His brows furrowed in a scowl as he tucked the flashlight in the crook of his neck, freeing his hands to undo my binds. As he worked at the knots, he began to interrogate me. “Let’s start at the beginning. Who attacked you in that alley?”
My head tilted in surprise. “How do you know about the alley?”
“When you didn’t show up to the bar, I went looking for you.”
He’d been at The Witches Brew.
Damn Flo and her meddling!
“Didn’t take me long to find your phone at the scene,” he continued. “Along with clear signs of a struggle.”
“Signs? What sort of signs?”
“The leaves were crushed and scattered, as though someone had been dragged off through them. Found one of your bracelets in the gutter. Scuff marks from your boots on the curb. Smears of blood from your knees…”
“Wow. You’re like a regular Magnum PI. A modern Sherlock Holmes. Watch out, Maltese Falcon, he’s coming for you!”
He ignored me, laser-focused on his task. He’d already freed my left side and moved on to my right. I lifted my arm and rolled the wrist, wincing a bit as feeling rushed back with a fierce tingle. The skin was rubbed raw where the ropes had chafed during my struggles. I had a feeling it would hurt like a bitch when my adrenaline wore off.
“Almost done,” Graham murmured, yanking at the remaining binding with strong, impatient fingers. “There we go.”
Free at last.
I flexed my fingers, grimacing in discomfort. “Thank you.”
His eyes were on mine again. He hadn’t moved away — he was still crouched by my legs, staring into my face with an unfathomable expression. “You about ready to get out of here?”
“I was ready six hours ago.”
His lips tugged up at one side in a fleeting half-smile. I barely had time to process it — or to smother the swarm of nervous butterflies in my stomach the sight of it inspired — before he reached out, grabbed my hand, and tugged me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before they come back.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the likelihood of three octogenarians returning to wreak more havoc in the middle of the night was slim to none. I’d bet my ass that Sally, Agatha, and Eliza were home in bed, curlers in their hair, hearing aids powered off, fast asleep until the morrow.
Graham led me toward the rickety stairs, pausing only to grab my leather bag and wool coat from the floor. He managed to tuck them both beneath one arm like a football without ever dropping my hand or the flashlight. Impressive coordination skills. It was taking all my concentration not to trip over my own feet as I followed him up the dark steps.
“Where are we?” I whispered to his broad shoulders.
“Abandoned house on the west side of the river, by Furlong Park.”
“That’s… random.”
He grunted noncommittally.
“How did you find me here?”
“Tracked your laptop.” His hand tightened briefly on mine. “Damn lucky they didn’t think to ditch it when they grabbed you.”
I blinked, stunned by his casual announcement. When I managed to summon words, they came out in a voice choked with disbelief. “You... you…youtracked my laptop?”
We’d reached the top of the stairs. Graham led me quickly through the first floor of the house, which was totally empty except for some litter and a dirty bare mattress leaning up against one graffiti-covered wall.
I jerked my hand against his grip, but he held fast. “Graham!”
He grunted again.
“Is that even legal? Tracking my laptop?”
“Seriously, Glinda? I didn’t look at the Chris Hemsworth nudes saved on your desktop, if that’s what you’re worried about.”