He shrugged, an easy fluid movement. “Nothing I couldn't handle.” His voice was low, too—early-morning gravel. “Slapped me around a little, got me on some Zed. Seen it before.” But his arm was hard and tense under her fingertips. Was he shaking? Or was it some high voltage of rage going through him?
I left him there. Guilt rose acid in her throat.
Rowan flattened her hand against the rough track marks. She had to step closer to him to do so, and she was suddenly aware that she'd spent the entire night sleeping next to him. It hadn't been planned—she barely remembered collapsing on the mattress and listening to others talking, the bursts of laughter, feeling the world whirl under her as the alcohol disorientation released her tension.
"I can help with this,” she managed around the lump in her throat. “You must be ... God, I'm sorry. I should have done something last night, instead of—"
His fingers closed around her wrist. The contact was just as electric as the heat of his abused skin under her palm. Gently, very gently, he pulled her hand away from his arm. She knew how strong he was, guessed he was trying not to hurt her. The touch did something strange, filled her head with heat and robbed her legs of strength.
Keeping my distance is going to be a little harder than I thought, she admitted wryly to herself.
"A little later,” he said, his fingers still around her wrist. “When we've found out what Yoshi's nervous about, and when you've had some breakfast. You look a little pale."
I'm not pale, she wanted to say. My hair's a mess, I haven't worn makeup in what seems like years, and I'm thin and nervous because people with guns keep chasing me. Nothing that fleeing the country won't cure.
"I'm fine,” she said, a little more curtly than she wanted to. “It's been hard, we've all missed you."
"Did you miss me?” He sounded like he wasn't even interested. She had managed to tear her eyes away from the damage done to his arm by the simple expedient of looking at the plain white painted wall.
A brief struggle—she pulled fruitlessly against his hold on her, his fingers clamped just enough to keep her from breaking his grip. Another brief struggle with caution, which she lost just as badly.
"Of course I missed you.” Heat rose up to her cheeks. It felt like she was standing over a hot burner. “Justin, I'm so sorry—I mean, Delgado—"
"You can call me what you like.” Did he sound, for the first time, amused? “I like the way you say it. Anyway, you'd better wake them up. I'm going to get clean and find some coffee.” His fingers loosened and he slowly let go of her wrist.
I am such a miserable coward, Rowan thought. I can't even look at him. “Fine.” Her voice wouldn't work above a whisper.
He edged past her, moving a little closer than absolutely necessary, crowding her toward the wall. Coffee slopped against the sides of Rowan's mug, and she finally looked up.
He was staring at her again, with that oddly present look making his eyes dark and deep instead of flat.
"I missed you too.” His whisper was different from hers, less squeak and more harsh depth. “I didn't even know what I was forgetting, and I missed you."
Rowan's heart banged against her ribs. Her cheeks felt as if she was having one mother of a hot flash. And I'm only thirty-one, nowhere near menopause. Dammit, Rowan, keep your mind on business!
But it was very hard to remain businesslike while Justin leaned down a little and inhaled as if smelling her hair, still wet from the shower. He used to do that a lot. What am I doing? What's he doing? I thought he didn't want anything to do with me!
"Try to stay out of trouble while I'm getting my coffee.” He was gone around the corner before she could protest. Rowan blinked. Her knees felt watery. Would the old Justin have done that? Or was it just his sense of humor, sarcastic and difficult at the best of times?
The thought of the track marks made her stomach flip uneasily. I did that. I may not have held him down and pressed the hypo button, but if it wasn't for me Headquarters would never have been broken and he wouldn't have had to suffer. Maybe he's angry and just trying to work through it on his own.
In the living room, Henderson still sat with his back propped against the wall. But she thought she heard a smothered chuckle, and she would have bet he was awake. Embarrassment flooded her, and she took a deep breath and a scalding gulp of coffee, promptly burning her mouth.
Get a grip on yourself, Rowan, she told herself firmly.
"All right, I can hear you giggling,” she said, hoping her voice didn't quiver. “Get up, General. Yoshi's got one of his feelings again."
