Part 6 (1/2)

”Hot. So hot,” she muttered, flopping back on the mattress. She kicked the bedding off her legs, trying to cool down yet again. A warm hand touched her forehead.

She twisted away from him. ”I'm hot, don't add your hot hand to my head,” she cried. ”Why is it so hot?”

In the background she could hear someone whisper, ”s.h.i.+t.”

She didn't know what his problem was. She was the one who was hot. Then she realized she wasn't alone. ”Are you hot too?” She turned feverish eyes to Mason and studied him. He looked normal. But then normal for him was hot. ”No. You're already hot. It can't be bothering you.”

He frowned. ”What?”

”Why are you so hot?” she cried. ”I'm hot too but not hot like you are.”

He shook his head.

She frowned up at him. ”Of course you're hot,” she snapped as she rolled over onto her stomach and stretched out across the whole mattress. ”That's better.”

”What's better?” Mason asked beside her.

”This waterbed. It's much cooler.”

Then he touched her feet. She screeched in pain, flipped over onto her back and burst into tears. ”Why are they burning? They are on fire. Why? Can't you put the fire out,” she pleaded with him.

”I will. You stay here and I'll get water.”

”Water. Yes. Water. It would put out the flames,” she cried. ”Hurry.”

She twisted in pain, her knees bending and straightening as the throbbing wouldn't stop.

She whimpered, but it caught in the back of her throat and ended up sounding like a gurgle. She half laughed. ”That sounded bad. I'm not sick. I'm just so hot.”

”You're running a fever,” said a grim voice beside her.

She opened her eyes and shrieked. Mason was leaning over her, his face close to hers, his gaze locked on her, cataloguing her features.

”Water,” she asked when she could. ”I'm so thirsty.”

”Here.” He reached an arm under her shoulders and helped her to sit up. Holding the gla.s.s to her lips, she drank greedily. When the gla.s.s was empty, she sank back to the pillows, tugging the covers up to hide the bare skin her underwear didn't cover. Then immediately, threw the covers off again. It was too hot.

”Sorry,” she whispered.

”Really,” he said, a smile in his voice. ”What are you sorry about?”

”I got sick. You don't need that.”

”Well, at least you got sick at the right time. You'll be taken out of here and get medical help within a few hours. Now if you'd been so inclined as to have gotten sick earlier, well that's a different story. But we're safe right now.”

She gave him the briefest of smiles, appreciating his sense of humor.

”However, I have to clean your feet again,” he said. ”So I'm going to retrieve the stuff I need then I'll be back.”

”And I won't be here,” she muttered. ”I don't want anyone to touch them.”

”They are the reason for the fever, so it doesn't matter what you want,” he said, his voice hard. Determined.

Instantly tears jumped into her eyes. She turned her face into the pillows to hide them.

Still hot and hating the weakness was.h.i.+ng over her, she rolled all the way over until she was lying on her side, curled up in fetal position. He'd do it regardless of her feelings or the pain. The sane part of her mind said it needed to be done. She was sick and that was holding them all back. If she could feel better, she'd be able to run again, even if it was just to the right vehicle. Having her mobility stripped away from her made her feel vulnerable. Victimized. Weak. She needed her feet to heal.

That meant letting him treat them.

When she heard footsteps returning, she buried her face in the pillow and clenched the cotton casing tight in her fists.

There was no way she wanted to talk to him.

Her foot was grabbed in a firm hand and lifted. Nerves had her instinctively pulling it back.

Instantly, other hands grabbed her bare calf and stretched it out. Holding it firm.

She froze.

”Tesla. Swede is going to hold your legs down so I can do this. Bite on the pillow. It will help you deal with the pain.”

She snorted.

”Swede.”

Instantly her body was s.h.i.+fted like she was a two-year-old until her legs were supported by the bed and only her feet were hanging over the end. She lay on top of a rough scratchy surface, the top blanket, it was so rough she instantly s.h.i.+fted to rest her head on her folded arms. A blanket was thrown over her.

d.a.m.n it. It was hot, too.

The bed sagged as Swede, at least she presumed it was him, sat down. She could hear the two of them mutter, but her own nerves, that horrible antic.i.p.ation of oncoming pain blocked out any semblance of understanding. She started to shake.

”Okay, I'm going to start.”

Swede reached down and gripped both ankles firm against the edge the bed.

Cool water poured over her feet.

Her relief was palpable as the light liquid didn't hurt until the burn set in. She clenched her jaw and arched her back as the shock and agony ripped through.

But she never made a sound.

Somewhere in the back of her brain, all she could remember was his earlier message about needing to be quiet. But she wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Truly, she wanted to bawl her pain away. But held back. Locked into her position, her back arched, her arms rigid as her body fought against the agony.

”Jesus,” Swede said. ”Hurry up.”

”I'm trying,” Mason muttered.