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Summary
Her mind traced back to him as she cut the line from the second suture. He hovered right behind her, observing her work; if she paused for moment and listened close, she could nearly hear the drum of his heart; the slow settling pace of his steady breathing.
Her own heart seemed to try and claw its way out of her chest. She suddenly had to focus just to be able to breathe.
And then a little prick — right through her blue, latex glove.
Shit.
There, a droplet of blood welled.
“Langdon,” was all that she said, and he was in action. She had all too clearly noticed the tremble in her own voice; the way in the flash of any moment of panic, his name rolled off of her tongue with ease.