Part 8 (1/2)

Not my problem. It was a relief to find something that wasn't his problem. ”There's Cath right there.

You just rest. She and I will take care of everything else.”

True to form, when he pulled up Cath didn't waste words. She peered in through Rowan's rolled down window-the hot air that came in was like standing in front of an open oven-and examined him for a long moment. ”About d.a.m.n time,” she said crisply. ”Holy h.e.l.l, Ro, what happened to you?”

”I got shot again,” Rowan whispered, and unceremoniously pa.s.sed out, her head spilling back and her mouth opening slightly. He tried not to think about that, tried not to feel the flare of frustrated heat that went through him.

Cath cracked her chewing-gum. ”All right, Del. How we gonna do this?”

You're taking this rather well, considering I've been away for months and might be a Sig mole.

Sloppy, Cath. You should be holding a gun on me and looking for signs of pursuit.

He held up the room key. ”Is the room clear?”

”You bet it is. Knew you'd show up.” She wore a cute pair of heart-shaped sungla.s.ses, very Lolita. He was surprised she wasn't smoking. Cath without a cigarette hanging out of her mouth was strange indeed.

Del suppressed a flare of irritation. ”Then get the keys turned in and let's blow this Popsicle stand. You got a medkit?”

The telekinetic shrugged. ”She won't need it. Already closing up.”

”Get me the G.o.dd.a.m.n medkit, kid. And then go and turn the room keys in. We've got to get out of here now.”

Chapter Fifteen.

The pain was incredible, spearing through her left leg and twisting with white-hot pincers. Rowan bit her lower lip, feeling flesh yield between her teeth. Her leg hurt so badly she didn't notice the trickle of blood sliding down her chin until Justin wiped it away, his fingers gentle under the rough paper of the McDonald's napkin. They had stopped for lunch, and Rowan had managed a few sips of Sprite before her stomach closed and she couldn't drink any more. She sucked on a chunk of ice Justin slid between her lips, and shook her head when he tried to give her more.

The desert scrolled by in taupe b.u.mps and sagebrush blurs outside her window. She was in the back seat with Justin. Cath was driving and smoking like a fiend. As the city fell into the distance she felt a great relief, when she could think through the waves of agony rolling up her leg. She'd taken a bad hit-one she was almost sure could have been fatal, if not for her freakish ability to heal. She'd even managed to try to walk through the rocky shoals of tearing pain. She barely remembered Justin dragging her to a car, saying something in a low, fierce voice.

When the breaker of agony retreated again, she opened her eyes just a crack to find Justin staring at her.

His eyes had come alive, instead of the flat darkness she remembered, their depths curtained by a screen of indifference. Now they were terribly present. He stared at her face as if he wanted to peel it off and take it home with him.

What a gruesome thought, Rowan.

But the intensity with which he was looking at her was nothing short of frightening. His entire body seemed focused on her, while Cath drove with the windows down and Johnny Cash playing, bright scarves of music and cigarette smoke furling out into the jet stream.

”Hey” he said quietly. ”Still hurting? It's stopped bleeding again, and it's closing up.”

She didn't look down. His hand was clamped over hers. This was not at all how she had expected a possible reunion to go. ”Justin,” she whispered. ”I knew you were alive.”

”I didn't,” he replied, with such a straight face she wasn't sure if he was joking. His eyelashes were so dark, she had forgotten that. Had forgotten the way his face made her breath catch, the way her skin felt alive with electricity when he touched her. He was sweating, too. She could almost feel his pain as well as her own. ”You've been a busy girl, haven't you? You've had their tails tied in knots looking for you. All over the d.a.m.n country.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. The next big jolt of pain was coming. She could feel it gathering like rain on the horizon. ”Had a good teacher,” she whispered. ”Always keep moving. Do it by the book.

Never leave a man behind.”

”You better believe it, angel.” He was smiling now, but it was a pained smile. ”Rowan.”

The pain swelled, crested over her. She bit her lip, not wanting to cry out. It would frighten Cath, and if Rowan let her guard down even for a moment she might broadcast and give Sigma something to latch onto.

”Scream if you need to,” he whispered in her ear. He'd taken his seat belt off to lean closer to her. She wanted to chide him for it, but couldn't find the breath. ”I'm here, angel. I'm not going anywhere.”

Oh, but you've said that before, she thought before the pain roiled again and she succ.u.mbed, goingdown into the depths without so much as a murmur. But this time, he was with her, his mind wound in hers. Rowan could feel his own pain and unwilling need.

Zed. They had addicted him to Zed again.

Which meant he might still be a Sig after all. They might have broken him. It didn't seem likely, but...

Rowan fled into unconsciousness.

Warmth, close and unfamiliar. A feeling of comfort.

Rowan opened her eyes, slowly. The hotel room blurred around her. She saw the edge of pale curtains keeping the sun out, and a mirror fastened above the dresser where a dark television crouched. There was a small table near the window with two chairs, looking more suited to a hospital waiting room than a hotel room, pushed halfway under it.

The curiously naked feeling of dampers roared over her skin. How had Cath gotten her into the hotel room?

Gingerly, she moved her left leg, and she let out a sigh of relief when it was only tender, not screaming with pain.

Then came the cliched question.

Where the h.e.l.l am I?

She rolled over gingerly and looked up at the ceiling, her back sinking into the mattress. There didn't seem to be anyone in the room, but the shower was running behind the bathroom door. She heard Cath's tuneless humming, familiar from spending so much time with the girl in different houses. It sounded now like Cath was trying to sing Cat Scratch Fever and failing miserably but with great relish.

Rowan blinked. Memory roared in. Justin.

Where is- The door rattled.

She pushed herself over on her side, reaching for the nightstand and the gun that lay there in its habitual place. Had he put it there?

Where was he?

Her fingers closed on empty air. She lunged and caught the gun as the door opened, letting in a blast of hot air and the smell of car exhaust and high plains wind. Justin stepped inside, shaking his head, and closed and locked the door. Cath had apparently found him a new s.h.i.+rt, but he wore the same hip-length jacket and jeans. As usual, he looked maddeningly precise. The haircut helped the image. So did the set, grim expression on his face. Somehow he never looked rumpled, even with the fading bruise over his left eye.

Rowan lowered the 9mm just as he turned around, his shoulders dropping. He regarded her over the s.p.a.ce of empty air between them. The new T-s.h.i.+rt was blue, and it made his eyes seem even darker.

Cath's singing continued in the bathroom, underscored by the splas.h.i.+ng of hot water.

”You can put that away,” he said finally, his eyebrow lifting just a little. He was pale, fever-spots standingout on his cheeks. He looked like h.e.l.l, with dark circles under his eyes and his jacket hanging oddly on his frame. He'd lost weight but still looked deadly, muscle flickering as he crossed his arms over his chest.

And his eyes were new, burning and fully alive, hazel coals in his pinched, gaunt face. ”I was checking the parking lot. Nothing stirring. I think we might be okay.”