“Just broke his hand.”
Her chest deflates. “Okay. That’s good. Right?”
“Right,” I say, smiling at how ludicrous that sounds as I trace the delicate line of her jaw.
“What now?”
Setting her aside with much difficulty, I walk to my office and open the safe to put back my gun and take out my laptop. When I turn to my desk with my laptop in my hands, Violet stands in the doorframe. She watches me with a troubled expression as I boot up the computer. I take a USB key from the desk drawer and insert it into the flash drive.
“You finished it,” she whispers.
I click on copy and meet her gaze. “Yes.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
When the copying is done, I eject the memory stick and carry it to her. Taking her hand, I place the key on her palm and fold her fingers around it. Our eyes remain locked, her violet gaze somber as we stand there with my hand wrapped around hers.
I don’t have to say it.
She knows what to do.