The door to the spare room is open. The one I planned to use as a nursery when the time came.
I swallow hard, my mouth dry.
It takes a herculean amount of effort to walk in that direction, every muscle in my body screaming at me that I won’t like what I find.
But it’s Emily’s face in my mind that keeps me moving.
Inside the doorway, I have to grip the wooden frame to keep my legs from giving out at the sight.
Emily stands in the corner of the room, her back pressed against the wall, tremors wracking her frame. Blood—some dried, some not—coats her robe, her hair, her skin.
In front of her, there’s a body.
“Angel?” I coax, keeping my tone soft.
Her eyes, which were locked on the body, snap up, meeting mine.
I take a step closer.
She holds out a shaky hand. “No.” Her voice is cracked and raw. “Don’t.”
I freeze.
Emily sucks in a breath. “I killed her,” she whispers.
“You had to,” I say slowly, trying to soothe her.
She nods jerkily. “She was going to kill Graham.”
The cat in question wriggles in my arms. I release him and he immediately rushes to Emily’s side, butting his head against her.
That little brush of his fur seems to shock Emily from her frozen state.
Her legs give out and she collapses.
I reach her before her head hits the floor.
Her eyes roll to the back of her head.
“Angel. Stay with me.”
No response.
Digging my phone from my back pocket I hit dial on Ty’s number.
“Eli mate, what’s up?”
“Need you to get here. Now.”
I hear movement. “On my way. What’s going on?”
“It’s… It’s Emily. She—Just get here. Bring your kit.”
Swooping Emily into my arms, I carry her down the stairs, and towards the interrogation room. It’s the closest thing to sterile in the house.
Graham tries to follow us, but I have to lock him out.
Laying her onto a metal table, I run my hands over her, assessing her injuries.