Chapter Eighteen
Del ran his eyes over the printout. His neck hurt and his bones ached from second-stage Zed withdrawal. He ignored it.
"How much worse is it?” He glanced across the living room. Rowan was occupied with packing kitbags. She took a sip of cold coffee, swirled it in her mouth, and grimaced, downing it as if it contained alcohol. She was so pale her skin appeared almost translucent except for the faint flush that rose to her cheeks whenever her eyes met his.
He wondered what that meant.
He'd actually slept next to her last night, listening to the steady rise and fall of her breath as the party wound down and the others dropped off. When he had finally found himself relaxing despite the aching of withdrawal, he had even dared to turn his head and take a deep lungful of her. He'd tucked his coat around her because she'd looked cold. And this morning she'd been gone when he opened his eyes. That was a nasty shock, but he'd reached and found her concentrating on taking a shower. He'd retreated hurriedly back into his own head, glad she hadn't been aware of his quick brush. It made him feel like a voyeur—not so much because he'd done it, but because he wanted to crawl into her mind like a badger into its hole and stay there.
The General spared a brief grin. “Actually this is the bad news. We've gained a lot in the last month or so—fourteen newbies. We've gone back to the decentralized training. Eleanor's got a bunch of them up in Calgary. She sent word back with Boomer that things are kosher up there. Everyone who was out and away from Headquarters survived largely intact, thank God.” Henderson's voice dropped. “If it wasn't for Rowan we wouldn't have made it."
"Ro!” Cath stuck her head in the living room. “Zeke wants to know where you put the—"
"Bathroom, second shelf.” She nodded at Yoshi and handed him his full kitbag. “In the blue bottle. Tell him to leave some for the rest of us, and is he taking his meds?"
"You know how he is.” Cath rolled her eyes. There was a large, fresh hickey on the side of her neck, and her violet eyes were hooded and sleepy. “Thanks."
"No problem.” She flipped the messenger bag she was working on closed, handing it to Yoshi. Del watched, but the Japanese man didn't steal the chance to brush her wrist when he took the bag, didn't lean in toward her like Justin would have done.
That was very good.
"Rowan?” This time it was Brew. “Need anything else?"
"Just another couple clips for Zeke's Walther, if you have any. Oh, and ask Justin what kind of hardware he needs.” She hunched her shoulders, shooting Del a guilty look. Her hands kept moving, swift and deft, taking the next canvas messenger bag, stowing the medkit, extra clips, pad of paper, the pen with the digital camera in the shaft, copper wire, Matheson handheld—all the little things no Society op should be without.
"Already did.” Brew tipped Delgado a wink and vanished, with Cath, back down the hall. If the danger came closer, into the critical zone, it was Brewster's danger-sense that would warn them to scramble.
Del's throat was dry. His body cried out for Zed. As long as he stayed near her it was tolerable—the red-hot ants didn't jitter so badly over his skin and he didn't feel like he was breathing through wet cloth. The spikes of pain were distracting and intense enough to make him sweat, but still tolerable.
But take Rowan out of the room and suddenly everything got a lot worse. As object lessons went, it was extremely elegant. Something abo
ut being around her made the withdrawal easier. If he needed yet another reason to watch over her, that would have done it.
His jacket smelled like her now. It was an unexpected blessing, the faint scent of woman attached to the lining of his coat. Not just any woman, either; the only woman Del had ever...
"She's missed you,” Henderson said quietly. The table between them was a flimsy portable number, looking barely capable of holding the printouts and maps. The old man's wire-rimmed glasses gave a steely glint to match the white patch at his left temple. That white patch had grown, and Henderson himself looked older. The fine fans at the corners of his eyes hadn't been there before, nor had the slight weary shadows in his eagle eyes. “I had to tie her down so she didn't go running off to ‘rescue’ you from Sigma."
"Christ.” Del's blood ran cold at the thought, and his head started to pound. He wouldn't have been able to help her. “I pushed myself to forget so they couldn't beat it out of me. I don't think they know what she can do."
"I don't even think she knows what she can do. I mean it, Del. We had to damn near kneecap her to keep her from raiding any Sig installation she could find on her own."
