by Simon, Misty
Going back to the living room, she opened his coat closet. For a second she stared in stunned silence, trying not to gape at the stairs tucked into the corner. They could only lead up to the apartment that Mrs. Marteski used to rent right before Garrett had moved in.
She didn’t have time to ponder that, because Garrett had started muttering to himself again.
After backing away from the closet, she leaned in close to make out his words. But even with her ear poised over his mouth, she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She knew it was time for her to run next door for her own first-aid kit, but she didn’t want to leave him. She finally gave in, dashing around to her apartment, hoping all the while that he would stay put for just another ten seconds. She kept his door cracked open and took a few seconds longer than planned to grab a new T-shirt, squelching the urge to pull on a pair of trousers and a button-down shirt. She snagged a bra, too, and that at least made her feel better.
When she came back, he was sitting up on the couch with his hands in his hair. His head snapped up as soon as she stepped into his apartment. She stopped in her tracks, noticing the predatory look in his eyes. Would he attack her? He always had a smile for her, but this man looked wholly different from the Garrett who had accepted her stew a few hours earlier. Different even from the man who had kissed her until her very toes had throbbed.
“Are you okay?” she asked, holding the kit to her chest like it could actually save her if he was to rush her.
“Yes,” he croaked out, then cleared his throat. “Actually yes, I think I am. Have I been out long?” His eyes darted everywhere, resting on object after object without darting back to hers.
Deliberately stepping into his line of vision seemed like the only thing to do, but he still avoided her gaze when she dropped the kit by the couch and leaned over him. She tipped his chin up toward her. She wasn’t very tall and his face was right at the level of her breasts, which she tried hard not to be self-conscious about.
He finally looked up at her. The pain and torment in his eyes reminded her so much of the face she used to gaze at in the mirror. She didn’t deny the urge to stroke his short hair.
“It’s going to be okay. Are you still hurting? I think I have some aspirin in my medicine cabinet if you don’t.”
He jerked his chin out of her grasp and growled. She held firm. She had a sixth sense about these kinds of things, and something told her he was not going to hurt her. She also knew somehow that he was not on drugs. The signs just weren’t there, even if the pain was.
“You should go home.”
“Not just yet, big guy. Since I practically carried you into this apartment after you collapsed on me, I think I deserve some kind of explanation of what’s going on.” She would not mention the kiss. He’d probably been delirious. It would be best to chalk it up to an aberration.
This time he looked at her without any goading. “You might think you deserve some empty words, but I’m not going to give them to you, and I’m not going to lie to you. Now, please leave.”
Instead she sat on the couch next to him and grabbed his right hand, holding it between hers even as he tried to pull away. She might not be tall, but she had made sure she was strong.
“Well, see, I think we have a problem there, because it’s not every day I have to stanch a massive blood flow from what looks like a blade wound. Now, I think you might need stitches on that cut, but something tells me you wouldn’t want to tell an E.R. doctor how you came by it.”
His head came up slowly this time, his eyes assessing her as if seeing her for the very first time. She struggled against closing herself back into her mousy, comfortable self, but he brought out something in her she couldn’t cage quite so easily.
“You have some kind of experience with this sort of thing?”
“I’m not telling my secrets until you tell yours. Since I figure that will be about the time hell freezes over, we’ll both have to wait.” She took a breath and calmed her racing heart. Took her eyes off those lips that had kissed her in a way she hadn’t been kissed. Ever. “Now, I got the cut to stop bleeding with the help of your kitchen towels, and used some pretty good vintage whiskey to disinfect it. I have my first-aid kit here.” She lifted it up inanely as if he couldn’t see it sitting on her lap. “I’d like you to let me at least use a butterfly bandage to pull the edges together.”
He continued to stare at her as if trying to unnerve her, but dammit, it was not going to work.
“All right, Nurse Nightingale, you can bandage me up, but no questions,” he said. “But make it quick. I have things to do, and they need to happen soon.”
“Well, that was awfully cryptic, thanks for the noninformation.”
He growled again, but this time it sent new tingles down her back. She did her best to ignore that and her tightening nipples. She set out the few things she was going to need, including some antibacterial cream, since who knew where the knife had come from or what had been on it when it went into his chest.
“This should heal up okay,” she said as she worked. “It looks like a pretty clean slice. Sure you don’t want to tell me how you got it?”
He grunted, which was never an attractive thing, but she continued on as if she hadn’t heard him.
“You might still want to have it checked out, but I don’t think anything would survive that alcohol dousing. I know you said no questions, but how are you feeling? Does your head hurt? It doesn’t look like the knife went in more than an inch, so I don’t think you cut any muscle or anything important that a little rest shouldn’t be able to heal.” She was babbling again, but the tingles from their kiss were fading, and the horror of all that blood was rising to blot out everything else.
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I could make you some more stew or heat up the leftovers from yesterday? You’re going to need your strength if you plan on going anywhere today, especially if you’re thinking of working.” Those words made her glance at the clock. It was almost seven in the morning, she realized. She should be getting ready for her own workday at the accounting firm.
