Page 32 of Keeping Knight

“Not quite,” he murmurs against my hair. “As long as you’re safe, that’s the most important thing.”

Chapter Eight

MICAH

“How’s it going in here?”

Ruby’s head jerks up at the sound of my voice, but I’m relieved to see an answering smile instead of a flash of fear.

In the three days she’s been here, her jumpiness is gradually fading. Not completely—I wouldn’t expect that to happen for weeks or even months—but she doesn’t tense up at the slightest sound anymore. Her gaze isn’t constantly moving, unconsciously scanning her surroundings for any sign of danger. And I can walk into the same room she’s in without feeling like a total shit for scaring her. Most of the time, at least.

I’m taking it to mean she’s beginning to feel safe here. She should, considering my condo has pretty much every security feature available—smart locks, motion sensors on all the doors and windows, air monitors that can pick up the faintest hint of smoke, carbon monoxide, and volatile compounds, and panic buttons in most of the rooms.

Plus, Sampson and I are here. And between the two of us, we can take on pretty much any attacker and come out on top.

“Good,” Ruby replies. She sets her laptop to the side and folds her legs in front of her. “Just working on a manuscript. I was supposed to have it done on Friday, but…” Her shoulders lift in a helpless sort of what can you do shrug. “Plans change.”

I cross the bedroom and sit on the edge of her bed. My gaze quickly moves from her face to her neck and back again. Her bruises are shifting from purple to blue, which doesn’t look any better, but it’s a sign that they’re healing. Another few days, and they’ll start transitioning from blue to yellow. And another week after that, they’ll fade enough that they might not be noticeable except close-up.

But the scars that accompany them will take longer to heal. Anxiety, nightmares, possibly flashbacks… I’d be very surprised if Ruby doesn’t end up with some level of PTSD from this.

It makes me so damn angry to think about.

I’ve seen a lot of bad shit during my years in the Army. Shit I’ve shoved down so deep, it only comes to me in my sleep. But bursting into Ruby’s apartment to find her lying on the floor, clutching her throat and gasping for air after some monster nearly killed her—that’s right up there with one of the worst things I’ve seen.

That and the nightmare I had last night. In it, Ruby was standing outside her apartment, carrying one of those little to-go containers from our cooking class in one hand while she struggled to unlock the door with the other. She was smiling, though, like she had something pleasant on her mind. Just as she stepped inside, the bomb exploded, and the last thing I saw before I forced myself awake was Ruby engulfed in flames.

As the vision threatens to return, my stomach lurches. My heart pounds. A weight presses down on my chest, squeezing my lungs.

Guilt swamps me.

Logically, I know none of this is my fault. There was no way for me to know that there was a man lying in wait in Ruby’s apartment that night. There was every reason to believe it was safe. And the bomb… who would have expected that?

Except I should have been prepared for anything. Three years as a Ranger, five more in Delta, and now I work for one of the premier security companies in the country. Of course I should have considered the possibility of a trap. Shit, we dealt with enough of them on our missions in the Middle East.

“There’s no point in beating yourself up over this,” Rogue told me when we spoke yesterday. “Everyone’s safe. The fire was put out quickly. You even managed to grab Ruby’s things from her apartment.”

“I should have suspected the asshole would try something,” I retorted. “I should have known he’d come back.”

“We hoped he would,” he pointed out. “We just didn’t expect it to be so soon. Or that he’d use that tactic. But now we have new information, which is good. We know the guy isn’t giving up, which gives us a better shot at catching him. And we know he’s smart enough to build a bomb, so that will narrow our list of suspects down.”

“You didn’t see Ruby when I got home. She was terrified. Crying. She thinks it’s her fault. This asshole tries to kill her twice, and she’s apologizing to me. That’s messed up. And there’s no way to put a good spin on it.”

“It sucks,” he conceded. “I know it does. And I’m not happy about it, either. But, Micah.” We don’t usually use each other’s actual names, aside from when something really serious is going on. Which, considering I was almost blown up by an amateur bomb, probably qualifies.

“You can’t let this get to you,” he continued. “It’ll eat you up inside. And it’ll make things harder for Ruby. Even if you don’t say anything, she’ll pick up on how you’re feeling. Especially with her staying with you. Trust me. When everything happened with my dad, I shut Sofia out because I felt so fucking guilty. And I ended up hurting her, too.”

Stubbornly, I wanted to argue with him. Outline all the reasons I was to blame. But I knew he was right.

Does that mean I don’t still feel guilty? Of course not. But I’m trying to set the guilt and anger aside whenever I’m with Ruby.

Which is why I wrangle all the shitty thoughts and emotions and shove them into the dark corner of my brain reserved for all the things I don’t like to think about. Then I work my face into a smile as I say to Ruby, “I’m sure your clients understand. You told them you had a family emergency like we talked about, right?”

Ruby nods. “I did. But still. They’re counting on me. They have deadlines. And I don’t want to mess things up with my client after one of my others just fired me.”

I blink in surprise. This is the first I’ve heard of that. “Fired? By who? Why?”

She frowns. “One of my newer clients. He emailed me yesterday to tell me how unhappy he was. Apparently, he wasn’t getting the interest he wanted on his manuscript. And rather than trying to figure out how he could make it more appealing to agents, he decided to blame me for it.”