Most Likely to Murder

Rick had an ice pack pressed to his face and was leaving the office when he bumped into someone in the hallway. “Sorry, sorry.” He reached out automatically to steady the person, his hand wrapping around their upper arm. He looked down into big brown eyes. “Nika!”

“Rick.” She blinked up at him, her surprise morphing into concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He was not fine. At some point on the way to the office, his body had started helpfully pointing out bruised knees, skinned elbows, tiny pulses of pain that seemed to be spreading out with each heartbeat. His face throbbed in response.

Rick realized he was still holding Nika’s arm and yanked his hand back.