Chapter 5 - THE WARNING IN THE NARROW OPENING
Clare didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees on the soft wool rug, her hands trembling so violently she nearly dropped the tablet a second time as her fingers closed around its rubberized edges. She clutched the cracked screen against her apron, scrambling back to her feet, her body shaking from the adrenaline crash.
She turned toward the three-inch gap in the door, ready to slip through the opening and run toward the service elevators at the center of the building.
Nicholas did not move out of her way. He stood with his shoulder pressed against the doorframe, his left hand holding the door at that narrow, three-inch threshold, his dark eyes peering through the crack into the long, empty marble corridor.
Suddenly, his entire posture altered.
The relaxed, indifferent stance vanished in a micro-second. The muscles across his broad, scarred back tensed into rigid cords, the white fabric of his open dress shirt stretching taut against his shoulder blades. His right hand—the hand holding the semi-automatic pistol—drifted smoothly behind his back, tucking the weapon into the rear waistband of his black trousers, his fingers resting lightly against the checkered grip.
Clare stopped an inch behind him, sensing the sudden, suffocating shift in the air.
"Mr. Duca?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Quiet," he breathed.
He didn't turn around. His slate-gray eyes were locked onto the far end of the hallway, where the corridor terminated in a grand set of brushed-bronze elevator doors framed by polished gray marble columns.
"There are people in Chicago," Nicholas muttered, his voice so low it was almost lost beneath the hum of the air conditioning, "who would kill you simply because you stood in this doorway for thirty seconds."
He shifted his weight onto the ball of his lead foot, his breath slowing into a steady, rhythmic cadence. Through the thin cotton of his unbuttoned shirt, Clare could see the muscles along his ribcage expanding and contracting with terrifying control.
"So when I tell you to forget me, Clare," Nicholas whispered, his eyes never leaving the distant bronze doors, "I’m not protecting myself."
May you like
He paused, his fingers tightening against the concealed grip behind his back.
"I’m protecting you."
