He felt her tense as they walked past the dark corner where Boyd had shot him. She buried her face in his chest and he held her tight until they were safe in his apartment, the elevator doors shut securely behind them. "I keep seeing his face," she whispered, her voice muffled. "In the shadows. When I close my eyes. Here in this room." Gently, he placed her feet on the ground, keeping her snug against his body. "It's over now." "Is it?" She looked up at him, her eyes haunted, her hands fisted at his chest. "Will it ever be over?" He breathed in deeply and shook his head. As long as she was connected to him, he knew for her it never would be over—not for her. His chest tightened as the truth hit him. How could she look at him and not see her father's blood on her hands, her sister's suffering? He was a constant reminder of everything she'd lost. He sighed and pressed his lips against the top of her head. "I don't know." "I just want to forget." That was one thing he could help her do.
