could never be the man for Sophie,” he said, his voice and his eyes trailing. “Steve knows that now. Steve only wishes that Sophie would release him from her heart’s viselike grip.”
I smiled and released Steve’s hands. “Consider yourself free, Steve.”
I watched as Steve unzipped his velour track jacket to mid-navel, fluffed up the lichen on his chest, and beelined for the busty paramedic.
Neils stepped in between us, looking from Nina and Franks, moonfaced, swooning, to Steve sauntering down the street, to me. He looked me up and down and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“So what are you?” he asked finally. “Some kind of she-wolf or something?” Neils was keeping his distance from me, his eyes raking me up and down carefully.
I wagged my head and sat down on the ambulance tailgate. “Nope. Nothing. I’m not special like that. I’m just your average girl.”
Alex rearranged the blanket on my shoulders and snuggled me close to him, his lips a hairsbreadth from my earlobe.
“Sophie Lawson,” he whispered, “there is nothing average about you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I was mashing potting soil around the new spider plant in my office when Alex knocked on the door frame.
“Agent Grace,” I said, grinning up at him.
“It’s Alex,” he said, striding up to me. His blue eyes slipped over me. “You look good. How are you feeling?”
I leaned against my desk. “Surprisingly well given the circumstances.” I felt the broken skin on my lips with the tip of my tongue.
“So, no word from Mr. Sampson yet?”
I wagged my head, glancing toward the still-broken door to his office, his furniture still sitting empty, desk vacant. “Nothing. I heard they still haven’t been able to find Lucy, either.”
Alex nodded. “That’s true. The guys have been out at Sampson’s house a couple of times—it’s clean. They recovered the shell casing, but weren’t able to find Lucy’s body.”
I shuddered. “Her body. Part of me hopes she just took off—I mean, she’s just a kid.”
Alex’s eyes flashed.
“A terribly misguided, slightly sociopathic kid. Maybe she learned her lesson.” I tried to smile. “I kind of think we should go look for her, you know, maybe while we’re looking for Sampson? I bet we could—”
“You know I’m not really an FBI agent, Sophie.”
“Right,” I said quietly.
Alex sat on the edge of my desk, and I tried to keep my eyes on my potting soil—tried desperately not to glance at the way his quadriceps bulged underneath his jeans, or the way his biceps mercilessly stretched at the arms of his olive-green T-shirt.
I cocked my head, studying. My fingers touched the warm skin on his arm, leaving a dusty trail of soil. “I never noticed this tattoo,” I said, tracing the elaborately etched wing that poked from underneath his sleeve.
Alex turned, taking both my hands in his, lacing his fingers through mine. He pulled me close so that I could feel the warmth of his chest as it burned through his T-shirt, could taste the sweet crisp-apple scent of his breath.
“Sophie, I am an angel,” he whispered.
I tried to think of a sexy retort, but Alex held my gaze steady, his eyes bluer and more firecracker-startling than ever.
“You saved my life, Alex. You might be a hero, but an angel?”
“I’m serious,” Alex said. “You know I am.”
“Angels don’t exist,” I replied, extracting my hands from his and going back to my spider plant.
“Neither do vampires,” he answered.
