She lifted her ravaged eyes to her brother. “Can I just give my statement in the morning?”
She trembled slightly. Walters must’ve noticed it, too. He nodded jerkily. “Sure, Faithy. You get some rest tonight. It can wait.”
Walters left them alone in the living room, walking down the hall and disappearing into her bathroom.
North looked down at Faith to find her already watching him. “You should get your hands checked out,” she said.
He flexed his sore knuckles. “I’ll be fine. Had worse.”
She studied him, her gaze unreadable.
“Who was that guy? Did you know him?”
“Just a lost soul . . . angry at the world.” She sighed and moved her hands to her throat. She gently rubbed the skin there. His gaze followed the movement, his stomach knotting. The red smudges were already starting to bruise in the definite shape of fingers. “And angry at me. I’m a social worker. Sometimes that means I piss people off. Goes with the territory.”
“Oh. This happens a lot then?” He didn’t like that. He didn’t like knowing there were people out there who wanted to hurt her. Scum who could get it into their heads that they could put their hands on her.
She shook her head. “Nope. This was the first time.”
“Maybe you should consider a change of careers.”
“I like my job. Tonight doesn’t change that. One bad day—”
“He tried to kill you,” he snapped. “That’s more than a bad day.”
Her brother returned then with two Tylenol in his hand and a glass of water. “Take these.”
She obeyed, downing the pills with a swallow of water. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“Why don’t I stay for—”
“No. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m just going to bed. It’s not like that guy is going to come back. And besides . . .” Her gaze drifted to North. She was going to say he lived next door, but decided against it. That still might not be a good thing in her brother’s mind.
Hale’s lips tightened, compressing into a hard line. Yeah. He knew what she was going to say and he didn’t like it. With a reluctant sigh, he turned to face North. “Appears I was wrong about you. I owe you my thanks.” He gave a single nod.
“I didn’t do it for you or for your thanks,” North said. He sent one more look at Faith. Her lips parted and she inhaled. He watched the rise of her chest. She seemed to be holding her breath as he looked down at her. “You take care, Faith. I’m next door if you need anything.”
That said, he turned and left her house.
She had already showered for the evening, but that seemed a long time ago. Before Grimes showed up in her driveway. Before he tried to kill her. Before North saved her life. How was she supposed to forget him now when he had gone ahead and done that?
That was damn confusing.
After stepping out of the shower for a second time tonight, she slipped inside her robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Pulling the collar close, she inhaled the laundry-fresh scent, taking comfort in it. She was still here. Still alive.
She picked up her hairbrush and moved into her bedroom. Sitting at the end of her bed, she started brushing out her hair in slow strokes. She’d left her bathroom light on, so a soft glow carried into her bedroom. Even in the dim glow she could see the skin of her throat already bruising.
She pulled her brush through her hair and stopped. Staring at her neck, she touched it lightly with a hand that still trembled with the aftereffects of her attack. She supposed it was an adrenaline crash. Or shock maybe.
She would have to wear a turtleneck or a scarf. In summer. That wouldn’t make her look weird or anything. She shivered where she sat on the edge of her bed, and that didn’t compute. Her thermostat was set to seventy-six. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be alone, after all. Maybe she should have let her brother stay. She winced. Except she didn’t want her brother to spend the night. She didn’t want to endure his hovering . . . his questions. Well-meaning as he was, he could be overbearing.
She stood abruptly, then moved to her phone on her nightstand. She snatched it up and opened her messages. She scrolled to the person she was looking for and started typing. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. It was impossible to articulate.
But she seemed to know the one word to type.
*
Please.
He stared down at the single word on his phone. Worry punched him in the chest. It was a single, ambiguous word, but it had him flinging off the covers on his bed and vaulting out of his room. It might as well have been Help!
He jumped down his stairs and was out his front door, slamming it after him. He didn’t worry about locking it. Faith could be in trouble.
He pounded on her door. “Faith! Faith!”