Angels Fall

of her head. But it was too late to stop the gesture. Too late, he realized, for a lot of things when she tipped her head back, used those eyes on him.
    "I'd rather have this done than diamonds. Just so you know."
    "Good thing. I'm fresh out of diamonds." When she laid her head on his chest, sighed, he was sunk. "I didn't want you to have to see it again."
    "I know. But I wonder if I could bunk at your place tonight anyway?" She nuzzled a little more. "You know how the smell of paint takes a while to fade."
    "Yeah, we wouldn't want you breathing in the fumes."
    She tipped her head back again, and this time lifted her mouth to his. Long and slow, and impossibly warm, almost unbearably sweet. His free hand slid up her back, curled to take a fistful of her shirt. With a laugh she stepped back. Glowing, he thought. All the stress, the strain he'd seen in her the night before, gone.
    "I'll just need a few things from here to… What, were you going to grind up something?" He was still riding on the kiss, on the look on her face and only managed, "Huh?"
    "You got out my mortar and pestle."
    And he cursed himself for leaving it out. "Reece—"
    "What've you got in here? It looks like…" That glow that had beamed straight out of her eyes and into him faded.
    "I don't take them." Now, when she faced him, those eyes were desolate. "I just keep them, in case, and to remind me of what I'm working to get away from. I don't want you to think I—"
    "I didn't put them there."
    "Then… Oh."
    "They're booby traps, Reece." He set the roller in the tray, moved to her. "He's setting traps for you, and you can't step into them."
    "What do you think he's saying with this?" She dipped her fingers into the bowl, let pills sift through them.
    " 'Why don't you grind these up into a nice paste, spread it on toast points and send yourself into oblivion'?"
    "It doesn't matter what he's saying if you don't listen."
    "It does matter." She whirled around, and instead of desolation, those gypsy eyes flashed with temper. "I can't answer if I don't listen. I can't let him know he's not going to send me back, not to the pills, not to the doctors. I'm not going back into the dark because he's a killer and a coward and a son of a bitch." She grabbed the bowl, and even as Brody braced for her to hurl it, she upended it in the sink, then wrenched the water on. "I don't need them. I don't want them. And fuck him."
    "Should've known you weren't the type to throw crockery." He laid his hands on her shoulders and, with her, watched the pills melt. "He doesn't know what he's up against with you." 
    "I'll probably panic later when I don't have them. My security blanket."
    "I imagine Doc would write you a prescription if you need the blanket."
    "Yeah, I imagine he would." She blew out a breath. Down the drain, she thought. She'd sent them down the drain to prove something. "I'll just hold that in reserve, and see how I do without the blanket." He thought of the photo book he'd tucked away, thinking to protect her. It wasn't protection she needed, he realized. It was faith. She needed someone to believe she was steady.
    "There's something else. It's going to hit you a little harder than this."
    "What?"
    Even as she glanced around, looking for the trap, he crossed to the laptop, took out the slim little book.
    "He did it to upset you. Don't let him win."
    She opened the book. Her hands didn't tremble this time, but her heart did. "How could he do this to them? All they went through, all they lost, and he crosses them out like they were nothing."
    "They're not, to him."
    "I would never have done this," she said. "No matter how far I fell, I'd never have done this. He made a mistake doing this, because I know this wasn't me." She ran a finger over the blacked-out faces of those who'd died. "I loved them, and I'd never have tried to erase them." She went through every page, as Brody had done, then closed the book. "Bastard. Fucking bastard. No, he won't win." She went back to the desk, laid the book down. "He won't." He went to her, and because he did, she could turn. She could lean into him. "I can replace most of the pictures—my grandmother has copies of some of them. But the group shot was the only one I had of all of us."
    "The families might have copies."
    "Of course. They would." She eased back, pushed at her hair. "I can get in touch, ask for a copy. I can do that. I've got to get back down, finish my shift."
    "I'll come in when I'm done." He stroked her