Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(74)

A few people got off at the Division stop, but somehow the group of rowdy teenagers just subsumed that space, giving her no respite. When the train began moving again, she took a deep breath.

My neck feels relaxed. My breathing is soft, full, and easy.

The Damen station was aboveground—the Blue Line continued on an elevated track from that point—so any moment now she would notice the train ascending, she would see the gray haze of natural light and hear raindrops on the windows. And then she would know she was home free.

My entire body is relaxed and comfortable.

Ford peered down at her, his lips curved in a coy smile. “Are you around tonight? I thought maybe we could grab something to eat.”

She knew what she was supposed to say in response, the expected quip—You know what happens every time we do that—but her lips felt like they were moving slower and she’d just started to form the words when—

The train came to a sudden stop.

The guy in front of Victoria bumped into her, pushing her back into Ford. She swallowed, and waited for the train to start moving again.

It didn’t.

“Come on. What now?” the guy in front of her complained.

She tried to remain calm—they were probably just waiting for another train to clear the station. But then her mind began racing. What if this wasn’t a momentary delay? What if she were stuck here for a while, in this enclosed underground metal box that had no exits? She’d never make it; she’d already been hanging on by a thread, so the train needed to start moving—now—before she fainted or caused a scene, before everyone started staring at her, because everyone on the train was going to realize that something was wrong with her, and worst of all Ford would know that something was wrong with her, and—

“I have to get out of here.” She tried inhaling, but it wasn’t working; the air in the train car felt oppressively stuffy.

Ford looked down at her, and a flicker of understanding crossed his eyes. “The train,” he said quietly, as if something about this registered with him. He put his hand on her elbow reassuringly. “It’s okay. We’ll be moving any moment now.”

The train lurched forward, but it was too late; she felt light-headed and oddly disconnected from her body, as if this had become a dream, and Ford was saying something to her but all she heard was a rush of white noise as her vision narrowed and darkness closed in.

“I think I’m going to faint,” she murmured.

The last thing she felt before blacking out was his arms closing around her.

* * *

SHE HEARD THE sound of a man’s voice, commanding and authoritative.

Coming out.

It took her a moment to recognize the voice as Ford’s, to remember where she was, and to realize that she was moving.

He was carrying her off the train.

She felt the firmness of his chest against her cheek, the strength of his arms cradling her. When a rush of cooler air hit her, she breathed it in, slow and deep.

Ford shifted her in his arms, and she heard murmurs. Other voices.

“We’re off the train, Victoria.” His tone was reassuring. “I’m going to call 9-1-1 and get you some help.”

Please, no. She was already making enough of a scene. She gripped his shirt with one hand. “No. Just . . . don’t move.”

Forcing her eyes open, she saw that she and Ford were on the train platform, and that a small crowd of people had gathered around them.

All staring at her.

“I’m fine,” she said to the crowd. She went for a weak joke, to minimize the weirdness of the situation. “Guess I probably shouldn’t have skipped lunch today.”

“I think it would help if she could get a little space,” Ford told the spectators, not unkindly. Then he lowered his voice. “Victoria. Look at me.”

Really, she wasn’t sure she could face him right then. But, figuring she had to bite the bullet sometime, she finally tilted her head back and met his gaze.

His eyes were a warm blue, his expression a mixture of relief and reassurance. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

She felt a sharp tug in her chest and opened her mouth to thank him for getting her off the train—but then she noticed something. “You’re soaked.”

The back of his hair and neck were all wet, the water having spread along his collar and shoulders, and even beginning to creep down the front of his shirt and the leather strap of his messenger bag. She saw then that they were only partially covered by the overhang above them, and realized that he was using his body to protect her as he held her in his arms.

Shielding her from the rain.

He peered down with a soft smile, his voice husky. “Well, you said not to move.”

She swallowed hard, the butterflies that had been lingering in her stomach suddenly having multiplied into a full-fledged swarm.

Oh, God. No.

She looked away from Ford, focusing instead on the rain dripping down from the overhang as she fought back the tightening in her chest.

Breathe, Slade.

“Victoria—are you okay?” Ford asked. “Say something.”

She took a moment to collect herself, and then faced him. “I just . . . want to go home.”

Twenty-seven

WHEN THEY GOT to Victoria’s front door, Ford noticed that her hand was trembling as she put the key in the lock.