Silver Lining (Diamond #3) - Skye Warren Page 0,5

an ordinary woman, and this is Elijah. A soldier.

I tried to protect him. What hope did I have of that? Very little, but that didn’t stop me. Love conquers all. That’s what they teach you as a child. That’s what my parents taught me, and it did feel as if their love could hold back the world. They didn’t face bullets from the U.S. Army, I suppose. Love did nothing to block those.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my tongue thick. The pain wants to drag me under, but I’m fighting it. This feels important, this moment with Elijah, his guilt like a phantom in the room.

I’m the one who shot the colonel. I’m the one who should suffer the consequences.

He gives a hard shake of his head. “No. Don’t.”

I’m not sorry I shot him. I’m only sorry I got hurt doing it. “Leave the country.”

He gives me a look like I’m insane. “You wouldn’t even survive the drive to the airport, sweetheart, much less a transatlantic flight.”

“You.”

Grief rips through his eyes. “And leave you here to—what? Die? Be arrested for treason? Fuck you for even suggesting that, sweetheart. No. Absolutely not.”

“My fault.”

Green is the most beautiful color. The color of dragons. Those green eyes watch me with a possessive gaze, as if I’m made of pure gold. “It’s my fault for letting that man within six feet of you. My fault for not killing him years ago. You were a warrior in there.”

“What will we do?”

Uncertainty. It’s only there for a flash. Half a second and then it’s gone. In its place there’s the determination that I’m used to seeing, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen beneath his armor. He doesn’t know how to protect us anymore. “No one knows we’re here.”

“You own?” Does he own the church?

A huff of humorless laughter. “Ironic, isn’t it? A man like me owning the church. You’d think it would have gone up in flames the moment I signed the papers. Just more proof that there’s no god anywhere to be found in those pews.”

He forces more of the broth down my throat until I pull my head back again. This time it’s warm, salty soup that runs down my throat to pool at the hollow there.

His gaze is fierce, his touch gentle as he wipes me up. “No one knows I own this place. It’s buried under layers of shell corporations. It won’t be easy to uncover.”

Not easy but not impossible. And the U.S. government will have resources the average person does not. That means we’re sitting in an hourglass, each grain of sand falling, leading closer and closer to the time when we’re discovered.

What happens then? Nothing good.

“Your brothers.”

“I’m not involving them. This goes beyond what North Security can handle. Even sharing their last name is enough to get them questioned at this point.”

“They would want to help you.” The words come out hoarse, because I want to help him. The same way I tried to help my sister on that urgent plane ride to Paris. Clumsily, armed only with a sense of right and wrong, with a love not strong enough to block bullets.

He swallows hard. “It doesn’t matter what they want.”

Those are the words he says, but what I hear is, It doesn’t matter what I want. Everyone wants their family. Even someone from a dark past full of abuse like him. He’s alone.

That’s when I realize I’m alone, too.

Even if I manage to heal enough to stand up, to walk out of this church, I’ll never be able to go back to my family, not with this murder on my hands. It would be too dangerous for them. They would be harboring a fugitive. I’ll never see London again. Never see my mom or my dad again. A tear slips down my cheek, following the trail of cooled broth.

Pain detaches itself from the space under his hands and curls lower to rest on my belly. Not as heavy down there. When it settles, I can bear it.

My eyelids are heavy, though, heavier by the minute.

Sleep feels cool, like the water I craved. I still crave it, but my lips won’t form the words. I’ll drink later. There will be a later, at least.

The pressure lifts off the wound and tension runs out of my body like rain. A careful hand brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead and smooths it down.

That’s the last thing I feel before my head slips under the surface.

3

London

These stairs are going to kill