He let out a breath that shuddered through him like a sob and slumped against me, burying his face in my chest.
My arms wrapped around him, and I held him close, close enough that there wasn't a fraction of an inch of space between us. He was shaking.
Maybe I was too, or maybe that was my body vibrating with adrenaline and fury and bloodlust.
I took one arm away to fish in my coat pocket for the knife I always had handy, flipped it open one-handed, and leaned over his head to see his arms.
They'd bound his wrists with duct tape, and his fingers were purplish-red.
It took a little bit of manoeuvring, but I propped him up against the end of the couch, leaning on his side, and managed to slit the tape without nicking him. He let out a moan as it came loose.
The sound of a car door opening carried through the shattered window.
"Fuck, Laurie, I need to go after him," I said. "Can you — one minute. I'll be back in one minute."
