Page 121 of Anchor
“In the executive tower. Until you got ambushed trying to protect Chase, me.”
When he looked down, Claire squeezed his hand. “We didn’t get long,” she said. “But we loved each other.”
His hand rose slowly to rest over her belly, his thumb brushing the curve he hadn’t remembered forming. His throat was tight. “And we made a baby on that first night.”
Claire gave a soft, breathy laugh. “Efficient, aren’t we?”
Reid leaned his head gently against hers. “We’ll do it better this time.” He pressed a soft kiss against her lips.
The room dimmedto a gentle amber glow. Reid lay flat now, the angle of the bed lowered for comfort. His body ached in too many places to count, but none of it compared to what it felt like when she wasn’t there.
Claire moved quietly, pulling off her slippers and sliding beneath the covers beside him. The mattress dipped slightly with her weight, just enough to remind him she was real.
No monitors beeped in alarm. No nurse rushed in to protest. The staff knew she belonged there. He knew she belonged there.
Reid turned toward her. His arm moved slowly, clumsily, but found its way around her waist.
Claire curled in gently, careful not to press against the places that hurt him. Her hand rested over his heart. “Okay?”
He nodded against her hair. “Yeah.”
Her breath slowed. Her body softened into him, holding him.
His fingers pressed lightly into the small of her back, grounding himself. Her skin was warm. Her scent, faint vanilla, coiled around him like safety. His body, bruised and healing, didn’t know what it was supposed to feel anymore, but his heart did.
She shifted slightly, brushing her lips along his jaw. “I missed this.”
Reid didn’t answer. He just held her tighter and let himself rest.
He woke to warmth,but not from the blanket or the sunlight cutting across the blinds. Claire was there, curled against him, one arm tucked beneath his, her forehead resting on the edge of his shoulder. For a second, he didn’t breathe. He lay still and listened to her slow, even breaths. He felt the light rhythm of her thumb unconsciously tracing over his ribs.
Reid closed his eyes again and let himself believe it. She was here. She’d never left.
She stirred a few minutes later, yawning softly. “Morning.” She brushed her hand along his jaw.
He turned to look at her. “You stayed.”
Claire smiled. “Of course I did.”
Reid’s voice cracked a little as he answered. “Good.”
FORTY-ONE
The girl in the rehab gym was maybe fifteen. Long-legged, all knees and cautious steps, her foot braced as the therapist guided her across the soft floor. She had pale skin, dark hair pulled in a loose braid, and wide eyes that reminded Reid of someone. Not someone here.
Sadie Dupart.
The memory hit like a match strike. She was fourteen, attending her first real event. He met the sassy girl the day before the gala.
He saw her again in his mind, standing on the edge of the gala stage in Ann Arbor, beside her father, Julian, clinging to a glass of ginger ale and pretending it was champagne. A silk ribbon in her hair. He remembered thinking,she’s growing up fast.Then he saw Claire.
An image of Claire from that night filled his mind, clearer than the fluorescent lights above. She was walking across the ballroom, dressed in black sequins that shimmered with every step. Her hair swept up, tendrils loose at her temples. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t there to impress. She was scanning. Her eyes locked with his across the crowd.
Reid stiffened. The grips in his hand fell loose. Tuck called to him, but Reid didn’t hear him. He was back there. He’d been working security that night. Tuxedo tight across his shoulders, earpiece in, hands loose but ready.
She came toward him with absolute purpose. Even then, before a word, she knew something wasn’t right.
He remembered the turn of her head. The way her gaze cut to the trio near the back corridor. Three intruders—too-perfect tuxedos, imperfect shoes. Red cufflinks. Gray Tie. He’d already clocked them.
