“We are.”
Megan swung her legs toward the floor.
Gabriel’s voice sharpened.
“What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“You are injured.”
“My daughter was hunted because of my investigation.”
“That is an argument for resting.”
“It is an argument for finishing.”
She stood.
The room tilted.
Gabriel caught her elbow.
The contact froze both of them.
His grip was firm enough to steady her but not to control her.
The instant she found her balance, he released her.
Megan looked down at the place his hand had been.
“You always stop yourself from touching people,” she said.
“Not people.”
“Me?”
“You dislike being handled.”
It unsettled her that he had noticed.
She met his eyes.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you pulled out your own IV while injured because you believed your daughter was in danger.
I know you walked through a hospital full of people hunting you.
I know you entered a stranger’s car because staying still frightened you more than the stranger did.”
“That’s not knowing me.”
“No,” Gabriel said.
“But it is enough to know force would be a mistake.”
Before she could answer, Sofia appeared in the doorway holding a plate with half a pancake on it.
“Mommy, Rosa says I’m allowed syrup here.”
Megan looked at Gabriel.
He raised both hands slightly.
“I have no authority in this matter.”
For the first time since the explosion, Megan laughed without immediately remembering to be afraid.
The fear returned soon enough.
Thomas called that afternoon.
His voice shook with anger, shame, and panic.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he told Megan.
“Two men came asking where you were.
They knew Sofia’s school.
They knew my address.”
“You did the right thing taking her early.”
“I called the police.”
“I know.”
“They said they’d send someone.”
“I know.”
Thomas went quiet.
“Who came instead?” he asked.
Megan looked across the room at Gabriel.
He was reading something one of his men had brought him.
“Someone Marcus once told me to call if everything went wrong.”
Thomas exhaled.
“Megan, what have you gotten into?”
She looked at Sofia drawing on a blank sheet of paper at the table.
“The same thing I’ve been in for three years,” she said.
