Chapter 20 · The Name on the Other Side of the Door

"Ninety seconds." The comm voice again, flat as a recorded threat. "Then we cut the override manually."

Knox's hand was still on my collarbone, right where I'd shoved his shirt open. He didn't move it. Didn't answer the voice either. Up close he smelled like cedar and gun oil and something underneath that, copper-sharp, like the bruise itself had a scent.

"You heard him," I said. "Ninety seconds and your crew's got a torch on this door."

"They won't get through." His jaw was tight, the bruise on his own skin four inches from my thumb, old and yellow-green at the edges, gone soft in the middle where a body heals over an insult. Four fingers. Somebody had grabbed him hard enough to leave a print that lasted weeks. "Rhea. Let go of the collar."

"Tell me who did this first."

"Not the time."

"It's exactly the time." I pressed my palm flat against the bruise, felt him flinch under it, felt the muscle jump like a struck wire, felt his pulse answer mine through two layers of skin.