Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
I gingerly touched the aching spot on my forehead. “I blacked out. I don’t know what happened after that. The next thing I knew, I was here with you.” I hugged him impossibly tighter. “You’re alive.” My voice hitched, and fresh tears wet his shirt.
They hadn’t killed my fiancé. He was warm and vital in my arms, heart beating steadily once again.
“You scared me, baby,” he confessed, a rare moment of vulnerability.
Guilt clawed at me. “I’m okay,” I promised again. “I’ll be more careful.”
“I should keep you at the apartment,” he rumbled. “I never should have agreed to allow you to teach at the university.”
“We need the money,” I countered. We were saving to buy our own home back in Albuquerque one day. We were partners, and I had to contribute to our future.
He grimaced. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone anymore. It’s not safe for you here.”
For a brief, selfish moment, I hoped he was going to declare that we were returning to New Mexico.
But I couldn’t allow him to abandon his aspirations with the DEA. George had always wanted to be in law enforcement, to be a force for good in this world. I had to support that noble dream.
“I’ll be more careful,” I vowed.
He pulled away from me, a small frown twisting his lips with disapproval. “Be honest with me, Evie. You weren’t going straight to the bus stop, were you? You were taking pictures again.”
The awful truth pierced my heart. I had paused to take some photos as I strolled to the bus stop. I’d promised George that I wouldn’t go out into the city with my camera like I would when I’d lived in Albuquerque, but sometimes I saw the perfect shot, and I pulled out my phone to capture the moment.
“I just stopped for a few minutes,” I protested. “I didn’t wander through the streets or anything.”
But even as I spoke, my cheeks heated with shame. This was all my fault.
My distraction had cost me dearly. I’d let my guard down to indulge my art, and I’d made myself an easy target.
My dreams of being a professional photographer had always been foolish, and now, playing pretend had almost cost George’s life.
“I won’t do it ever again,” I swore. “I’m sorry.”
He blew out a long sigh, and the frown mostly eased from his handsome features, his expression mercifully softening. “I know you won’t. I think you know better now and will take my warnings seriously. Won’t you?”
I nodded quickly. “Yes,” I agreed. “I won’t mess up again. I won’t put you in danger, George.”
He brushed an approving kiss over my aching forehead, and warmth settled over me despite the brief flicker of pain. George was with me, and we were both alive. Safe.
I would do anything to protect him, even if that meant giving up my small pleasures. I could go back to my photography hobby once we moved back to the States. It wasn’t as though I would ever make a career with my art. It was just a silly way I liked to express my irrepressible creative streak. It’d always been an impractical indulgence, and now, it’d almost gotten both of us killed.
I would be more vigilant from now on.
“You should quit your job,” he said, and cold panic pulsed through me. “Your small paycheck isn’t worth risking our lives.”
“No!” I took a breath to calm my nerves. “Please, George. I can’t just stay in that apartment all the time.”
I wasn’t particularly extroverted—George was the only real friend I’d ever had—but the apartment was small and cramped. The dangers of the city hemmed me in even more. I couldn’t bear to be trapped inside, locked away from the beauty and the ugliness of the world. All facets of humanity fascinated me. Even if I was apart from the emotional bonds most people easily enjoyed, I was able to observe it all through the lens of my camera.
“You wouldn’t be in the apartment all the time. We’ll still go to the market together,” George allowed.
The only time I got to take my camera out was on our weekly trips to the market, when George made time away from work to accompany me. Otherwise, my commute to the university allowed me a small window into the world. If I lost that, I would go crazy from the isolation.
“That’s once a week,” I said weakly, feeling selfish that I was protesting when he only wanted to protect us both.
He raked a hand through his sandy hair, mussing it from its usual tidy style. He only did that when he was deeply frustrated with me, and the gesture made me cringe internally.
“I’ll spend more time with you,” he promised. “You can come with me when I’m networking socially. But you’re not going to the university anymore. Not by yourself. And I can’t leave work to escort you around the city every day.”