Page 60 of The Woman in the Hollow
“I have a dry cleaner.”
Despite myself, that had my lips curving up even as he pulled me carefully closer, tucking me in at his side.
Yes, he was guilty of hiding a body, of lying to my face, but he came speeding; he was here, and I desperately needed comfort.
I turned in toward him, resting my cheek against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart—slow, calm, in such opposition to my own frantic beat.
Dante’s fingers slid up and down my arm, a barely-there touch, like he was worried about hurting me any further.
“There you go,” he murmured when the trembling eased, my breathing evening out, and my pulse slowing. “Feeling a little better?”
No.
God, no.
With the adrenaline bleeding out of me, I was much more aware of all the aches and pains in my body.
There was a burning in my palms, a deep, throbbing ache in my shoulders, a soreness in my thighs, and a sharp pain in my ankle that made me think I’d maybe sprained it somewhere along the way.
“Dante,” Domenico’s voice called, making me jerk so hard that I might have whacked my head on the underside of the desk if Dante hadn’t quickly placed his hand there first.
“Mind if I go talk to my cousin for a minute?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he agreed, giving my knee a little squeeze, then getting to his feet.
I watched him reach for his gun. Then, thinking twice, he left it right there within reach.
If I was looking for more reasons to believe I’d called the right people, I somehow felt like that might be one of them. Just seeing it there made me feel a little better.
Outside of the shop, I could hear the low timbre of male voices. Somehow, I didn’t want to know what they were saying. So long as it meant I was safe with them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dante
I knew the second I heard her voice that something had gone horribly sideways.
It was that whispered tremble, that desperate way her voice looped around my name.
I was running out of Famiglia before I could tell anyone what was going on. That said, this wasn’t our first rodeo. So by the time I was running down the salt-slippery steps, I heard them all rushing behind me.
I knew I didn’t have to yell back to them that there was a problem, that they needed to follow me. I just focused on trying to keep Hazel calm and flooring it all the way back up the highway to the garden center.
Nothing seemed overly out of place as I pulled in. Except, of course, that Hazel’s Jeep was nowhere in sight.
I managed to clock that but didn’t let myself focus on it as I ran to the shop, unlocked the door, and rushed inside.
I saw my family pulling into the lot behind me. I knew they would do what needed to be done: get their weapons, fan out in groups, scour every inch of the garden center and the woods to make sure there was no active threat.
That let me focus on Hazel.
The light in the shop was low, and I didn’t want to freak her out by turning any on, so it was hard to assess the extent of the damage. I could smell the blood, though. And when I sat next to her, I noticed the way she had her hands set on her thighs, palms up. There were some gnarly scratches there, along with some on her face, and she was caked in dirt all up her front, the light brown color standing out against her black clothing.
As I sat with her, waiting for her shaking to subside and the shock to slowly slip away, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she was doing at the garden center at the crack of dawn in all black… without her car.
It wasn’t time to ask her questions yet, though, so I just sat with her, giving her the comfort she needed after what was clearly an ordeal.
