Page 40 of Fatal Pattern

“Clear!”

“Bedroom clear!”

“Kitchen clear!”

“Tori!” Blade’s voice boomed through the noise. “Tori! Where are you?”

She opened her mouth to answer. Nothing came out. Five seconds ago, she was worried about the carpet, and now . . . Now she couldn’t speak. Her throat had locked completely. Words trapped somewhere between her brain and her vocal cords. Watching shadows move under the door.

Stay silent. Stay hidden.

The rational part of her screamed that these were the good guys. Blade was here. Help had arrived. But she pressed deeper into the corner, making herself smaller. Invisible.

“Bathroom clear!”

“Living room clear!”

Footsteps approached her bedroom. “Tori, it’s me.”

Blade.

She couldn’t hear his movements. Probably going slow, checking behind furniture, under the bed. Looking for threats. Looking for her.

“If you can hear me, you’re safe now. We’re here.”

His voice was closer. Right outside the closet door. She could see the bedroom light flick on through the crack where the door didn’t quite meet the frame.

All she had to do was speak. Say his name. Reach out and push the door open.

Her hand remained frozen on the gun. Her voice stayed buried.

The closet door creaked open. Light spilled across her face, forcing her to squint against the sudden brightness. Blade stood silhouetted in the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the bedroom light behind him.

She must be a sight. Crumpled in the corner like discarded laundry. Gun on the floor. Blood-soaked shirt wrapped around her arm. Eyes wide and glassy with shock.

But Blade didn’t speak. Didn’t ask if she was okay or demand an explanation. Just snapped his weapon into place and sank to the floor beside her.

The dam broke.

Relief crashed over her like a tsunami, washing away every defense she’d built. The sobs came from somewhere deep inside. Ugly, wrenching sounds that she hadn’t heard herself make since she was a child. Her body shook with the force of them. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with snot that she couldn’t control.

His arm came around her, pulling her closer. Not romantic or possessive. Just shelter. His hand rested on her shoulder, thumb moving in circles against her collarbone.

She surrendered. Let her head fall against his shoulder. The cotton of his shirt was soft against her cheek, warm from his body heat. He smelled like coffee and the faint trace of his cologne. He simply existed beside her, solid and unmoving as a mountain. And in the quiet safety of his presence, she let herself fall apart.

Blade still didn’t speak. Didn’t try to fix anything or offer empty reassurances. His heartbeat thrummed steady beneath her cheek. Each beat sent heat through her bloodstream and made her hyperaware of his arm around her shoulders.

The crying continued. She told herself to stop. Get control. Act like the professional she was supposed to be. But her body refused to cooperate. The fear and adrenaline had to go somewhere, and tears were the only outlet available.

A uniformed officer’s head appeared in the doorway, took in the scene, and immediately withdrew. The bedroom door clicked shut, leaving them alone in their cocoon of darkness.

Her eyes felt swollen. Puffy. The sniffling wasn’t holding back anything anymore. She wiped her nose on the bloodstained shirt wrapped around her arm and let out a shaky laugh.

“Great. Now I got snot all over my evidence.”

Blade’s shoulders lifted with quiet laughter. “I never liked that shirt anyway.”

His voice was gentler than usual. Missing the sharp edge of his classic sarcasm. Worry threaded through every word.