Page 13 of Vows of Blood

The cold air chills my damp shirt immediately as I drape the huge jacket around her slim shoulders, covering the soaked blouse.

She clutches the lapels immediately, pulling them closed around her chin. When she looks up at me, small and scared, I’m transported back to a time when we were closer than I’ve been with anyone, before or since, and the urge to comfort her is as natural and overpowering as it is unwelcome.

Reaching out slowly, my fingers find the collar, turning it up carefully to shield her delicate neck from the chill in the air. Lingering, I adjust it, trapped by her big, blue eyes.

My thumb moves without permission, wiping a smear of red from her cheek as tears glisten.

She stiffens, praying I won’t ask her if she’s okay. That any act of kindness right now would push her right over the edge.

“Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper.

I let myself look at her for one more second, to take in the beautiful face I once knew better than my own, allowing myself to feel a faint whisper of the joy I used to feel just from seeing her smile.

Then I shut it down.

“The assassin. The second one,” I say. “You saw him.” Not a question, a statement of fact.

The softness in her expression fades, replaced by doubt. “I... yes. I saw him for a second.”

Her hands find each other as she bites the corner of her lower lip, dipping her chin lower into my jacket.

“Did you recognize him?” Doing my best to sound nonchalant, I look away, releasing her from the pressure of my stare.

“No.” Too fast. “He was wearing a mask, remember? It was dark. I couldn’t see anything but his eyes.”

I know her tells. The tension at the corners of her mouth. The way her cheeks flush when she’s hiding something.

Sienna was always a terrible liar. And she’s lying to me right now.

“His eyes,” I press, stepping closer. “What color were they?”

That familiar line appears between her perfectly arched eyebrows as she concentrates. “Blue, I think. Pale.”

“You think,” I repeat, frustration building inside me as I stare out at the milling police officers, knowing our conversation is about to be cut short.

She steps back. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Luca.” There’s steel beneath her words. “It all happened so quickly, and I was terrified. I was trying not to stare.”

Bullshit. She was staring at the shooter right before he fled.

But Sienna doesn’t respond well to being put on the spot. If I push too hard, she’ll dig in her heels and shut down, stubborn to a fault. So instead of demanding an answer, I blow out a long breath and wait.

Sienna looks at me from under thick dark lashes, her thoughts churning, that clever brain of hers considering her options.

Just when I think she’s about to give me what I want to know, a horn blares, tires screeching as Nico pulls up with the car. The moment is gone, and with the police circling, and a man in a dark raincoat heading our way with intent, it’s clear our time is up.

“Bruno,” I bark, knowing he’s close by, handling business.

Bruno appears at my elbow immediately, immaculate in a three-piece suit, seemingly unfazed by the carnage we’ve just emerged from. “Sir.”

“Get Ms. Fox home. She’s too shaken to answer questions tonight.”

My attorney nods, already positioning himself between Sienna and the approaching detective.

“The detective won’t be pleased,” Bruno warns, always more conscious than I am of toeing the line between refusing to deal with the police at all and avoiding antagonizing them unnecessarily.

But tonight, of all nights, I’m in no mood to play politics.

“I don’t give a fuck. He can schedule through your office. Tomorrow.”