Part 9 (1/2)
They'd left Cheyenne early that morning and were now in the lower end of the Black Hills. The scenery was grand, but Cath snorted when Rowan remarked wistfully that she'd always wanted to see Mount Rushmore. Delgado pushed down the urge to strangle the girl, who had slid most of her metal jewelry back on-nose ring, tongue stud, the earrings marching up each ear, the hoop in her eyebrow-and correspondingly started acting the disdainful teenager instead of the seasoned Society operative. Warm summer wind poured in through the open windows, and the winds.h.i.+eld was peppered with murdered insects.
I've never liked South Dakota. Delgado went back to studying the curve of Rowan's neck, the slope of her shoulder, everything he could see about her. Looking at her made the persistent burning need for Zed fade a little bit.
Thinking about touching her made a different kind of pain worse. The kind of pain he hadn't realized he was feeling for months, a gnawing emptiness inside the middle of his chest. He wanted to reach over, cup his hand over her nape, and whisper something in her ear-anything to erase that solemn frown as she stared unseeing at the map. Were those tears in her eyes? Big, fat, s.h.i.+ning tears?
Oh, Christ. He leaned forward, unable to help himself. ”Rowan? You okay?”
She actually flinched, as if he'd tried to touch her. ”Fine.” Then she turned to look out her window, so he could see nothing but the back of her head. He'd chosen the driver's side seat in the back so he could look at her profile, and now he found himself denied even that. ”It's just dusty, that's all.”
”Is your leg hurting?” Cath, now sounding concerned. For all her brash impoliteness, she seemed to sometimes care how Rowan was feeling.
”No, it's fine. Almost healed up. The worst is over.” Was there a telltale hitch in her voice? Did she sound a little choked? ”Are we stopping in Pierre?”
”Maybe just outside, for a snack. You hungry?” Cath sounded hopeful. Of course, she'd been stuffing herself with junk food the entire trip, if Del guessed right. Nutrition did not seem to be a word in her vocabulary. It was a wonder how she stayed rail-thin with all the calories and preservatives she swallowed.
”A little. Jus-ah, Delgado? Are you hungry?” Rowan had to half-shout to be heard over the rush of wind.
Delgado. The name hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. She called me Delgado.Not Justin. Delgado. The name the rest of them used.
She's changed her mind. Doesn't want anything to do with me. What am I anyway, but a junked-out Sigma? She's probably already dating someone else, if she has time. G.o.d knows there were enough men at Headquarters that would have jumped at the chance.
His heart burned, cracking in his chest. It felt like a G.o.dd.a.m.n cardiac arrest. The road slipped smoothly under the Subaru's tires, pavement singing and engine purring. Sunlight fell thick and liquid across the dash, tingled in Rowan's hair, picked out the crisp whiteness of her b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, worn open over a tank top. They were supposed to be tourists, just another car with Georgia plates, a man traveling with two pretty women, maybe a wife and a niece.
Stop it. G.o.ddammit, stop it. If there was one thing he couldn't afford right now, it was fantasy. She didn't want anything to do with him.
”Not hungry,” he said. It was only half true-the withdrawal was killing any hunger pangs he might be feeling, and he wouldn't want food anyway. The only thing he needed was to be near her. ”Better stop anyway, to take a look at that wound.”
”I'm fine,” Rowan protested.
”It'll slow us down,” he answered harshly, almost hating himself. ”Another fifty miles or so, Cath. We'll stop for a late lunch, early dinner.”
”You got it.” Cath apparently had no problem with taking direction from him. Old habits die hard, he thought, and didn't miss the flash of irritation, like a bright dart of suns.h.i.+ne, that jetted out of Rowan.
Too bad, angel. The stubborn endurance that had carried him through the last few months of h.e.l.l rose up now, bright and hot. Sigma hadn't broken him. They'd just hooked him on Zed and beaten him up a little.
He could take that. He'd broken a Zed habit once and could do it again-especially if this pale-haired angel let him stay near her. He didn't ask for much, just to watch over her while the Society rebuilt itself.
Del, you're a f.u.c.king fool. She's beautiful. Just look at her. And you can't get rid of a Zed habit by yourself again. It nearly killed you last time.
Remembering that time almost made him shudder-beating his head against a wall until the skin broke and bled, hours spent at the heavy bag just pounding away the furious frustrating weakness and torturing pain, prowling the halls of Headquarters because he couldn't sleep with his skin feeling like red-hot ants were swarming over it-but she could cure him. He remembered the first time she'd done it, cured a woman they had rescued from a Sig installation already moaning and eye-rolling when they brought her in. It had taken Rowan awhile, but she'd somehow treated a Zed addiction without a system flush plus detox and the implied risk of cardiac arrest for the victim.
