“Adams?” Snow barks when I get lost in thought. “Did you catch him?”
“No. He’s still out there.” Technically, he’s is—somewhere in a shallow grave.
Pushing into the hospital room, Lola’s head turns, her legs pulled up to her chest, her hands cradling them—the exact position I found her in nine years ago. She was covered in someone else’s blood then too. Speckles of crimson paint her delicate features, her once blonde hair is muddied with red, yet she looks utterly beautiful in her torment. The room feels like it shrinks around us as I move toward her. The fury of what she’s been through closes in and coils my muscles. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, but it’s important to get the details while they’re fresh in your mind.” I frown, hating myself for having to make her relive it.
“I know.” She nods, her forehead pinching. “Am I in trouble?” She grimaces, looking down at her nails, still broken and bloody from fighting off her attacker. The claw marks on his cheek now make sense, the story coming together to paint a picture. She’s a fighter. He probably thought she’d be easy prey because she’s small, but he underestimated her will to survive—to take back the power. It gives me a rush knowing she killed that son of a bitch. I would have liked him to live long enough to understand what happened—to watch it register on his face that he fucked with the wrong girl. “Adams?” she murmurs.
“No. You defended yourself against an attacker, you feared for your life. Right?” I don’t know why I say that. She’s supposed to tell me that, but an overwhelming urge to protect her beats within my chest.
“Yes. He had a gun.” She jerks her head in a nodding motion. “I did what I had to to stop him.” Her words are firm, matter of fact. “He was an animal.” She shivers, her lips pursing like she tastes something bitter. He was an animal—and she put him down like one.
“Am I free to leave?” Her eyes dart to the door behind me, legs dropping and hands twisting together in her lap.
Offering her a small smile, I move closer. “I think the nurse still needs to examine you and we’ll need your clothes for evidence.”
She nods slightly, her blonde curls tumbling across her face, shadowing her from my gaze. The need to reach out and tuck it behind her ear makes my hands jerk. There’s an unfamiliar tightening in my chest when she looks up at me through her thick lashes. She holds up a folded gown and shrugs her shoulders. “Why did this have to happen to me?”
I fucking hate that it did. It literally aches my heart. Reaching out with one hand, I hover it near the flesh of hers, centimeters from touching.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. I want so bad to take her in my arms. Despite all my training and knowing I’m too close to the investigation and should hand it to someone else, I’m determined to make this as painless as possible for her—put an end to it and let her heal and move on. “Do you think you could answer some questions for me?” I fold my arms to prevent myself from sweeping her up and offering her protection in my embrace. The last thing she needs is a man touching her or forcing her into his arms.
“Sure.” Her throat is raspy and raw, no doubt from screaming or crying or being fucking choked out.
“Did you know the man—?”
“No.” She shakes her head adamantly before I can finish. “He followed me from a bar.”
My gaze drops to her attire. A barely-there sparkly top hangs on two pieces of string from her neck, dipping at her cleavage, her navel bare. A short strip of material covers the tops of her thighs, forming a mini skirt. She looks like she was out at a club and must be freezing. There are tiny white lines on the tops of her thighs. Scars. “Were you alone at the bar?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flare with annoyance. “Is that a crime?” she snaps, tears swelling at the corners of her eyes. She thinks she’s to blame…or feels that I do.
“I’m just trying to get a picture of everything,” I assure her. “This wasn’t your fault or something you did, Lola. This was a predator on the prowl. You were unlucky.”
Scoffing, she swipes at her eyes. “Me, unlucky? He’s the dead one.” She sniffles, raising a brow. Silence hangs in the air, the atmosphere thickening. My heart skitters proudly as the deadly fighter inside her peeks out from behind the curtain.
“I like to go out to bars, blow off steam. This guy was staring at me. I got uncomfortable and left. He followed and attacked me, and I panicked. I thought I was going to die.” She raises a hand to her throat, a reddish blue bruise there showing her fight. “I managed to pull his gun from his hand and shot him.” She shrugs before untying the strings around her neck. The material falls away from her skin, baring her breasts. I swallow audibly as dark thoughts cloud my mind. I hate myself for them, for looking at her, for feeling my cock awaken. Turning away, I shake my head to clear it.
“You shot him,” I repeat.
Three times, she shot him. He would have been dead from the first bullet. Before I can say anything else, a nurse comes in. “I need to do her examination.”
Acid swirls in my gut. When the question I hadn’t let take root explodes in my head, I turn on my heel to see she’s covered herself with the gown. “Did he…?”
“No,” Lola stops me. “I killed him before he could…this time.”
A rush of relief floods through me, followed by
