Burn Code

Eighteen

“Charisma.” I guessed. “The prick was full of it.”

“A shame.” He took a breath and chipped at the table with his nails. “Maybe if I had figured it out sooner—”

I interrupted, reaching out to squeeze his knee as I set down my glass. “That way lies madness, Paul. I keep thinking the same thing, but at least he’s in custody now.”

”I know.” A sad smile played over his lips.

Fingers traveling over the colored swirls of the boteh, he gripped my arm. He tongued his lip and anguished over something.

“What?”

Paul shook his head. His hand lifted from my arm to touch my cheek. His fingertips brushed over the welts along my neck and I instinctively ducked away. My reaction caught him off guard.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t even think.”

I took his hand in mine and brought his knuckles to my lips. For a few brief moments we stared at each other. I looked away first, unable to take the weight of that gaze.

Finally I stood and pulled him into an embrace. It was the only way to avoid eye contact and getting lost in emotions I didn’t want to experience. He came willingly and held on, circling his arms around my shoulders.

“There isn’t a greeting card for this, is there?” Paul chuckled. The vibration reverberated through me. “One that says ‘thank you for saving me from a serial killer before my other eye was forcibly extracted or worse’?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.” My hands found their way to the base of his shoulder blades and I buried my forehead in his chest.

“Cara.”

Eventually I leaned back to glance up at him. I caught the contemplation in his eye.

“Shut up,” I said before he even had a chance to continue.

Paul smiled wide. “I’m trying to thank you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion, the smile still on his lips. “Why not?”

“Because I’ll start crying and I don’t do that.” I forced myself to breathe to keep the tears at bay.

“Christ,” He swore as he laughed. “Fine then, I won’t thank you.”

His arms circled tighter and tucked my head beneath his chin.

“Paul?” I spoke after a long moment of just holding on to him.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t he shoot me again?”

“Dumb luck.” He sighed. “Lansing’s gun jammed.”

A hand smoothed over the crown and his fingers found the Ouroboros, but without the use of his sensor tips, it was simply skin on skin.

I tipped my head to him and met his lips with a gentle kiss.

I cried anyway.

ONE MONTH LATER

I glared at him from across the table and swore.

“Paul!”

“I’m sorry, but you know — unfinished business.” He pulled out his handcuffs from the pouch at the small of his back and slid them over the table towards me. “Don’t make it more difficult than it already is, Cara. If I hadn’t passed out the last time—”

“I saved your damned life!” I growled at him.

“You did.” He nodded and gave me a strained smile. “And I thank you for that.”

His bruises were beginning to fade, but his skin had that sickly yellow green tint around the socket.

The manufactured eye adjusted at a different rate as he focused. Its brown iris matched his real eye, but if lit at the right angle, the metal filaments that dilated it were visible.

“I just need to bring you in. Make a show of it.” His finger traced the chain between the manacles. “I doubt they’ll press charges — mitigating circumstances and all.”

He licked his lips and leaned closer. “Believe it or not, this time I’m on your side.”

“Funny way of showing it!”

“Cara—”

“Let me go.” I interrupted, matching his lean as I met his gaze.

Paul blinked at me, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he debated with himself. A sad expression finally washed over his features and at that point I knew he had made up his mind.

“Dammit, Paul!” I swore at him again. He gave me a pained smile.

“This is why we’ll never work out,” he said softly. Scooping up the handcuffs from the table, he slid out of the booth at Maggie’s. He motioned a finger at me, directing me to stand and turn around.

“Fine.” I sighed and complied. “I still hate you.”

“I know that.”

“This gets you all hot, doesn’t it?” I asked as he collapsed the strands over my wrists and ratcheted them closed.

He snorted a laugh. “A little.”

“You bastard.”

“Watch it, or I won’t take them off,” he whispered against my temple.

No one looked up from their seats as he led me out to the patrol car.