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He released a sound, deep inside, part growl, part acquiescence. "Ruby Jane. You are going to be the death of me."
"No. Not anymore. I've learned my lesson."
He cocked his head.
Maybe because yes, she'd said that before, but this time — "I never again want to look out into the dark sky and wonder where you are, and if you're alive. Never want to be more than a phone call away from you. Never want to think that you might...might
...She put her hand to her chest, still unable to breathe.
He had dark hair and a beard, ripped pants, a dirty suit coat and wore such an intense expression of pursuit on his face, she just knew—
He was going after Alan Martin.
And she might never see him again.
No. Not again.
Not ever again.
He passed her, didn't even look at her, his gaze pinned on Martin, who'd vanished down the stairs.
And that's
...See, this was why York should put a GPS tracker on the woman he loved.
Not that he would, but if he did, then he wouldn't show up in a town and see said woman trying to do a Spiderman along the face of a building.
And, if York hadn't simply followed his instincts and taken off across the street she would have left an ugly splat on the sidewalk, probably taking out a planter of geraniums.
As it were—"Gotcha."
He wasn't
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