26. Ethan
ETHAN
Ihold Mia while police radios crackle behind us and officers process Derek Wayne into custody.
None of it registers. The only thing that exists is Mia shaking in my arms, face buried against my shoulder, breath coming in hiccupping gasps that sound like they're being torn from somewhere deep.
"You're safe now, Mia," I murmur into her hair.
Her hands grip my shirt hard enough that fabric tears. Blood from the cut on her throat soaks into my collar, warm and terrifying. I don't care. I just hold her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other wraps around her waist.
An EMT approaches, medical bag in hand. "Sir, we need to examine her."
"Give us a minute."
"Sir—"
"I said give us a minute," I snap, not intending to, but I just can't bring myself to let go yet. Can't stop confirming through touch that she's real, breathing, alive.
The EMT backs off. Mia pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. Her face is a mess of tears and blood, split lip swelling, bruise blooming across her left cheek. The cut on her throat is shallow but long, still bleeding sluggishly.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"How did you find me?" Her voice is wrecked, hoarse from screaming or crying or both.
"Derek talked to me last night, remember?
We triangulated the location, narrowed it down to three possible warehouses in this area.
" I cup her face gently, thumbs brushing away tears.
"Josiah worked through the night pulling property records, cross-referencing shell companies Derek used for previous real estate purchases.
This building came up flagged under one of his holding companies. "
"You figured it out." Wonder creeps into her voice. "You actually found me."
"Of course I found you. You think I was going to let him keep you?"
Fresh tears spill over. She leans her forehead against mine, breath shuddering. "I told him I loved you. When he asked, when he had the knife at my throat, I told him the truth. That I love you."
The words land like something solid and warm. "Mia?—"
"I'm not saying it because of shock or relief or whatever you're thinking. I'm saying it because it's true. I love you, Ethan. I've loved you for weeks, maybe longer. And I needed you to know that before..." She trails off, voice breaking.
"Before what?"
"Before Derek killed me. I didn't want to die without telling you."
I pull her close again, press my lips to her forehead, her temple, anywhere I can reach. "He was never going to kill you. I wouldn't have let that happen."
"If the police had gotten here even two minutes later?—"
"They didn't. You're here, you're alive, and Derek Wayne is going to prison for a very long time." I pull back enough to meet her eyes. "And I love you too. In case that wasn't obvious from the completely illegal things I did last night to find you."
A sound escapes her that's half laugh, half sob. "What illegal things?"
"Breaking into Derek's apartment to pull phone records.
Threatening a city clerk into expediting property searches.
Possibly assaulting a security guard who tried to stop me from accessing this warehouse before the police cleared it.
" I brush damp hair from her face. "I would have burned down half of Manhattan if that's what it took. "
"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"That says concerning things about your past relationships."
She laughs properly this time, despite everything. Despite the blood and bruises and trauma of the past twelve hours.
The EMT approaches again, more insistent. "We really need to treat her injuries. That cut needs cleaning and the concussion symptoms should be evaluated."
Mia nods, finally pulling away from me. "He's right. I should let them check me out."
"I'm not leaving your side."
"I know." She catches my hand, laces our fingers together. "I wouldn't let you if you tried."
The EMT guides us toward the ambulance parked outside the warehouse. Morning light hits my eyes, too bright after hours in that dark space. I squint against it, keeping Mia's hand firmly in mine while she's helped onto a gurney.
A female officer approaches with a blanket, drapes it across Mia's shoulders. "Ms. Holland, I'm Detective Marissa Lee. I'll be handling your case along with several colleagues. We'll need a statement when you're feeling up to it."
"Now's fine," Mia says.
"Mia—" I start.
"I want to do it now, Ethan. While it's fresh. Before I start forgetting details or talking myself out of how bad it was."
Detective Lee pulls out a recording device, sets it on the gurney beside Mia. "Walk me through what happened, starting with when you left your restaurant."
Mia does. Her voice stays remarkably steady recounting the abduction, the warehouse, Derek's questions and demands. When she gets to the part about the knife at her throat, her hand tightens around mine but she doesn't stop talking.
I listen to the clinical recitation of every nightmare I imagined last night, every scenario that kept me awake and pacing. Hearing it in Mia's voice makes it worse somehow, strips away the distance I usually maintain between cases and reality.
Detective Lee finishes taking notes, clicks off the recorder. "Thank you, Ms. Holland. That's incredibly helpful. We'll follow up with additional questions once you've had time to rest."
"What happens to Derek now?"
"He's being booked on kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, unlawful restraint, and several other charges. With your testimony and the physical evidence, we're looking at significant prison time. He won't make bail on this."
"You're sure?" Mia presses. "He has money and connections. He's talked his way out of things before."
"Not this time." Detective Lee's voice is firm. "We have you and multiple officers who witnessed him holding a knife to your throat, and we have a recorded phone call where he admitted to holding you hostage. His lawyers can try, but he's done."
Her shoulders drop slightly, tension easing for the first time since I found her.
The EMT finishes bandaging the cut on her throat, checks her pupils for concussion signs, declares she needs hospital observation but will probably be fine. An ambulance will transport her to Mount Sinai for a full evaluation.
"I'm riding with her," I tell the EMT before anyone can suggest otherwise.
"Family only."
"I'm her husband."
The EMT glances at Mia, who nods confirmation. "He comes with me or I'm refusing transport."
"Fine. Both of you, in the ambulance. Let's move."
The ride to Mount Sinai is quiet. Mia lies on the gurney with her eyes closed, hand still wrapped around mine. I sit beside her watching monitors beep and display vital signs that all look mercifully normal.
"Thank you," she says without opening her eyes.
"For what?"
"Saving my life." Her eyes open, find mine. "The whole time, I was absolutely terrified. But I kept thinking about you, and it gave me strength. That was the only thing keeping me sane when I thought Derek was gonna kill me."
The ambulance pulls up to the emergency entrance. Doors open, EMTs unload the gurney efficiently. Hospital staff swarm immediately, taking vitals and asking questions while wheeling Mia toward examination rooms.
I follow because nobody's stopping me, because Mia's hand is still locked around mine like letting go might make me disappear.
A nurse tries to make me wait outside while they conduct the exam. Mia's grip tightens.
"He stays," she says. Not a request.
The nurse looks between us, sees something in Mia's expression that makes her nod. "Fine. But sit over there and stay out of our way."
I take the chair in the corner, watch doctors poke and prod and evaluate.
The cut gets cleaned and re-bandaged. The concussion is confirmed as mild.
Bruises are cataloged, photographed for evidence.
Through it all Mia stays composed, answering questions with the same steady voice she used for Detective Lee.
Only I see the way her hands shake when nobody's touching them. I notice how she tracks my position in the room constantly, making sure I haven't left.
After an hour they declare her stable enough to go home with supervision. Discharge paperwork is signed, prescriptions for pain management are written, instructions about concussion monitoring are delivered in clinical detail.
Then we're standing outside the hospital in the sunlight that feels surreal after the past twelve hours.
"Take me home," Mia says.
"The penthouse or?—"
"Home, Ethan. With you. Take me home."