He stepped through the doorway, facing a desk that was empty. A young woman stood up in the far cell, her face bruised, her pale brown hair tangled, her jeans torn and stained with blood.
“Damn them.” He skirted the desk, headed for her. Whatever it took he wasn’t leaving without—
“Marcus?”
The quiet voice froze him. Heart pounding, he turned to the second cell. Shock pale, dirty, bruised, Claire stared at him from behind the bars.
“Gods—” He rushed forward, reached through the bars to touch her face. “Claire.” Warm skin met his shaking fingers. She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. His other hand laid over hers on the bar; when her breath hitched, he cupped her chin and waited for her to look at him. “I thought I lost you.”
“You nearly did,” she whispered. Pain sliced her voice. She tried to shield it from him, but he felt the raw edge of it. Examining her, he found the bloodstained fabric wrapping her left wrist, the red mark of a hand on her left cheek. “You have to go, Marcus. Please—before they trap you here.”
“Not without you. Not this time.” His decision made, he slid his hand up to cradle her cheek. “You have to trust me.”
Letting her go, he pulled his ring off his right hand, slid it on to his left, where it sat once before, long ago. Claire sucked in her breath.
“No, Marcus—please, you can’t do this—you have to go—”
His lips cut her off, gentled when a sob choked her. He brushed her lips one more time, emotions he never expected to feel again surging through him, then eased back. “Like I said, not without you. Officer!” He stepped back when Claire tried to stop him. The woman burst through the doorway immediately, as if she had been waiting just outside it. Skidding to a halt, she stared from Marcus to Claire and back again. “This woman is my wife. Her name is Claire Wiche, and she has been missing for months.”
The woman flushed. “There was no—”
“Did you ask her name? Check your records—a missing persons report was filed nearly three months ago.”
“I can’t—” Her gaze skated back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching. Marcus could tell she was losing control.
“Please, go run your check. But unlock this cell first. My wife is no criminal.”
“You don’t leave this room ‘til I run that check.” She stepped forward, pulled a key ring off her belt. After fumbling through the keys, she chose one, slid it into the lock and twisted. “And now you’re responsible for her. I’m not taking the fall if he gets mad. And he can get real mad, real fast.”
Her shoulder scraped the doorframe as she backed out of the room. The contact had her jumping. With a curse she whirled and ran.
Marcus swung the cell door open, and caught Claire around the waist when her knees buckled. Moving slowly, he led her to the cot, settled her, and sat beside her. “Let me see that wrist.”
“You are the most stubborn—God above, Marcus . . .” Her voice faded. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. She sagged against him, one arm wrapping around his waist. His fingers slid down her hair. All that glorious, rich brown hair, touched with red, lay in ropy tangles down her back. “It’s good to see you.” Leaning back, she met his eyes. This close, he saw the exhaustion, the strain. “I expected Annie to come strolling in here, straight into their net. How did you end up here instead?”
He told her, and she smiled, shaking her head. “At least she’s out of danger.” Marcus cleared his throat, and her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I phoned her, told her to meet me here. I thought I might need—backup.” He focused on her wrist, to keep from having to meet those eyes. “I had no idea when I did so that it would be—this.” Closing his hand over hers, he let tendrils of healing wrap around her wrist. His control had improved, to the point where he no longer needed to reveal himself to soothe smaller hurts. “I will get you out of here. I promise you.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Lea.” She gestured to the girl in the next cell, curled on the cot, trying to give them privacy. “Come on,” she said. “You’re part of this now.”
The girl joined them, lowering herself to the floor. Her injuries looked worse close up, and Marcus agreed with Claire—they would go nowhere without her.
“I am Marcus,” he said, keeping his voice quiet, even. “May I tend you?”
A smile brightened her bruised face. “He’s a polite one.”
“When it suits him.”