Hollis Walker moved through the chaos of the crash scene with an unnatural calm that seemed to quiet the space around him. K. Stone and several men in dark suits materialized, efficiently and politely creating a perimeter, keeping onlookers and the approaching sirens at a distance.
Calvin was frantically trying to get Amberly out of the driver's seat, but the frame of the car was bent, trapping her.
Hollis appeared beside him. He glanced once at the jammed door, then pointed to a specific point on the hinge. "There. Kick it."
One of his men delivered a single, powerful kick. The door groaned and swung open.
Calvin shot the stranger a grateful look and gently lifted Amberly into his arms.
Her eyelids fluttered. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw wasn't Calvin's panicked face, but Hollis Walker's deep, unreadable eyes.
"The ambulance will get stuck in traffic," Hollis stated, his voice calm and commanding. "My car is equipped. We can have her injuries treated at her home faster."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was a fact. Calvin, lost and out of his depth, simply nodded and followed.
Inside the silent, cavernous interior of the Bentley, a medic from Hollis's team was already cleaning and dressing the cut on Amberly's forehead. She was fully conscious now, her head resting against the leather seat, eyes closed. She appeared to be resting, but her mind was racing, replaying every millisecond of the collision.
Hollis sat opposite her, watching her in silence. Calvin sat beside her, a mess of guilt and anxiety.
Suddenly, Amberly's eyes opened. They weren't directed at Calvin, but at Hollis.
"The truck driver?" she asked, her voice a little rough.
K. Stone, in the front passenger seat, answered. "Dead on impact."
A humorless smile touched Amberly's lips. "A brilliant suicide attack."
The quiet in the car became heavy. Calvin stared at her, confused.
"He never hit the brakes," she explained, her voice gaining strength. "Never even tried to swerve. The truck moved like a projectile, not a vehicle being driven."
Her analysis was cold, precise, and filled with details a civilian, especially one who had just survived a wreck, should not have known.
K. Stone's eyes widened in disbelief. That was the exact conclusion their own forensic team had just relayed to him privately.
Hollis Walker's expression didn't change, but a new level of interest sparked in his eyes.
"Walker," he said, formally introducing himself. "Hollis Walker."
"Amberly Carson," she replied, her voice even. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Walker."
The exchange was brief, almost sterile, but it was a clear acknowledgment. They were two predators who had just recognized each other in a jungle of prey.
The car pulled up to her apartment building. Calvin moved to help her out, but she stopped him with a look. She opened the door herself and stood, her posture a little stiff but her spine perfectly straight.
Before closing the door, she looked back at Hollis. "Your men are professionals. Not your average security. Tell them to be careful cleaning up the scene. Best not to leave any D.C. footprints in New York."
She turned and walked into the building without another word.
Inside the car, K. Stone let out a slow, quiet breath. She was right. About everything.
For the first time all day, a slow, dangerous smile spread across Hollis Walker's face.
