He reached her and knelt in the mud, not caring about his clothes, not caring about anything.
The girl raised her head very slowly. Her movements were slow, lethargic. Hypothermia, Lucas thought with panic.
His face was pale, almost blue under the strobe light of the lightning. His eyes were glassy, vacant.
“Sir…” she whispered. Her voice was so weak that Lucas had to lean in to hear her. “I’m leaving now… don’t be angry… I’m leaving…”
She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t respond. She fell again, and Lucas caught her before she hit the ground.
Her skin was ice cold. Not cold like a wet hand, but cold like marble.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Lucas said, his voice hoarse. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.”
Maya blinked, confused. She didn’t understand. Half an hour ago, this man had been a furious giant looking at her with disgust. Now, he was kneeling in the mud, holding her as if she were made of porcelain.
“I saw the recording,” Lucas said, needing her to know, needing her to understand that he knew the truth. “The hallway camera. I saw everything, Maya. I know it was Elena. I know you didn’t do anything.”
Understanding took a moment to reach Maya’s eyes. When it did, a hot tear escaped, mingling with the cold rain on her cheek.
“Do you believe me?” she asked, with a fragility that broke Lucas’s heart into a thousand pieces.
—I believe you. And I swear I’m going to fix this.
Lucas saw Maya’s hand. The wound in her palm was still bleeding, the blood diluting in the dirty water. The lunchbox lay to one side, the rice reduced to an inedible mush.
He quickly took off his jacket. He stood in his shirtsleeves in the downpour, but he didn’t feel the cold. He wrapped the jacket around Maya, covering her trembling shoulders.
The garment was enormous on her, heavy and warm, smelling of her expensive cologne and tobacco.
“Let’s go inside,” Lucas said.
“I can’t…” she said, looking toward the house. “Doña Elena said that if I went in…”
“To hell with what Elena said!” Lucas stood up and, without thinking twice, bent down and picked Maya up in his arms.
She weighed very little. Too little. She was a wet feather in his arms. Maya let out a small gasp of surprise and instinctively clung to his neck, burying her face in his chest.
Lucas walked back to the house, carrying the woman he had scorned, shielding her against his own body. He felt her tremors transferring to him.
He crossed the threshold of the main entrance.
The warmth of the house enveloped them. The sound of the storm faded as they closed the door with their foot.
They were in the lobby. Water trickled from their clothes, forming a dark puddle on the Italian marble that Elena kept so spotless. Lucas didn’t care. Screw the marble.
“Sir… I’m getting everything wet…” Maya murmured, trying to get down.