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mid-step. Russell glanced down,
worry furrowing his brow. “You all right?”
    “Yes. I think I may have hurt my ankle.” A lie, but the only
thing she could come up with.
    Russell scooped her into his arms. Her heart ran away with
new fantasies, dreaming things it really shouldn’t. She told it to stop, that
there were too many issues left to deal with. The foremost being her trust in
him had been shaken. Her heart didn’t listen. Neither did those blasted bees
swarming through her body.
    “I’ve got an emergency ice pack in my car. It’ll help until
we can get you home.”
    Only if she could put it on her crotch.
    He carried her effortlessly to his car, then set her on her
feet only as long as it took to open the door. She’d barely sunk into the
passenger seat when he was crouched beside her, removing her heels.
    “Which one?” He ran his hands over her ankles. “I don’t see
or feel any swelling.”
    He would if he searched higher—like between her legs.
    “Maybe it was just a twinge.” The words came out a tad too
breathy. She hoped he took that as a reaction to pain and not to his touch.
    “I hope so. An ice pack won’t hurt though. Just in case.”
    He moved away to retrieve it from the trunk. Footsteps
stampeded their way. Without the barrier of police tape, reporters converged on
them. Their numbers had increased over the last hour, once word filtered out
who had been involved in the accident. It wasn’t enough that they’d hovered
outside the courtroom for sound bites. They wanted more, always more. Fodder
for whatever story they wanted to spin. Valerie’s patience was on a short
leash. They could make something out of nothing. God only knew what they were
going to make of this.
    The vehicle rocked as Russell slammed the trunk closed. He
beat the reporters to her side by mere seconds. Squatting, he ignored the blast
of questions and placed the ice pack around her right ankle. Valerie squinted
against the blare of lights. Only the quick pat of his hand to her knee as he
stood kept her from exploding. He faced the throng in one smooth move, blocking
their view of her, hands on hips.
    “You can address your questions regarding the accident to
the police officers. As to your inevitable and unending questions about the
Estavarez case… Those were answered this afternoon.”
    She loved the don’t-fuck-with-us tone in his voice.
    “Why are you here, Mr. Cambridge?” one female asked.
    Valerie fought the urge to roll her eyes. They were
oblivious as always, asking stupidly obvious questions.
    Russell shifted. Valerie recognized the stance well even
from behind. He’d clasped one hand over his wrist and stared them down.
    “Do you not stop to render aid when you witness an
accident?” Idiots was implied, at least to Valerie.
    A new flurry of questions burst out, each reporter talking
over the other. Russell let them make fools of themselves for only so long
before he slowly raised his hand for silence.
    “It’s been a long day capped by a traumatic event. Good
night.” He stepped forward, pushing them back by sheer force of his will.
    Valerie locked the door the second it closed and snapped her
seat belt in place. The reporters scattered, cameras still captured every move.
She closed her eyes and leaned into the seat, shutting them out. There was
nothing she could do to quiet the rabble of voices.
    “Miss Oswald, how does it feel to put a murderer and rapist
back on the streets?”
    She shot upright.
    Russell caught her forearm before she could explode. “Let it
go.”
    The engine purred to life, classic-rock music covered more
questions, and he steered his car to freedom. God help the fool who tried to
block him. In minutes they were heading toward her home. She punched off the
music.
    “Are they following?”
    “Not yet,” he said. “They don’t have to. They know where we
both live. They can stake us out anytime they want.”
    Too true. She’d kept the drapes closed for months to