by Sarah Blair
Sidney took the card.
“Thanks for saving my neck tonight. I owe you one.” He saluted her.
Manners climbed out of the ambulance and disappeared into the tangle of emergency vehicles and personnel. Sidney’s eyes watered while the medic cleaned her scrapes and wrapped gauze around her forearm. Now that the excitement had settled, the memory of the dead animal on top of her returned, stirring up a flurry of nightmares in her mind. All she wanted to do was build a nest in her bed and hibernate for the winter.
The paramedic curled her fingers around Sidney’s wrist, and pressed her lips together in a tight grimace.
Tom appeared with Williams by his side. “Lake, you okay?”
“She’s suffering from shock. Her vitals are still all over the place,” the paramedic answered. “But no signs of a concussion or other serious trauma.”
“I’m fine.” Sidney scowled at her. “Can I go now?”
“Not like I can stop you.” The paramedic took off her gloves.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Tom said.
“You should’ve seen it, Tom.” Williams helped her out of the back of the ambulance. “She went all Rocky on a demon koala. BAM. Sucker punch, right to the face. Adriaaann!”
A big white puff of air emanated from Williams as he bellowed into the darkness and started punching the air in front of him. Another chill ran through her, but this time it was just from the cold and Sidney immediately regretted leaving behind the blanket.
Tom tucked his coroner’s jacket around her shoulders and supported her while she picked her way across the pavement. She leaned into him gratefully.
“We need to find out what happened to those activists,” she told Williams.
“You should be at the hospital,” Tom told her. “Have a doctor check you out.”
“You’re a doctor,” she said.
“My patients have a mortality rate of 100%. I’m not the guy you want to be seeing just yet.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I’m heading your direction. Need a lift?”
“That’d be great, thanks.” Sidney sighed with relief.
“Sorry, Lake.” Williams bounced back to them. “I’d offer the guest room at Chez Williams, but Megan’s mom just got in this afternoon to help out for when the New Kid gets here.”
Sidney raised an eyebrow. “Parcheesi, huh?”
“Yeah, well.” Williams shrugged.
“Did you find any evidence of a spell?” she asked. “If we can figure out what book they were using or the ingredients for a spell, maybe we can trace them back to the source.”
“Sorry, Lake, I was a little distracted with your koala MMA cage match to the death,” he said. “There’s got to be some security footage, though. Right? Rest up and we can check into it tomorrow.”
Even though she was exhausted, Sidney managed a tired nod. “Okay, keep your phone around in case anything comes up.”
“That’s what she said. Night, Tom. ” He punched the air again. “Ya coulda been a contender! You coulda been somebody!”
Sidney flipped him off.
“You’re a bum, Rocky.” Williams gave a final wave and jogged up to grab a waiting cab that had lined up with the other cars.
Thankfully, Tom turned the heat all the way up in the front cabin of the van. It was warm and cozy by the time they made it over to Lexington.
“Sure you don’t want to come with me to the ER? Get some fluids? It’d help,” Tom said.
“I’m fine. I just want to go home.” It felt like her skull was filled with cotton instead of her actual brain. It was hard to grasp onto a thought. “There’s more to this Peyton thing, Tom. Something weird is going on.”
“I submitted my final report to Manners this afternoon.” The medical examiner kept his eyes focused on the road.
“Shit—that’s why they arrested him.” Sidney shut her eyes against the blur of the streetlights as they swung a left onto 46th Street. It nauseated her to think that the same hands that had once been on her own body, giving her such incredible pleasure, could do such a vicious and horrible thing to someone else. “Hutch couldn’t do something like that. I’m telling you, it wasn’t him.”
“You had a rough night, kid. Don’t worry about it right now,” Tom said.
“I know.” She took a deep breath, shoving her emotions down. “I know that. I’m not blaming you. It’s just—”
“Easier said than done,” Tom agreed.
“Yeah,” Sidney agreed. “You can pull over here.”
He stopped in front of her door. “Call me tomorrow. Let me know how you’re doing.”
“Okay. Thanks for the ride.” Sidney waved and let herself into her building.
The three flights of stairs were intimidating, but she took one at a time, using the promise of a hot bath and her soft bed to pull her upward. She rounded the landing, preparing for the last flight, and stopped.
Mitch sat on the top step, elbows resting on his knees. He lifted his head when she approached. His expression morphed from tired relief to fear, then into bright red anger all before she could even pull in a breath to explain.
“What the hell happened to you?” he growled.
Seventeen
Mitch’s blood turned to sludge in his veins and his heart ground to a halt when he took stock of the vision before him. Sidney had climbed the stairs, walking on her own, so at least he knew the enormous stain on the front of her dress wasn’t caused by her own injury. Her hair sagged along with her shoulders, and she looked all too much like a wilted rose.
After everything that happened that day, the last thing he needed was to see her like this. Not again. The first time had been enough to haunt him for a decade, and now the darkness had returned for her. It made him sick to realize he always knew this was going to happen.
And he hadn’t been there to stop it.