He seemed to read her mind before she had time to complete the thought. “You don’t have time for this. I can finish this myself.” He shook his head for a moment. “You shouldn’t be here at all. Go get dressed, then I’ll walk you to work.”
“You are not going to walk me anywhere in your condition. I can take care of myself. I’ll come check on you when I get home later.” With that, she walked out the door, deftly maneuvering herself around his outstretched hand.
Closing the door behind her, her bravado failed and she took in great gasping gulps of air. She barely made it into her apartment before she threw up.
Chapter Three
That damned little brat, Garrett thought, before it dawned on him that his head was clear and none of the familiar dark urges were surfacing. Had he already gone upstairs for the purging when she caught him falling? No memory surfaced of the sizzle of the electricity. He only remembered standing at his front door and falling forward into bright blue eyes. So no purging. Then where had all the darkness gone?
He heard Dory’s door close and his train of thought went flying down the track without him.
He hightailed it to the door to catch her before she went down the stairs. “I told you to wait for me,” he said after he threw open the door.
“And I could have sworn I told you that I could take care of myself. I’m going two blocks away on populated roads. It’s broad daylight, and it will be broad daylight when I come home this afternoon.”
“I won’t let you walk alone.”
He stepped into her personal space, expecting her to cower. But she just smiled at him, a dimple popping out in her left cheek.
She had the gall to laugh at him. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I’ll be fine. You need rest, and I need to get to work fast, so I’m going to take my scooter instead of walking. No one will be able to bother me on my scooter. I promise
.” She patted him on the chest directly opposite from his sword wound. “Take care of you and I’ll see you later. I still don’t think you should go to work today, but I won’t tell you what to do.” She quirked an eyebrow, and he got her message…unlike how you’re trying to tell me what to do.
Fatigue swept over him. He leaned against the door frame to hold himself up.
“I’ll see you later,” she called over her shoulder as she walked down the stairs and out of sight.
Maybe he would rest, but he was damn well going to be there when she got off work to make sure she got home okay.
He had never pushed himself on anyone who didn’t want his help. Darkness called to him constantly, even when he walked to and from work. Actually, it was more of a smell than a calling. He’d walk down a street and smell the violence in the air, feel it in his gut. Following the scent, he would see how he could help. But some people didn’t want his kind of help. He’d been shut out of more than one domestic-abuse situation. And now quiet Dory next door was telling him she didn’t need him, either.
With a sigh he rubbed the bridge of his nose and the slowly increasing ache in his chest. His previous train of thought came steaming back into the station. How was he okay without having purged? How was he able to function without feeling like he wanted to rip someone’s head off after all the destruction he’d dealt and been dealt last night? He should be an unholy terror right now, yet he felt calmer than he had in years.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to find Marta. He wouldn’t admit she was lost to him until he’d exhausted every single possibility. Even then he’d have to see her body for himself. As soon as he moved into this apartment building, these people had become his responsibility, whether they knew it or not. Whether they wanted it or not, he admitted as he thought of Dory going to work without him. Perhaps in his search of the city, he’d casually stroll past her office to make sure she’d arrived safely. This was his neighborhood, his turf, and no one else was going to get hurt because of him. He was almost positive someone was out to get him by messing with those around him, and they were about to be served a taste of what Garrett Blackwell was really about.
First, he absolutely had to go upstairs to make sure he hadn’t used the chair in front of Dory, and that she didn’t know about his upstairs space. Then he needed to take a shower. His shirt was neatly sliced open halfway down his chest, and flakes of dried blood were still clinging to his skin. He healed faster than most, but he hadn’t wanted to tell Dory that. It was bad enough that she’d seen him bleed. He only hoped he hadn’t done anything totally inappropriate to her while she was helping him. He didn’t remember much. A pair of soft lips felt imprinted on his, but there was no way he would have kissed her and stopped there with all that darkness raging through him. She hadn’t looked scared of him, and that gave him hope.
Blowing out a breath, he jogged the short distance to the hidden staircase. She had opened the door. His mind reeled with horror until he realized she hadn’t actually gone up the stairs, just stood in the space they occupied. Her scent, something flowery with a hint of her own unique fragrance, filled the closet but didn’t go farther. He would face her this afternoon because he had to, but from now on he would distance himself from her. He wouldn’t answer his door if she knocked, or eat her food if she offered it. He wished he were the kind of man whom someone like Dory could feel safe with, cherished. But he was not…and never would be.
Trundling up the stairs, he took in the stark room. On the walls, maps and corkboards abounded, marked with the locations of places he’d been and things he’d done. But the only furniture in the whole nine hundred square feet were the chair and a long table where he worked standing up.
He focused on the chair, ignoring the table and laptop that sat upon it for the moment. Made of oak, it was sturdy and strong. Two vertical wooden pieces cradled the back of his head to keep him from snapping his neck when he strained against the electricity he forced through his body to dissipate the darkness with light in its purest form.