Del's heart felt like it was cracking and throwing itself against his ribs at the same time. He flipped through a few more printouts, seeing none of them. So she wanted to come riding in and save me, huh? Well, that's something, at least. “Glad you kept her from doing that."
"You'd kick my ass if you came back and found out I'd let her go.” Henderson's tone changed, became businesslike. “They're sending Carson."
Another chill walked down his back. “Andrews told me.” That's why I got the hell out of there.
"Andrews. How is the old bastard?"
He would have sent his greetings if he'd known I was on my way to meet you. The man's almost as fascinated with you as he is with Rowan.
"Just like Anton, as fine and sociopathic as ever.” Del shifted his weight and looked up, checking on Rowan again. Her head was down, she was packing the last kitbag as Yoshi handed each implement to her. “It's become personal. He'd love to get his hands on her."
"Him and everyone else, huh.” Henderson started rolling up maps. “Glad to have you back, Del. Listen, we've picked a new Headquarters. The nest egg Rowan brought back isn't as good as we hoped but it's adequate. I'll need you to start working through security procedures and help Yoshi salvage whatever we can from the old resource net."
Del blinked. Did they just expect him to step in where he'd left off? Didn't they understand he was a danger, that he could be a Sigma mole?
But no, Henderson had trusted him long ago in the dim days of Del's first escape, and never doubted him since. “You should wait until you can trust me,” he said, harshly, watching Rowan roll her eyes as Yoshi made a low comment. She laughed, grabbing for the coil of copper wire he held. He tried to move, but her hands were too quick. Her hair had begun to dry. Fine, slightly curling, strands fell into her face. She subtracted the roll of wire from him deftly. They looked very easy with each other.
Very goddamn friendly.
The old man shrugged. “Would you drag Ro in to Sigma, see her shaved and full of Zed?"
"Christ, no.” He tried not to sound horrified. “I pushed myself to forget so they couldn't use me against her."
"There you go. Help me clean this up. What else can you tell me about Andrews?"
He wants her, badly. It's personal now. He won't stop hunting her down, might even go rogue.
"He's an idiot.” He reached down and started shoving the papers into manageable piles.
Henderson made a short, disgusted sound, acknowledging the humor. “Well, goddammit, Del, I knew that."
* * * *
"Not a moment too soon,” Yoshi murmured, his fingers flicking over the laptop's keyboard. “Four SWAT teams. They must have a high opinion of us."
"I didn't even know they had SWAT teams in Fargo,” Brew remarked from the driver's seat. He scanned traffic and changed lanes, the SUV moving smoothly.
Rowan shifted restlessly in the passenger's seat, a movement Del could feel in his own body. “Henderson?"
"Henderson's clear. He and Boomer and the kids got out with two hours to spare,” Yoshi said. “They'll meet us in Des Moines. It's all over the television—an anonymous call tipped off the inquisitives at the news stations.” Yoshi grinned and glanced over at Del. “Wonder who would do such a thing."
"Can't imagine,” he agreed. If there was one thing Sigma hated, it was publicity. They had used the local police force to do their dirty work this time, maybe thinking that deadheads wouldn't trigger Rowan's exquisitely sensitive antennae for danger. They might have been right. It had been Yoshi's nervousness and Brew's insistence that they move on, and Henderson had agreed.
Del's entire body itched, his bones twisting with deep grinding pain as the chemical dependency yanked mercilessly on his nervous system. He was nauseated and shaking, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been, not as bad as he remembered from his first detox and certainly not as hellish as when they had recently tried to use withdrawal to break him—as if he could have answered their questions about a woman he had forced himself not to remember. The feeling of being in the same room with Rowan, standing in the path of the lightning bolt of her talent, seemed to make it just bearable.
Only just, though.
The miles unrolled under the car wheels. Rowan looked out the window, her profile thoughtful and closed. It was odd to see her without a book in her hands. Odd to be in a vehicle without two bullyboys holding him at gunpoint, odd to hear Brew's humming along with the classical station on the radio as it began to break up at the edge of its range. Odd to move again without the restraints, to know he could suggest a bathroom break or a stop for lunch at any time, odd not to look around and see a handler lurking in the corner. Unfamiliar freedom. When he'd first arrived at Headquarters it had taken him six months just to get used to going to the goddamn bathroom alone again.
