The one with the broken elbow came up on his knees. Panda grasped him by his bad arm, dragged him to the long slope that led down to the water, and rolled him over. She heard a distant splash.

Panda’s breath was coming harder now. He went back for the other one and started hauling him toward the water. She finally found her voice, a scratchy thready affair. “They’ll drown.”

“Their problem.” He hoisted the second one over the edge. Another heavy splash.

He came toward her, his chest heaving, trickling blood from the corner of his mouth. He knelt beside her, and the hands that had been so brutal moved gently along her body from her neck to her limbs to the gouge on her heel. “You’re going to hurt,” he said softly, “but I don’t think anything is broken. I’m carrying you to the car.”

“I can walk.” She hated how weak she sounded.

He didn’t argue. He simply picked her up and cradled her against his chest. The images wouldn’t fit together—the lover she knew and the brutally efficient assassin who’d crushed two men.

He must have had a spare car key because he didn’t ask for the one she’d tucked in her pocket. A couple came out of the bar and stared at them. He opened the passenger door and carefully lowered her into the seat. He took his time fastening her seat belt, still protecting her.

He asked no questions as they drove home, didn’t tell her what an idiot she was to come here alone or reproach her for being so rotten to him. She didn’t know why he’d returned to the bar, couldn’t think about what would have happened if he hadn’t. She huddled against the door, nauseated, shaken, still terrified.

“I had a half brother,” he said into the quiet gloom. “His name was Curtis.”

Startled, she turned her head to look at him.

“He was seven years younger than me.” His hands shifted on the wheel. “A dreamy, gentle kid with a big imagination.” He spoke softly as they sped along the dark road. “Our mother was either drugged out or on the prowl, so I ended up taking care of him.”

This was her story, except it was coming from him. She rested the back of her head against the door and listened, her heart rate beginning to slow.

“Eventually we ended up in foster homes. I did everything I could to keep us together, but things happened, and as I got older, I started getting into trouble. Picking fights, shoplifting. When I was seventeen, I was caught trying to sell half a gram of marijuana. It was like I wanted to get thrown into jail.”

She understood and said softly, “A good way to escape the responsibility.”

He glanced over at her. “You had the same kind of responsibility.”