The car rolled to a stop in front of a building that looked like it had been abandoned since the invention of indoor plumbing. The brick facade was crumbling, the windows boarded up, and the only sign of life was a flickering neon "OPEN" sign above a door that very much did not look open.
Malone killed the engine.
I stared. "If this is a safe house, I'd hate to see your idea of a dangerous one."
No response. Typical.
He got out, circled the car, and opened my door before I could even attempt to peel myself off the leather. Every muscle in my body had apparently decided now was the perfect time to stage a mutiny. I groaned as I shifted, my ribs aching and my wound sore.
I swung my legs out, wincing as my ankle reminded me that, yes, it was still pissed. "You know, a little warning next time you decide to take me to Scooby-Doo's Haunted Hideout would be nice."
"Yes, Madame." Malone hooked an arm under my shoulders and hauled me upright like I weighed nothing. Which, given how much blood I was pretty sure I'd lost, might've been close to true.
The alley smelled like wet garbage and cat pee. Terrific. Just what the doctor ordered for someone very close to vomiting and passing out.
Malone steered me toward the door, his grip firm but not crushing. For a guy who could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat, he had a weirdly gentle touch.
The door creaked open before we reached it.
Nathan stood in the doorway, backlit by a dim yellow bulb that did nothing flattering for either of us. His suit was rumpled, his tie loosened, and his expression—well. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked relieved.
And guilty.
What exactly had Nathan been doing during the time I was literally stuck to a chair having a conversation with Viktor?
"I'm sorry," Nathan said, cupping my face.
"What are you sorry for?"
"Everything. I ... you deserve better."
"Did you kidnap me?"
"No, of course not!"
"Just checking."
Nathan's gaze flicked over me—blood, bruises, the whole "I got kidnapped and all I got was this lousy trauma" aesthetic—and his expression darkened. He tilted my face to check my neck.. His thumb brushed over a cut on my under my jaw. His touch was gentle, and his expression regretful.
"Who did this?"
"A lovely Russian gentleman named Viktor. He wore a ski mask, but he was a big guy with a buzz cut. Dressed in kidnapper black. Oh, and when I left, he had a chair leg sticking out of his thigh." I pointed at myself. "I did that. Because, let's be honest, that guy was a dick."
I swayed, suddenly feeling light-headed. "You know what? I don't feel all that great."
"You're too pale." Nathan scooped me into his arms and turned, going inside. Malone followed, shutting the door behind us and then leaning against it.
The inside of the building was—surprise—not a crack den. Instead, it was a sparse but clean space, with a worn couch, a desk covered in monitors, and a mini-fridge humming in the corner.
A real safe house.
Malone deposited me onto the couch like I was fragile cargo. I hissed as my ribs protested, but at this point, pain was just my body's way of saying "hello."
Nathan crouched in front of me, his hands braced on his knees. "What happened? Start at the beginning."
I sighed. "Okay, You left me in the hospital. Oh, by the way, how's Fiona?"
"On her way to Paris," said Nathan with a grimace.
To say Nathan shipped off his white moonlight to France was like saying Wang Hao Zhen was an trash-eating ogre. Impossible to believe. (Side note: Have you seen the beauty that is Wang Hao Zhen? Drool.)
"Not the recap," Nathan cut in. His voice was still tight, but there was something else there now. Something warmer. "Are you okay?"
I blinked.
Then I laughed. It hurt. "Oh, you know. Just peachy. Got kidnapped, escaped, got threatened, bled on some very expensive shoes—"
"Vanessa."
I stopped.
Nathan's gaze held mine, steady. Unwavering.
I exhaled. "...I'll live."
For a second, he just looked at me. Then he nodded, once, and stood. "Good."
Malone, who had been hovering near the door like a particularly lethal shadow, finally spoke. "Viktor's men are still looking for her." His voice was flat, but his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.
Nathan's expression hardened. "Let them."
The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. Not the scared kind—the kind that made the hair on your arms stand up because you knew something worse was coming. Nathan had two modes: controlled and catastrophic. Right now, he was toeing the line between them.
I cleared my throat. "Uh, just to clarify—when you say 'let them,' you don't actually mean 'let them find me and finish the job,' right? Because I'd really like to avoid round two of Hostage: The Vanessa Experience."
Nathan didn't look at me. His gaze stayed locked on the middle distance, like he was already mapping out the fastest way to dismantle whoever the hell Viktor was. "They won't get close, Neenie."
Malone grunted in agreement.
I glanced between them. "Oh, great. When you two go full John Wick, I just stay here like an NPC? Do I at least get a bulletproof vest? Or, I don't know, a snack?"
"You need rest and a doctor. We'll handle the assholes who thought kidnapping you was a great idea."
Malone cracked his knuckles.
I slumped back against the couch. "What happened to Carver?"
"We've got men out looking for him. No trace yet." Nathan looked at Malone. "You think you were followed?"
"Please say now. Let's not let the murderous kidnappers find me."
Nathan turned back to me, and this time, there was no warmth in his smile. Just teeth.
"They won't touch you again."
I believed him.
Which, honestly, was way more terrifying than the kidnapping.
Malone grunted. "She needs a doctor."
Nathan nodded, already pulling out his phone. "I'll call Lin."
I groaned. "Can the doctor bring donuts?"
Nathan paused. Stared at me.
I shrugged. "What? Near-death experiences make me hungry."
Malone made a sound that might've been a laugh.
Or maybe he was just choking on his own stoicism.
"Hey, what's that sound?" I asked.
"Someone's knocking on the front door."