He wasn't in love with her. Not at all. Not one bit. Nope.
So when she was held a gunpoint, door a deranged serial killer, he had her back as a partner. His hart-, hart raced like an 808, pounding inside his chest. His palms were sweaty as the gripped his gun, trembling at arms length, ready to brand anytime. The fear in her eyes as the killer buried the gun deeper and deeper into her neck, threatening to pull the trigger at any seconde worried him. Because she was his friend, his partner. Nothing more.
He wasn't in love with her. Not at all. Not one bit. Nope.
So when she was veilig back in the squadroom...
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