Page 50 of This Life of Mine

The file didn’t say he’d put his hands on her before. But files only tell you what gets reported. And women don’t always report.

“He’s my ex-husband,” she continues. “We divorced over five years ago. Apparently, he still hasn’t let that go.” Her mouth curves faintly, humorless.

“He loves bar fights. That’s how I know what he’s capable of,” she adds.

Maybe he hasn’t put his hands on her, or maybe that’s just her excuse.

She looks down at her hands as the EMT gently cleans them, her smile soft, almost detached. Like she’s learned how to compartmentalize pain.

“I can’t thank you enough for your timing,” she adds. “I think it would have turned much uglier had you not appeared.” A pause.

“I’m glad I was here,” I say honestly. Because it’s true, and because she needs to hear it, I add, “But I think, in the end, you would’ve taken him down on your own.” I smile at her.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s what Krav Maga issupposedto teach me. I don’t go as often as I should. I’m definitely not skipping classes anymore.”

Krav Maga. Right. I’d seen it in her file. Noted the gym schedule. Noted that she hadn’t been in class the last few months.

“Krav Maga is a solid system,” I say. “Practical. Efficient. Good survival techniques.”

She gazes up at me, curious now. “You sound like you’re familiar with it.”

“I am.” I hesitate only a second. “I’m a Grand Master.”

Shock flashes across her face, followed quickly by disbelief. “You’re—wait. Seriously?”

I nod once.

She studies me in a new way, like pieces are clicking into place: my timing, my discipline, the way Cole left the ground so easily.

“Well,” she says after a beat, smiling despite everything. “That explains…a lot.

I return the smile, brief and restrained.

By the time the lights stop flashing and the questions give way to paperwork, she’s limping. Adrenaline can only carry you so far before pain starts collecting its due.

“I can drive,” she says automatically, keys already in her hand when the officer asks how she’s getting home.

I turn towards her. “May I drive you? I would feel much better knowing you made it home safe.”

She looks me over for a moment.

“You aren’t a serial killer, are you?” she asks.

“Depends on how many bodies are required to meet that category,” I say with a smirk.

“Don’t be offended if I have pepper spray in hand. Just in case.” Lina says, sneering at me.

“By all means. I don’t blame your caution.” I say, putting my hands up in defeat.

“How will you get home?” she asks.

“I’ll finish my run. I don’t imagine you live too far.”

She smiles and nods in defeat. She’s exhausted.

We walk to her car, and I take the driver’s seat after I ease her in beside me from the passenger side.

The ride is short. Too short. This small town seems different when it’s passed midnight, and the danger has already shown its teeth.