The various attacks on Garnier caused him to lower his weapon from Sophie’s temple. The second he did, Thomas didn’t swing the paddle, he jabbed the handle straight into Garnier’s face, one hand guiding the weapon, the other providing the forceful forward shove from the end of the paddle.
Thomas never flinched. In that fleeting second, Sophie glimpsed the incredibly tight focus, the sheer fearlessness of a man who had faced off with a live bomb time and again.
She heard a sickening crunch of wood against bone and suddenly the tight trap of Garnier’s steely arms went slack. She spun away in time to see Garnier sinking to the floor in slow motion, a surprised look on his face. When his knees hit the floor, he slumped over into complete unconsciousness. Thomas had lanced the handle of the paddle into Garnier’s right eye socket.
One thing was for sure: Garnier would never use the eye—or what was left of it—again.
The paddle fell to the concrete floor with a clack. Thomas came up behind her. He encircled her in his arms, hugging her to him, before he let go and turned her to face him.
“I’m okay,” Sophie said when she glanced up and saw the palpable anxiety on his features as his gaze ran over her, searching for wounds.
His nostrils flared when she spoke. The expression she saw in his eyes made her touch his jaw, and then wrap her arms around his shoulders.
“I’m okay, Thomas. I’m okay,” she repeated.
His arms came around her and her feet came off the floor when he lifted her. He held her to him so tightly it squeezed the air out of her lungs for a few seconds.
“Sophie,” he spoke roughly near her ear. “Sophie . . . I’m so sorry—I . . . I didn’t remember.”
A spasm of emotion tightened her face when she heard how his deep voice cracked.
“It’s okay. Everything is going to be all right. Are you hurt?” she asked in a rush after he’d set her back on the floor and she’d caught her breath.
He lifted his head and shook it. She saw his muscular neck convulse as he swallowed.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Nicasio.”
Sophie pushed her way out of Thomas’s arms—although he seemed hesitant to let her go—and stared at Fisk. The agent knelt next to the fallen giant, his fingers on Garnier’s neck.
“Is he dead?” Thomas asked woodenly.
“No. I’m surprised after that shot you gave him with that paddle. In fact, I’m shocked the damn thing isn’t still in the guy’s skull,” Fisk finished wryly under his breath before he stood and removed some handcuffs from the back pocket of the jeans he wore.
“He killed my parents,” Thomas said, his lip curling in hatred as he pinned the unconscious Garnier with his stare. “He killed them under Joseph Carlisle’s order.”
“Yeah, I heard that part. And even though you should have let me handle things with Garnier—” The agent rolled his eyes at his unintentional double entendre. “—I not only need to thank you for saving Dr. Gable, but garnering us that confession,” Fisk admitted with a small smile. He extricated his cell phone and began to dial emergency services.
Sophie turned her attention to Thomas. He must have noticed the way she was staring at him. His arms were still slightly outstretched from when he’d been holding her a second earlier. His glance at her was regretful.
“I remember, Sophie. I remember all of it.”
He lowered his eyes and his arms at once, but Sophie flew over to him, flinging her arms around his shoulders. When he realized she wasn’t rebuffing him for his earlier behavior, he hugged her to him just as forcefully. He lowered his
head and she pressed her face to the side of his neck.
“I’m so sorry, Thomas. I’m so sorry,” she murmured, hating the idea of him experiencing so much anguish.
“No,” he said gruffly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one.”
She heard a plaintive whine and looked down to see Guy looking up at them with black, anxious eyes.
“Look at that,” Thomas murmured. “A three-and-a-half-legged hero.”
“Four-legged. He’s pretty much healed. Thank you for helping me, Guy,” Sophie whispered to the little fox. Guy whimpered and sat on his haunches, looking completely comfortable for the first time since Sophie had begun taking care of him.
Thomas’s arms tightened around her. Sophie just stood there in the dim boathouse, telling herself to focus on the feeling of holding a vibrant, whole Thomas in her arms. She tried like hell not to consider what came next . . . now that he no longer needed her to help him forget all of his pain.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE