Even though he held the door open for her just like he always did, she noticed that he took care not to stand too close, and he didn’t touch her or help her into her seat like usual. In fact, he hadn’t really touched her at all, not since she woke.
She settled herself into the passenger seat, pulling her coat tighter, shivering as he climbed in and started the car.
“That guy was going to rape you. It was self-defense.” He leaned forward, squinting through the windshield as they reached the end of the drive. Finally, he turned left. “And the drugs. They made you go crazy, lose yourself. Ketamine, that’s Special K on the street, causes psychosis, right?”
“It wasn’t the drugs. I didn’t lose myself. And I wasn’t defending myself.”
“What? Sure you were.” Doubt tainted his voice.
“Micah.” His name was a sigh that left an empty ache in its wake. “I was absolutely myself. The purest, truest part of myself. I was defending you. I killed him to save you. It didn’t matter what happened to me. But he would have killed you—slowly, painfully. I couldn’t let that happen.”
He was silent for a long moment. Too long. “What he said, about you killing a hostage to take them out of the equation—”
“I took him out of the equation, instead.”
“But if you had to, you would have, you could have—”
How to explain it? “I could have, I would have—past tense. Not now. Not with you.”
“Because I’m special, but anyone else is cannon fodder?” His frustration mirrored her own, except his was also charged with the aftershock of almost dying.
“No, no.” Was he purposefully twisting her words to make it easier for him to leave her? “That’s not what I meant. I meant—what I’m trying to say—I’m not that person anymore.”
“Earlier you said you were. Said I shouldn’t be with you. Morgan, you practically tore that guy’s face off. With your bare teeth.”
Some would find that a useful talent in a significant other. The thought raced through her mind, accompanied by a wave of hysteria. Damn drugs still clouding things exactly when she needed to make herself clear.
“I don’t want to be that person anymore. Because of you. I’m trying not to be that person anymore.” She spread her arms wide. Leaving herself open, vulnerable. “Because of you.”
His silence filled the car louder than any words could.
“Thank you,” he finally said, surprising her. But also making her wince at the ice in his voice. Distant ice, from another galaxy, beyond the visible stars. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. City lights came into view as they crested a hill and reached route 22. They didn’t have long, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever have the chance to see him again, to tell him what was really in her heart—but no, after what he’d been through, what he’d seen, this had to be about him, not her.
She could handle it, she always had.
“You should take some time. I know a guy, Nick Callahan. He’s real good to talk to about stuff like this. You can tell him anything.”
“How? Without getting you arrested or in worse trouble than you already are?”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Seriously. You need to take care of yourself. And then,” she hauled in her breath, tamping down her hopes and fears, “then, if you want, we can talk. Maybe even try again.”
She spotted the turn for the mall. “Just drop me off—” Then she saw the spotlights arcing over the parking lot and the neon letters announcing the March Madness special event.
“Turn. Turn here.” She reached to yank the wheel, but he was already obeying her. “I’m an idiot. This is it. This is Gibson’s target. Drop me off. I need to find a phone, call Jenna and Andre. I need to find Gibson. I need to stop—” She clamped her palm over her mouth, looked at Micah in dismay.
“Your father,” he finished for her as he steered the Ford into a parking spot. “We need to stop him and Gibson and those bombs.”
As much as Morgan despised his choice of pronouns, there was no time to argue.
Chapter 23
THE MALL WAS a nightmare of chaos. Sound reverberated from the concrete, glass, and steel across two levels of shopping, echoing through the atrium that connected the upper floor with the lower one. When Morgan and Micah rushed inside, she felt physically repulsed by the crowd pulsating with its jungle beat, a wave of nausea overcoming her for a moment.
Large screen TVs were everywhere, showing commercials now, but as soon as the Pitt game began, they would switch over to live coverage. That way, shoppers could watch as they browsed, ate, and bought, bought, bought.
It was a family affair with free child care in the play area, a basketball court had been set up on the level below the food court with boys lined up to play winners, green screen backdrops with custom computerized settings for the family portrait sittings, and festive pop-up kiosks selling everything from personalized toys to a booth where parents could record bedtime stories.