Part 11 (1/2)

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 cla.s.sical 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 G.o.dd.a.m.n 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 Yos.h.i.+ 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 astonis.h.i.+ngly 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 p.r.i.c.kling for some reason. He scanned the plate-gla.s.s 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 Delgado'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 hoa.r.s.e.Brew slid in on the other side of the booth, carrying a tray with four gla.s.ses. ”Diet c.o.ke, root beer, plain c.o.ke, and plain c.o.ke. Take your pick.”

She picked diet c.o.ke, Del took plain c.o.ke, and by the time Yos.h.i.+ had come back the conversation had turned to pizza as the perfect food. Brew was a vocal champion, Rowan a pa.s.sionate detractor-due to the amount of cholesterol in the melted cheese-and Yos.h.i.+ weighed in, as usual, with a hymn to the wonders of sas.h.i.+mi. He didn't seem to mind Del sitting next to her.

Del just sat back, sipped his c.o.ke, 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 h.e.l.l with being fair, and to h.e.l.l 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.

That's the thing, he thought as the pizza arrived. I've turned into the monster Anton talks about all the time: a rogue freak. I don't care what happens as long as she's safe.

She elbowed him again and gave him a quick look of apology. Del had to take a deep breath and restrain himself from sliding a proprietary arm over her shoulders.

Chapter Nineteen.

Rowan sat straight up, her entire body cold and p.r.i.c.kling-wet with sweat. She gasped, reaching out to ward off danger, and found her hand caught in slim, strong fingers.

”It's only me,” Yos.h.i.+ said. ”Light.” And with that warning, he flicked the bedside lamp.

”What's wrong?” She almost choked over the words, and then saw Justin. He was repacking her bag, swift and efficient. Brew was gone. She almost reached for him, but that would disturb the portable dampers.

The motel room had two queen-size beds. Justin had elected to sleep on the floor, over her faint protest, and Brew and Yos.h.i.+ took the other bed. A hideous painting of a lighthouse leered at her from above the television.

”Something's not right.” Yos.h.i.+ was pale under the even caramel of his skin. ”Brew had a nightmare and I think we're being followed. Here.” He shoved a pile of clothes into her hands. ”Del thinks something's up too,” he added, apparently thinking that was enough of an explanation.

It was. She knew it was.

Justin zipped the duffel closed. ”This is the last one. Get down to the car. If anything jumps, just go. I'll get her out.”

Yos.h.i.+ nodded. ”Hurry,” he said, and left at a pace too quick to be called walking but not quite an undignified dash, taking Rowan's bag with him. Justin followed him to the door opposite the curtained window, and checked the hall.

The other bed was rumpled. Rowan swung her legs out and s.h.i.+vered. It was chilly in the room, a cold that seemed far more than physical.

”What do you think it is?” What a stupid question, Rowan. It's Sigma, that's what it always is. Won't this ever stop?

”Probably Carson and his lapdog.” He shut the door quietly, precisely. ”Hurry, angel.”

The pizza she'd had earlier churned in her stomach as she ran for the bathroom. Yos.h.i.+ had left her comb, a pair of jeans, a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, and her kitbag. She could stuff her tank top and shorts into it on the way down to the car.

The mirror greeted her with a vision of a rumpled, very pale Rowan, her hands visibly shaking as she used the small toilet and changed her clothes, taking a few moments to rinse the taste of fear from her mouth and splash her face with cold water. She decided to keep her tank top on and slide the other s.h.i.+rt over it.

The chill in the room seemed to work its way all the way down to her bones. It wasn't a physical cold, and the extra layer of clothing didn't seem to do much good.

She came out to find the lights off again and Justin by the window, peering out into the parking lot. They were up on the second story. A ground-level room had too many possible avenues of approach. The only trouble was, higher up, the avenues of escape were just as few as the avenues of approach.

The dampers were still running, he would leave them here just in case. ”I don't like this,” he murmured.”You ready?”

”Ready enough,” she managed.

He glanced at her. A thin, tight smile hovered around the corners of his mouth, and her heart began to thump. ”Don't worry, angel.”

”I'm not worried.” Her voice shook. Embarra.s.sment warred with honesty, and a compromise was reached. ”You're here.” She tried not to sound childish.

His eyes warmed for a brief moment. ”That's right. Got your kitbag?”

She nodded. Her throat was dry and her head began to hurt, throbbing in time to her racing heart.

”Del...”

”For Christ's sake, angel,” he said, peering out into the parking lot again, ”it's Justin. Now come on.”

The hall was quiet, carpeted in brown, and thick with the smell of danger. Rowan clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, Justin's hand closed around her arm just above her elbow, and she had the sudden feeling that the past was curving in on itself like a snake, doubling like a movie reel. He'd hustled her out of hotel rooms before, in the long dim days of their first escape from Sigma. She had never asked him how he had managed to keep a sedated psion out of the hands of several Sig search teams and bring them both safely to Headquarters, with only two nasty knife wounds and a severe case of exhaustion.

He made a low sound of strained amus.e.m.e.nt as they reached the end of the hall, under the glowing-green exit sign. ”Feels just like old times,” he said quietly. ”Down the stairs, and we'll take the door to the back parking lot.” He pushed the door open.

Rowan stopped dead. The stairwell should have been lit up with fluorescents. Instead, it was a black pit.

Danger exhaled from it, and Rowan heard a soft sliding sound. A footstep? Justin yanked her back.

”No other stairs,” Justin muttered. ”All right.”

”No elevator,” she said as he stepped back, sweeping the door closed. He gave a quick glance around-nothing he could use to bar the door, which would have been her first thought too. He'd already instinctively put himself between her and the stairwell; she could feel his sudden determination.