He gripped the tread of the stair he was sitting on and fought to catch his breath, to stay calm. What monster did this to her? He wanted to rip it to pieces with his bare hands.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked.
He watched her work through an answer in her mind. She sagged even heavier against the railing, and then glanced down at her dress. Her face paled another shade, along with her lips, and he stood, ready to catch her.
But she didn’t fall. She lifted her chin, eyes desperate.
“Any idea how to get koala blood out of chiffon?” she asked.
He tried to process her words, but they didn’t register.
“You—koala blood?” he repeated.
“My stylist is going to strangle me.” She moved past him to the landing and fumbled in her clutch for her keys. “At least they’ll probably do it with something fabulous like a vintage Hérmes scarf.”
Then she turned around, waiting for him to catch up.
“Hang on. You’re worried about the dress?” He met her on the landing.
Lines of confusion marred her perfectly smooth forehead. “It’s a bespoke Sophie James.”
“Who gives a shit?” Strands of hair hung in her eyes, stiff with dried blood. His stomach turned. He reached up and tucked them behind her ear, and examined her for injury. Gauze covered her arm, but other than that she seemed unharmed, at least physically.
“I’m so screwed.” Her chin trembled and she made him think of a porcelain vase that had been broken and put back together without any glue, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
She tried opening the door again, but her keys slipped to the floor. The clatter against the wood made her jerk. She stared down at her feet, and leaned into the wall. “Fuck.”
Mitch retrieved the keys. “Which one?”
He waited, giving her a chance to work it out. It was easy enough to recognize the signs of shock.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “We’ll find it.”
There were only four options. One was a match to his own office key. He tried the second in the door, then the next. Of course it was the last one
, but he managed to get the two deadbolts and the door open. He reached inside, feeling for the light and flicked it on.
“Got it.” He cushioned the tone of his voice so he didn’t startle her. “Come inside.”
Whatever had happened, the shock was starting to wear off and signs of panic settled in. He knew from his own experience, anxiety was a serious dick and it was interfering with her executive function. Her brain was overloaded, stuck on the proverbial loading screen, unable to compute properly. What Sidney needed right now was a safe, quiet place to rest and for someone else to think for her, because she simply couldn’t do it herself.
“It’s all right.” He coaxed her in, but her fingers remained glued to the doorway as she peeked inside.
He paused and considered what he might need if he were in her situation. If he’d just been in an altercation, he’d be expecting something else to jump out at him. “Want me to check?”
She nodded.
All he wanted was to take her into his arms and tell her she didn’t have to be scared anymore, that she was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. Long ago, he’d promised to find the thing that killed her parents and destroy it just like it had destroyed her, and he’d failed.
That lost, lonely look he’d seen the first time he ever laid eyes on her nearly a decade ago matched the one she wore now. It broke his heart all over again. He had no right to make any more promises. But, he could do this simple thing for her. He could take care of her right now. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be a start.
“Hang on.” He pressed his hand over hers, reminding her to stay put.
You need to be needed. Becks’ voice came back to him as he strode around the large, open loft space. His gaze bounced over and under the couch, across the stacks of books and a laptop on the desk, high up to the moulding at the top of the enviously high ceilings, then below the small table up against the wall near the door, and finally returned to the pale face watching him work.
“There’s nothing here.” He waved her in. “It’s safe.”
“What about the rest?” She crept inside, and shut the door.
“The rest?”
She pointed to a darkened hallway at the opposite end of the same wall. He went in, found another light switch and discovered a bathroom, and a narrow galley kitchen with a sink, a tiny stove, and a refrigerator. Another door stood open straight ahead.
There was a second room, the same size and shape as the front one with a small fireplace, and an unmade bed. Clothes scattered the floor and hid a chair in the corner. The iconic lights of the Chrysler Building peeked in through the window.
Mitch hesitated. It felt intrusive, being in her personal space like this. Her unmade bed was just a mattress on a basic frame, no head or footboard. He switched on the lamp sitting on a bedside table, illuminating some books on witchcraft and cryptozoology. Nothing lurked under the bed except a pair of fuzzy socks.
He moved to the closet. Maybe it had been organized at one point, but boots and shoes were tossed in like an afterthought. An enormous maroon laundry bag overflowed with more clothes. Black underwear slipped over the side, thin and slinky. Mitch turned off the light and shut the door. He turned around and peeked into a second bathroom long enough to see it was free of intruders, but not long enough to accidentally catch another glimpse of more undergarments.
He couldn’t help but find himself a little jealous of this architectural treasure. It was a hidden gem in the heart of the city, surrounded by commercial businesses, utterly unassuming and easy to miss on the outside. It was easy for her to hide here. No one would think twice about it. He fought the urge to psychoanalyze too deeply. This was not the time to let his profiling tendencies kick into gear, no matter how automatic they might be.
The worn hardwood floors creaked beneath his shoes as he turned to head back into the front room, but he stopped short when he found Sidney standing at the threshold. For a second she looked like the ghost of a tragic prom queen, gorgeous and glittering and torn to pieces.
“All clear.” He swallowed hard.
“Thanks.”
