Chapter 29 Respect
ALISTAIR
The sound of a blade hitting wood is not a sound I thought I’d ever enjoy hearing. But right now, it’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.
The serrated hunting knife skitters across the damp planks of the pier, vanishing into the black, murky water with a soft splash. Before the kidnapper can even process the fact that he’s no longer the one in control, Emily’s boot connects with his ribs. She doesn’t just kick him; she drives him into the floorboards. The man collapses into a pathetic heap of dark fabric and broken pride. After dramatically coughing, he goes completely still, and his wheezing breath is the only sign he’s still conscious.
Lily doesn’t wait.
The second the arm around her waist slackens, she lunges forward. She’s a blur of yellow fabric and messy pigtails, her small shoes thumping against the wood as she buries her face in Emily’s wet shirt. The child’s composure finally shatters. She sobs with a raw, guttural intensity that vibrates through the entire pier.
The sound hurts me more than anything, and I clench my fists.
"It’s okay, Lily," Emily whispers. Her voice is a jagged ras,p but she continues. "I’ve got you. It’s over. Don’t look at him. Just look at me."
I stand on the bank, the air in my lungs finally returning in a cold, sharp rush. I’ve spent my life navigating boardrooms filled with predators and back alleys filled with shadows, but seeing Emily emerge from that water like a vengeful spirit has done something to my internal compass.
My pulse is still rhythmi,c thrumming in my ears. I look at my wife. My wife.
Yes. She’s my wife, and right now, she’s soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her skull like dark seaweed, her skin a ghostly, translucent white under the dying light of the sun.
She looks fragile enough to break, yet she just held a gun to a man’s head without flinching.
It hits me that no one has moved except Lily. Even Emily herself is just speaking to Lily and reassuring her. She still has the gun in her hand, and she’s still standing in the same position.
"Move in!" I bark toward the tree line.
My voice is back to its usual edge of iron, a command that snaps the world back into its proper orbit. My bodyguards, who had been frozen in a state of absolute, jaw-dropping disbelief, finally scramble into motion. They swarm the pier like a dark tide.
Leo is the first one to reach the kidnapper. He pulls the man up by the scruff of his hoodie, his movements rough and lacking his usual professional restraint. He looks at Emily, then at the man he’s currently hauling toward the SUV, and shakes his head.
"I’ve seen seasoned field agents lose their nerve under that kind of pressure, ma’am," Leo says. He doesn’t look at me; he’s staring at Emily with a look of genuine, unvarnished awe. "Most people would’ve been shaking so hard they’d have dropped the weapon. You didn’t even blink."
He offers a stiff, respectful nod, the kind usually reserved for decorated generals, before dragging the suspect away.
I walk onto the pier. The wood groans under my weight. I notice Emily still hasn’t moved an inch. She didn’t respond to Leo’s praise. In fact, I don’t think she even heard it. She’s just standing there, with Lily’s arms wrapped around her. Her eyes are fixed on the empty space where the kidnapper’s head used to be. Her arms are locked in place, the pistol still gripped in her right hand, her knuckles so white they look like polished bone.
She’s gone into a shock-induced catatonia. The adrenaline must have drained out, leaving her body a rigid, frozen statue.
I step closer as carefully as I can because I know any sudden movement might spook her. "Emily?"
She doesn’t hear me. Her gaze is a thousand miles away.
I reach out, my fingers hovering over her hand. I’ve never been a man of gentle gestures, but the sight of her like this—fierce and broken all at once—stirs a strange, heavy feeling in my chest. It isn’t the irritation I usually feel when she defies me. It’s a heat, a sudden, inexplicable softness that makes the air feel hard to breathe.
I place my hands over hers, my palms large and warm against her icy skin. "It’s over. You can let go now."
I have to pry her fingers away one by one. Her grip is like iron, her body vibrating with a tension that feels like it might shatter her. I slowly peel her thumb back, then her forefinger, easing the heavy weight of the pistol out of her hand. I tuck the weapon into the small of my back, my gaze never leaving her face.
Lily looks up at me, her eyes red and her cheeks stained with tears and lake muck. I scoop her up with one arm, pulling her against my shoulder. She smells like the stagnant water and a chocolate muffin.
"You were a very brave girl, Lily," I say. My voice is quiet, the rough edges smoothed down just for her.
Lily shakes her head, her small hand reaching out to touch Emily’s wet sleeve. "No, Uncle Alistair. I was scared. Miss Emily was the brave one. She came out of the water like a superhero."
I look at Emily. She’s still standing there, her arms now hanging uselessly at her sides, her chest hitching with shallow breaths. She looks small. Too small for the world she’s just forced herself into.
Instead of acknowledging the soft feeling in my chest, I reach out and wrap my arm around her waist. She’s cold enough to make my own skin prickle. She doesn’t resist as I hoist her up, lifting her rigid, soaked body onto my shoulder with one effortless pull. She’s light, her frame barely a burden compared to the weight of the fury still simmering in my gut toward the people who allowed this to happen.
I begin walking toward the obsidian-black SUV, carrying the two most important people in my life along with me like precious cargo. And they are.
EMILY
Being carried like a rolled-up carpet is a special kind of hell, especially when your brain is still trying to decide if you’re actually alive or if you’ve drowned in that lake.
My head is hanging down Alistair’s back, my eyes fixed on the movement of his expensive leather shoes on the gravel. Every step he takes sends a jolt through my ribs, but I can’t even find the energy to complain. My body feels like it’s been turned into a block of wood. I’m dimly aware of the eyes of the bodyguards on us, their silent, heavy stares following the boss as he hauls his wet, catatonic wife toward the car.
I should be mortified. I should be demanding he put me down. I should be making a joke about how he’s finally acting like a caveman. But my throat is a desert, and my tongue feels like it’s made of lead. The only thing I can do is stare at the stitching on his suit jacket and wonder how a man can feel this much like a mountain.
Alistair reaches the car. Leo holds the door open, his expression a mix of concern and that lingering, wide-eyed respect. I heard him earlier when he commended me, but I was too weak to reply.
Alistair slides me into the back seat with a surprising amount of care, though he doesn’t exactly wait for me to get comfortable. He just props me against the leather and then climbs in next to me, still cradling Lily in his arms.
The door thuds shut, sealing out the sound of the wind and the lake.
Alistair doesn’t look at me immediately. He’s busy tucking a wool blanket around Lily, his large hands moving with a precision that borders on tender. Lily has already started to drift off, the exhaustion of the day finally winning out over the fear.
Alistair finally turns his head. His obsidian eyes are deep, unreadable pools of shadow in the dim light of the cabin. He studies my face, his gaze lingering on the raw scrape on my arm and the way my hair is dripping onto the chair.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
The question is a low, quiet thing. It doesn’t sound like a demand.
I manage a small, jerky nod. I want to say something brilliant. I want to tell him I’m fine, that I’ve handled worse, that he should see the other guy. But the air in the car is running cold. The air conditioning is a high-powered, industrial blast designed for a man in a full suit, and it’s currently hitting my soaked clothes like a gale from the Arctic.
My jaw finally betrays me. My teeth give a sharp, rhythmic click. A violent, uncontrollable shiver wracks my entire frame, starting in my shoulders and vibrating all the way down to my toes. I pull my knees to my chest, my skin turning into a map of pale gooseflesh as the reality of the cold finally catches up to me.
I know what hypothermia looks like. I know that soon enough, I’ll turn from a healer to a patient.