He was afraid to let Carol out of his sight. And in truth, he didn’t really feel tired, just resigned and peaceful, and incredibly grateful that the day’s tragedy had left her unharmed. He sighed, and Carol’s weight rose and fell with him as she slept with her head on his chest, her hand on his stomach. He cradled her against his side, her long, slender body warm and reassuring. There had been no question of her remaining in her apartment, which was now sealed off as a crime scene. And he had no intention of letting her sleep anywhere alone. He didn’t care whether she stayed in a hotel room or with him here in his apartment, just so long as they were together. He stroked her smooth back, gliding his hand up her spine to her nape. His fingertips massaged her scalp through her soft hair. He turned his head just enough to press his lips gently to her forehead, careful of a small cut where her head had struck a door. She had another cut on her mouth, where Mario had struck her. She had refused to go to the hospital for treatment.
