I looked up at her, blinked to clear the haze of tears from my eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You broke up with him on the Saturday after we interrupted your dinner, didn’t you?” She nodded when I did. “He was in the station then, giving a statement. He stepped out of the room, but I could see him through the window in the door. The only time I’ve seen pain like that is when I’m notifying next of kin. To be honest, that’s why I’m telling you this now—so you can go back to him.”
“Thank you.” I’d never put as much feeling into those two words as I did then.
Shaking her head, she started to walk back down the stairs, then stopped and turned, looking up at me. “I’m not the one you should be thanking.”
*
Somehow, I ended up at Gideon’s apartment.
I don’t remember leaving Parker’s studio or telling Clancy where to take me. I don’t remember checking in with the front desk or riding the elevator up. When I found myself in the private foyer facing Gideon’s door, I had to stop a moment, unsure of how I’d gotten from the bleachers to that point.
I rang the bell and waited. When no one answered, I sank to the floor and leaned back against the door.
Gideon found me there. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, stopping abruptly when he saw me. He was dressed in workout clothes and his hair was still damp with sweat. He’d never looked more wonderful.
He was staring at me, unmoving, so I explained, “I don’t have a key anymore.”
I didn’t get up because I wasn’t sure my legs would support me.
He crouched. “Eva? What’s wrong?”
“I ran into Detective Graves tonight.” I swallowed past the knot in my throat. “They’re dropping the case.”
His chest expanded on a deep breath.
With that sound, I knew.
Dark desolation shadowed Gideon’s beautiful eyes. He knew that I knew. The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a near-tangible thing.
I’d kill for you, give up everything I own for you . . . but I won’t give you up.
Gideon fell to his knees on the cold, hard marble. His head bowed. Waiting.
I shifted, mirroring his kneeling pose. I lifted his chin. Touched his face with my hands and my lips. My gratitude for his gift whispered over his skin: Thank you . . . thank you . . . thank you.
He caught me to him, his arms banded tight around me. His face pressed into my throat. “Where do we go from here?”
I held him. “Wherever this takes us. Together.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sylvia Day is the New York Times, USA Today, and internationally bestselling author of more than a dozen novels. Her résumé includes a variety of odd jobs ranging from amusement park employee to Russian linguist/interrogator for U.S. Army military intelligence. She’s presently a full-time writer. Sylvia’s work has been called an “exhilarating adventure” by Publishers Weekly and “wickedly entertaining” by Booklist. Translation rights to her stories have been sold in more than thirty international territories. She’s been honored with the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the EPPIE Award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Readers’ Crown, and multiple finalist nominations for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award of Excellence. She’s now hard at work on Entwined with You, the next installment in the Crossfire series, but would love for you to visit with her at her website, www.SylviaDay.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter: www.facebook.com/AuthorSylviaDay and www.twitter.com/SylDay.