ALEX POV
I pull into the underground parking garage just as the storm lit up the sky. An angry crack of lightning pierced the night, followed by a low rumble of thunder. It has been steadily raining the entire drive home, but the storm seem to double its force within a matter of seconds, sheets of water pouring from the sky.
I was maneuvering into my assigned parking space when a call came in. my phone has been eerily silent all weekend, not even Maria had been in touch. And at this late hour on Sunday, I wonder who it could be. I Fish the phone from my center console, the number is a Dallas area code, but I don't recognize the number, I took the call.
I couldn't understand her at first, her voice was high with tension, and barely above a whisper, but I soon realized it was Camila. And she is asking me to come back. I quickly pull a U-turn and gunned the engine before her words even registered.
I kept her on the line as I drove, I wanted to bombard her with questions, to find out if something have happened, but I resisted. Even though a lot was flashing through my mind, I still found myself calming her, I told her I would be right there, and flooring the gas pedal to get back to her. After ending the call, I slam a fist against the dash. Damn, I shouldn't have left her at that place. But what choice did I have?
I thumbed the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. I have to get her out of that house; probably check her into a hotel for the night. That would be the right thing to do, yet I know with absolute certainty what I really want to do. I want to bring her home with me, where I can have her under the same roof and ensure she is safe.
I finally arrive at the house. I rush to press the buzzer at the front door for the after-hours entrance. But I am greeted by an older man, the night guard, I presume.
"Where's Camila?" I storm past the man, following the sounds of soft sobs toward the back of the house. I enter an office and found an older woman sitting behind a desk, and Camila crumpled in a ball on the chair across from her. "Camila," I call with a rasped voice.
She look up at me and I nearly stagger a step back. Christ. It looks like someone has used her face as a punching bag. Her swollen and busted lip is encrusted with blood and her left eye is already darkening with a bruise. When she sees me she let out a soft sigh, seemingly comforted by my presence.
"Shh. I'm here." I weaved my fingers under her hair to cradle the back of her neck. Then I turn my attention to the woman behind the desk. "What the hell happened here?"
"Have a seat, Mr.….?"
"Alexander Coulson" I take the chair next to Camila.
She crawl into my lap, burying her face in my neck as little sobs racked her chest. My arms, working of their own accord, wound themselves around her and shift her to a more comfortable position on my lap.
Once Camila is settled, my training kick in and I begin to fire questions at the facility coordinator. She explained they'd briefly lost power in the storm, and when they went upstairs to check and make sure everyone was secure, they found Camila unconscious on the bathroom floor, where she'd apparently fainted and smacked her head on the porcelain sink on her way down. My fingers automatically threaded into her hair, smoothing the bump I found on the back of her head.
The coordinator seem unconcerned, like she have dealt with these situations too many times. But I have not, and neither have Camila. Vacant eyes stared at the wall across from me. I am worried that Camila might go into shock. I soothed a hand up and down her back, not quite sure what to do to comfort her.
The woman behind the desk looks over the top of her glasses, mouth twisted into a disapproving frown. I could tell the woman was wondering exactly what kind of relationship I share with Camila.
My tone and questions were professional, yet Camila's body is currently wrapped around me, that definitely tell something else entirely. I chose not to identify myself as an agent, and let the woman think what she wants.
Once in situated in my lap, Camila's breathing started returning to normal, and the steady thump of her heartbeat against my chest tells me she is recovering. She is alright. Thank fucking God. I don't understand why my presence calm her – not like I have a lot to offer – but I am not about to question it. Not when she is so fragile.
The woman hold up a hand. "Listen, I know this isn't the Ritz, but if she wants to stay here, she can. If she wants to leave, fine. It's up to her."
Camila lift her head from my chest and meet my eyes. "Can you take me away from here?"
She can't understand what she is asking for. Of course I want to take her far away from this place, from the first time I'd laid eyes on the rundown house. But protocol and not crossing professional boundaries stir in the back of my head. I resist the urge to smooth the tangled strands of hair from her face, but keep my arms locked around her middle. Her bloodied lip, swollen face, and the exhaustion I can read on her features tells me now is not the time to argue. "Okay. We can go."
Tomorrow we will figure everything out.
I lift Camila from the chair and hold her like I did at the compound. And just as strong as before, the need to protect her flares up inside of me.
Carrying her out into the night, I open the passenger door and help her inside. I reach across her to buckle her seat belt. When my hands brush her ribs, she startled, sucking in a shaky breath. I should probably check her over for injuries, assuming that she has likely sustained some bumps and bruises, but my first priority is getting her out of here.
She remained silent all through the drive to my condo, not even asking where we are going. She implicitly trusts me. The feeling is heady.
I keep the radio low and leave her to her thoughts, she looks out the window as I drive. I occasionally snuck glances her way, wondering what she could possibly be thinking about. The awkward silence dug into my brain like a dripping faucet.
"This your first time in the city?" I finally asked.
She keep her eyes on the passing buildings. "We didn't leave the compound much."
Of course. Stupid question. I said to myself, I already should know that, let me try this again "Does your head hurt? How about your ribs?" I ask
She run her fingers through her matted hair, checking the bump. "I think it's okay now."
At least she has stopped crying. Nothing makes me panic more than a woman crying.
We arrive at my place. I park in my assigned parking space and turn off the engine, a hush silence fell over us in the confined space. my heart rate ramped up in sudden awareness of her. The light, feminine scent that clung to her skin, her petite frame, and the overwhelming desire to protect her, I can't deny the possessive ache that race through my system.
"Why did you pass out, Camila?"
She swallow heavily. "That place scared me. There were too many people…too many strange men…"
I nod in agreement. It wasn't lost on him that he was a strange man to her, yet here she was alone with him too. "This is where I live," he said finally.
Her eyes widened. "You brought me home with you?"
"Is that okay?"
She studied him, her expression weary and unsure and squirmed in her seat.
"I'm sorry; I didn't know where else to take you. Come inside, and if you decide not to stay, I'll take you anywhere you want to go."
Seemingly satisfied, she climbed from the car.