of the racks were stripped bare, with overturned boxes littering the floor. As he kicked one out of the way, a bright pink shoe spilled out.
Knox crouched to pick it up. It was child-sized, more cut-outs than actual material, and made from a thin, glittery plastic that seemed wildly impractical. Most of the shoes left behind were like that—remnants of a softer world, a more whimsical one. A world where children didn’t worry about broken glass or rusty nails or all the things that could hurt or kill them every time they walked outside.
Not many people had the luxury of being soft and whimsical anymore.
He abandoned the shoe and paced to the end of the aisle. The soft scrape of boot soles and a partly open door gave him a direction. He winced at the loud squeak as he pushed open the heavy door to the loading dock, but Nina didn’t turn around.
She was staring down at the loading area. Once upon a time, massive trucks had backed into the space, sunken so that their trailers would be level with the dock, to deliver or load thousands of boxes of shoes. Now, it was flooded—permanently, judging from the algae that slicked the concrete. Moonlight glinted off the water, and the breeze made it lap against the dock walls in tiny little waves.
After a moment, Nina gestured to the water. “There’s a creek behind the warehouse. It must overflow in this direction when hard rains come.”
He was about to ask how she knew when the moonlight caught silvery scales flitting through the water. “There are fish?”
“Nothing for eating. Just little minnows.” She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Notropis chrosomus. Rainbow shiners.”
She kept surprising him. “You have a special interest in fish?”
“Not particularly.” She glanced over at him. “How’s Conall?”
“Better.”
“Good. Then we can jump right in on how you lied to me.”
The muscles at the back of his neck tensed with warning. He kept his arms loose by his sides, half expecting an attack. “Lied about what?”
“Your team’s ability to protect mine.” She turned toward him while taking a step closer, and just like that, she was in his space, her face dangerously close to his. “You’re not just desperate. You’re dying.”
Instinct straightened his spine, but he couldn’t rely on looming over her for physical intimidation. She was tall, she was pissed, and he still wasn’t sure which of them would win in a fight.
It was perversely exhilarating.
“I never told you we weren’t dying,” he said evenly. “And we protected you just fine. Conall overdid it today, that’s all. We’ll adjust our strategy.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “And the next time one of you overdoes it?”
“That’s my problem.” Knox leaned closer. “I said I’d take care of security. I’ll take care of security. Or do you have some complaints about our efficiency in dispatching the enemy today?”
“Just one.” Before he could step back, she grabbed his wrist. Her fingers dug into his flesh, all her deceptive strength on full display. “The part where a member of your team almost died right in front of us. Which makes it our problem, Garrett. So don’t brush me off.”
She was upset. If she gripped him any tighter, she’d leave bruises on his skin, ugly marks in the graceful shape of her fingers. The logical part of his brain analyzed the naïveté of her response, the weakness it revealed, and the best possible response: calm de-escalation.
The darker part of him, three days into a steady diet of anxiety and thwarted adrenaline, overrode logic. In the still moment just before his self-control snapped, he judged the firmness of her grip, the strength of their respective stances, the distance to the wall, and the improbably clean scent of her hair.
It still smelled like fruit. Impossible, after two days on the road.
Intoxicating.
Fuck, this was all a terrible idea.
He twisted his hand lightning fast, breaking her grip to catch her wrist, reversing their positions. But Nina didn’t flinch or struggle, just flexed her hand almost absently.
She was busy staring at his mouth.
“You should fight back,” he rasped, irrationally irritated by her lack of concern.
“Why?” Her voice was velvet, low and secret and dark. “Are you trying to hurt me?”
“Everyone’s trying to hurt you.” Her skin was warm under his palm, and he could feel her pulse beating strong and fast. “That’s the one thing in this world no one can ever afford to forget.”
“Right.” Slowly, she used her free hand to peel his fingers away from her wrist.