He needed to change the subject. Distract her. Distract himself. Get everything back on track. He pointed upward. “Is that moulding original?”
Sidney glanced up at the lofty ceilings. “I think so?”
“And you have the whole floor to yourself.” He made a slow turn around. “Jesus, how’d you land a place like this?”
“It’s rent-control, too. Supposed to be two apartments with a shared kitchen.” Sidney kicked some loose clothes out of the path with her foot and teetered dangerously in her heels. Mitch caught her elbow and guided her to the bed to sit her down. He took a knee in front of her and worked her feet loose from the ridiculous strappy shoes.
“I was going to split it with a roommate from boarding school, but she changed her mind and went to Stanford. Her dad owns the building, so he let me go ahead with the lease and have both sides.”
“I would have guessed your grandfather owned it,” he admitted.
Her expression changed again and he watched as she slipped back into her darkest thoughts. “He doesn’t own everything.”
She got up and stepped past him.
Mitch didn’t blame her for shutting down every time the subject of her grandfather arose. In his brief dealings with Alexander Lake, he hadn’t been all that impressed with the man either. Okay, that was an understatement, he wanted to punch the guy’s lights out. He shouldn’t have brought him up, but the words had slipped out before he could think to stop them.
Idiot, he berated himself.
Sidney grabbed up some clothes from the closet and headed for the bathroom. Before she went in, she paused. “Would it be okay if you stay for a minute?”
He hated whatever had happened to make her voice sound so small and thin. It bothered him. Maybe more than it should.
Mitch thought about his bag, packed and waiting in the car. He’d been all set to head out of town to take a break at his cabin and consider his next move, but he wanted to see Sidney first.
She deserved to be told in person that he was giving up on his word. It was the least he could do, since that’s exactly what his retirement would mean. He’d expected to break the news as gently as possible, but after whatever ordeal she’d faced tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was no reason he had to say it right this minute. It could wait until she didn’t need him anymore.
“Yeah.” Mitch took a deep breath and tucked his chin. “Yeah, I can stay.”
Eighteen
Sidney’s heart pounded in her chest while she waited for Mitch to respond. It embarrassed her, even asking him to stay, but the idea of being alone right now was unbearable. The room tilted around her like one of those moving floors in a funhouse and she gripped the doorway for balance, reminding herself to breathe. A century passed before he answered.
“Yeah.” Mitch’s steady gray eyes pierced right through her. “Yeah, I can stay.”
“Thanks.” Her voice came out thin and small, like a little girl, and she hated it. She was a hot fucking mess. She shut the door to the bathroom and pressed her forehead against the solid wood.
How did he know exactly what she needed? Hell, she didn’t even know what she needed right then. Her brain short-circuited. One thought led to ten more, all zooming through in her mind faster than she could catch them.
She had to focus. Focus on what, though?
One thing at a time, Sid, she reminded herself. Remember to breathe. Then do the next thing. The only way out is through. Feel what you have to feel and move on.
She often repeated the few nuggets of useful advice she’d picked up from her years of therapy. Mostly she hadn’t cared or paid attention, but some of it managed to sink in.
Once she regained her steadiness she reached for the faucet on the tub and caught a glimpse of herself in the cabinet mirror. Smears of dried blood covered her chest. The warm wet feeling of the spray across her face came
back to her. Tattered flesh. That one last weak spurt of blood still felt as real as if it was happening all over again.
And then there was Peyton’s body. The photos had been horrible enough, but to witness someone being ripped apart firsthand, it was too much.
Sidney’s stomach turned sour. Acid burned her throat. She dashed for the toilet. The champagne and canapés all came up, rush after rush, until she was long past empty.
A soft knock sounded before the door opened a crack.
“Sidney?” Mitch asked. “Can I come in?”
She whimpered. “Yeah.”
“Jesus.” He grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack. His jacket was already gone, sleeves rolled up his forearms. The familiar look comforted her. All she wanted right then was to feel him, warm and strong, and wrapped around her.
“You’re okay.” The cloth soothed her face. His hands were gentle under her chin as he cleared away the mess. “We’ll get you cleaned up. It’s going to be fine.”
“I can’t stop shaking.” Her teeth rattled inside her head. Tremors passed through her, top to bottom, in waves. The idea that her body was doing things she couldn’t control set her mind spiraling again. Her chest tightened and instead of shaking less, the feeling worsened. On top of the rest of it, she couldn’t breathe.
“You’re having a panic attack, sweetheart.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re in shock. We need to get you warmed up. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He reached over and started the tub. It was enormous and took forever to fill. He watched the water for a moment and then glanced at her, worry tightening the edges of his eyes. He searched the room and snagged her big fluffy robe off the back of the door.
“Do you have anything hot to drink? I could fix you some tea.”
“Don’t think so.” Maybe she did, in the back of the cabinet somewhere, but she couldn’t remember. She blurted out the First-Aid training from the course Mitch had them do in the office one day. “The quickest way to warm someone up is skin-to-skin contact.”
He checked the water level. “I don’t know that HR would approve.”