When he’d transitioned from his previous life to this one, going from hurting to helping, he had searched high and low for a way to fight the darkness he needed to activate his tattoos. It wasn’t until a cop had accidentally hit him with a stun gun instead of the perp he had subdued that he saw a possible solution. The jolt of electricity had taken the edge off the darkness, muted it. But he wanted more—something that would give him complete freedom. And so under the watchful eye of Jackson, he had started experimenting with how much voltage he could take. There were a few hairy moments when he’d come near death because of overexposure, but in the end it had been worth it.
After moving into this new apartment, he had started doing the purge alone, and that had gone even better. Now he had mastered the whole process.
Jackson had pulled him out of the hole he’d been living in after Morgan’s death, showing him there was a way to come back from the edge and live something resembling a normal life. Electricity was his salvation, but Jackson had been his first savior.
Should he sit in the chair now? It was worth it to keep the people in this town safe, but he couldn’t imagine strapping himself in when he didn’t feel the slightest twinge of darkness.
Flipping open his laptop, Garrett stood with his feet spread, waiting for feelings of anger to rip through him, for rage to take flight in his breastbone and threaten to come tearing out of his chest. And yet nothing happened.
He didn’t trust it would stay that way, so he stayed close to the chair for the next hour, researching abandoned buildings in the area, pulling up previous places where bad things had happened before he’d made this city his home. He also popped the word Andraste into a search engine and came up with the Celtic goddess of war. Good to know. Though it didn’t have any bearing on the fact that he had to find Marta soon, it might be useful when his current mission was complete and he had time to go after whoever this bastard was. He wanted to be proactive. The time for reacting was over. He needed to find out who was doing this and stop them before anyone else got hurt.
With four strong leads, he headed out the door after calling his boss to let him know he was going to have to take a day or two off to fight a cold. Since his boss was Jackson of the cleanup detail, the man didn’t hesitate. Fighting a cold was their code for something big going on. It might have sounded lame and unimaginative, but it did the job. That was enough for Garrett.
* * *
Typing in one last set of numbers, Dory leaned back in her chair. Lunchtime was just around the corner. She was sorely tempted to go check on Garrett, but she didn’t want to disturb him if he was resting. And he might very well have tried to go to work. The tap tap tap of her pencil on her desk increased as she thought about having her hands on him. He hadn’t been on drugs this morning. Whatever force had possessed him had been something else, something she couldn’t define.
She’d puzzled over it all morning as she’d crunched numbers and set up spreadsheets for various clients, but she wasn’t any closer to the answer. The clock on her desk, a present an old friend had given her when she finished rehab and came out a new person, flipped over to noon, and she put down her pencil to stretch. The clock symbolized what she had gained by overcoming her addiction: all the time in the world. She loved the tangible proof that she had moved on.
She’d get some lunch and then come back to finish her work. When she went home, she’d see if she couldn’t get Garrett to talk about what had happened last night. Curiosity was coming out her ears, even though she was fully aware that the past was sometimes better left behind you. But this was still the present for him. He might not know it from her constant chattiness, but she was actually a pretty good listener. If he’d talk. And that was a big if.
“I’ll be back, Miranda,” she said to her boss. “I’m just going across the street to get a hoagie. Do you want anything?”
“Nope, hon, I’m fine. But be careful out there. I hear there’s s
ome kind of psycho on the loose. It was in the paper this morning.”
“Yes, I read it, too.” Dory gulped. How much to tell? What did she actually know? “All the women who were attacked live in my building, actually.”
Miranda gasped. “You’d better be extra careful. What the heck is going on? I read an update online that says they can’t find the last woman. She wasn’t saved like the others.”
“I know. And it makes me sick to my stomach. She’s a friend of mine. A really good friend.” Marta had saved Dory more than once, and she would be devastated if the older woman didn’t make it home. She kept a stiff upper lip though, just as Marta would want her to. “But the police are looking for her, and I’m hoping she’ll be okay.” Marta was strong, smart, and she would know what to do to keep herself alive until the police could rescue her. Dory had to believe that, or she wouldn’t be able to function.
On her scooter this morning she had briefly entertained the thought that Garrett might actually be the perpetrator instead of the savior, but she’d shoved it right out after letting it roll around in her brain for a few minutes. She was fully aware that people like Ted Bundy were capable of turning on the charm, but she had a feeling about Garrett, and it wasn’t a bad one. There might be darkness in him, but there was also a light that couldn’t be faked. She’d learned to trust her hunches. They wouldn’t fail her this time.
“It looks like my building is being targeted, but I don’t know why. I’m the only woman who hasn’t been bothered. There are two single guys who live in the building, too, and no one’s hassled them, either. But I’m smart. I’ll watch out for myself.”
“You’d better be careful. Mr. Pinkett will not be happy if his favorite accountant isn’t available.”
Dory laughed as she headed out the door, but the thought that she was the only woman who hadn’t been attacked over the past week stuck with her. Why? Was she next? Was she not of particular interest? This was one time when she’d be absolutely happy to be the mousy one who was passed over.