Lunch was a mini-mall with a Subway, a teriyaki shack, and a little pizza place. Rowan looked longingly at the Subway before agreeing to go with everyone else for crust and melted cheese. She did insist on a vegetarian pizza, and settled in their back booth with a sigh. He decided to push it a little and slid in next to her. She'd picked the side that would put her back to the wall, good defense strategy.
He finally had a chance to talk to her when Brew went to order the pizza and Yoshi to visit the restroom. “How's the leg?” he asked.
And that was more food for thought. The bullet hole had closed up in an astonishingly short amount of time. She hadn't been able to do that before. Then again, if it made her look as thin and wan as she'd been, he doubted it was a blessing.
"Fine. A little tender, but all right.” She rubbed her slim, expressive hands together, and a tendril of ash-blond hair fell into her face. “Boomer insisted on giving me some pain meds, but they don't help. I seem to burn right through them.” Her eyes scanned the restaurant, moving in quick arcs, settling on the door. Outside, sunlight simmered down, but clouds were piling up. There would be rain before long, maybe an afternoon storm. “Del?"
His heart sank. She had never called him that before he'd been captured. “What?” The pain in his bones taunted him. He laid his hands flat on the table. If he pressed down on the varnished wood, she wouldn't see how badly they were shaking. He tore his eyes away from her face and checked the restaurant again. The back of his neck was prickling for some reason. He scanned the plate-glass windows with their dusty posters, the staff going about their pizza duties, and smelled cigarettes burning in the smoking section.
"Can I ... I mean, your arm. May I help you with the bruises?"
What? “Sure, angel.” He felt his eyebrow rise. “Do I have to take my coat off?"
She actually flushed, looking down at the table. “No, that's not necessary. I'll climb in the back seat with you when we hit the road again. But until then...” Her hand moved, and her fingertips met D
elgado's wrist.
He was about to turn his hand palm-up so he could take hers, but the sensation—a palpable wash of peace that started at the crown of his head and slid down, coating his skin with liquid heat—nailed him in place. Fire roared through his veins. He felt her slipping through the surface of his mind, but the feeling wasn't the agony of his own talent burning and ripping at him even as it served his purposes. Instead, it was as if every bloodstained moment of his life was washed clean, as if she had taken all the pain from him for a brief moment, both the physical pain and the agony of a battered mind stretched to its limits. When she took her fingers away he had to once again restrain himself from reaching out and grabbing her hand.
She hadn't managed to keep herself completely separate during the touch. The complex wash of emotion from her—relief that he was alive, uncertainty, worry and a powerful crimson-colored guilt—was underlaid with that same strong, clear, pure feeling he hadn't been able to put a name on before. He'd never encountered anything like it. It was dangerous. Getting addicted to that feeling would make Zed look like a cakewalk.
But it meant she was still emotionally attached to him. He could use that attachment, to worm his way back into her good graces and see if he could get a little closer. His hands had stopped shaking.
"Rowan—” he began, his voice rusty and hoarse.
Brew slid in on the other side of the booth, carrying a tray with four glasses. “Diet Coke, root beer, plain Coke, and plain Coke. Take your pick."
She picked diet Coke, Del took plain Coke, and by the time Yoshi had come back the conversation had turned to pizza as the perfect food. Brew was a vocal champion, Rowan a passionate detractor—due to the amount of cholesterol in the melted cheese—and Yoshi weighed in, as usual, with a hymn to the wonders of sashimi. He didn't seem to mind Del sitting next to her.
Del just sat back, sipped his Coke, and watched her grow more animated. He kept an eye on the front of the restaurant and moved a little closer in the booth, almost smiling each time she accidentally elbowed him. To hell with being fair, and to hell with playing nice. He needed her. If he had to add the sin of manipulation to his long list of crimes in the service of fighting Sigma, he was more than happy to do so for her safety.
Hunter, Healer [Sequel to The Society] Page 12