The thought of how close it had been intensified the cold sweat standing out on his skin. If Jilssen had found out, if Del hadn't pushed himself to forget, Sigma might have gone to even greater lengths to acquire her. She was a high-priority target anyway, but if they found out what she could do, it was likely to become capture-or-kill, no price too high and no mandate too broad to bring her in or neutralize her.
If that happened, she would need him. They would need an operative who knew every dirty trick Sigma could pull because he'd been one of them.
Del touched the small bag nestled against his hip. Inside, the last hypo was cupped in its antishock foam, clipped in and just waiting to detonate inside his head, wipe out the burning he felt in all his nervechannels. It was only going to get worse. Withdrawal was no picnic.
I've got to ditch this, he realized, with a sinking sensation. He settled himself to wait for the next stop, his heart hammering and his sweat smelling sour even to himself. The voice of self-preservation shrilled inside his head, but he paid no attention.
One way or another, he was going to keep Rowan Price alive and free. If she didn't like him, that might actually be better. The kind of man she'd feel proud of wouldn't do half of what Del was prepared to do if Sigma didn't leave her alone.
The rendezvous with Henderson's Brigade was in, of all places, Fargo.
The landscape was entirely flat-flat enough that Del thought privately it was a wonder anyone who lived here didn't die of sheer boredom. But by the time they reached the small suburban house, he didn't have time to think about the landscape, or the fact that Rowan had brightened perceptibly the closer they got.
He was too busy fighting off the need for Zed and cursing himself for tossing the last hypo in a rest stop garbage can twenty miles out of Pierre. Not to mention wis.h.i.+ng he could wrap his hands around Cath's skinny neck and squeeze. The girl's abrasiveness didn't matter so much as the way she treated Rowan, like a not-too-bright den mother.
It was dark, and soft early-summer air came in through Rowan's slightly rolled down window. The heat was muggy and oppressive, and he saw lightning flashes in the distance. An early-summer plains storm.
The neighborhood was the best kind for rendezvous and clean houses-middle to upper middle cla.s.s with fenced yards and neighbors who were too busy climbing the food chain to be curious about new folks. Cath idled in the driveway in front of the three-car garage for a moment, waiting, and the garage door began to lift, slices of warm electric light knifing out through the cracks.
Rowan drummed her fingers on her right knee. She was only limping slightly now, refusing to eat very much, and looking more thin and tired with each pa.s.sing hour. Her hair, pulled up in a messy chignon and secured with a ponytail elastic, glowed in the sudden light. The familiar dead-air feeling of dampers closed over Del like water over a drowned man's head, oddly peaceful.
Cath pulled the car neatly into the empty slot on the left and cut the ignition. The garage door went down.
Rowan grinned as the door between the house and the garage opened and Yos.h.i.+, his slim dark form in a white T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans, stood silhouetted. He folded his arms and grinned back through the winds.h.i.+eld.
Delgado was not at all prepared for this. She looked genuinely happy and relieved, her eyes suddenly sparkling. He caught a flash of concentrated thought-a communication.
”Welcome home,” Rowan murmured, then looked back over her shoulder. The full force of her smile hit him like a baseball bat, drove every shred of good sense from his head. ”Glad to be back?”
”Pretty much,” he mumbled, opening his door.
Yos.h.i.+ barely waited before he was at Rowan's door, opening it for her. She accepted his hand, and the slim j.a.panese man nodded as his eyes flicked over Delgado. Rowan's lips moved slightly. They were communicating again.
Oh, Christ, Del thought. Please. Not Yos.h.i.+.
It was unfair. Yosh was clinically cool and calm, preternaturally skilled with hardware, a master on the computer decks, and good enough in the practice room to earn grudging approval even from Hendersonand Del himself. He was also a nice guy. A friend, if Del could be said to have any friends.
Rowan laughed. She reached up, her slender fingers working, and pulled the ponytail holder free, letting her pale hair cascade around her shoulders.
”I'm on my way,” she said, and touched Yos.h.i.+'s shoulder. No hug, no kiss-that was good. That was very good.
But then again, Del had never tried to be affectionate with her in public, either. He had hung in the background, watching over her, not daring to touch her when anyone else could see for fear of betraying what she meant to him.
That thought wasn't comforting at all.
”Henderson wants us both,” she said. ”Yos.h.i.+, you think you can take care of the gear? At least, until Zeke can manage?”
”What's wrong with Zeke?” Cath stretched, pulling herself out of the driver's seat. ”G.o.ddammit, my a.s.s feels numb. I hurt. You better have some vodka lying around, Yosh.”
As usual, Yosh was unperturbed. ”No vodka, but I believe Zeke has beer. And Henderson has been saving a bottle of most excellent whiskey for Del's return. h.e.l.lo, Del. Took your time, didn't you?”
Del's fingers tightened. It was a good thing the car was between them, because he could see Yos.h.i.+'s brown hand on Rowan's shoulder, squeezing a little. As if offering support. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, he's my friend.
And she doesn't belong to me.