The Society - Hunter Healer Part 8

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."

Rowan blinked. She laid the gun back down on the nightstand and then pushed back the covers. Her jeans had been cut away and the bandage was glued to her thigh with dried blood. She peeled it carefully off. Her leg twinged roughly as she looked at the b.l.o.o.d.y hole and wide stain on the denim.

"G.o.d," she said. The heavy material was stained all the way to her ankle. She'd bled a lot. She felt pale just thinking about it, didn't want to imagine the scar the wound would leave behind.

Doesn't matter. The scar will close up and fade like all the rest. It was a chilling thought.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been hit?" He yanked one of the chairs out from under the spindly table and dropped into it gracefully. Then he seemed to go absolutely still, his eyes sweeping the hotel room and then coming to rest on her.

She found her voice. "You had enough to worry about."

This wasn't like any reunion she'd envisioned either. She'd imagined ... what? Falling into his arms and everything going back to the way it was before-her father still alive and Hilary still working for the newspaper and calling or dropping by almost every day to visit? Or had she imagined waking up at Headquarters and finding out that it had all been a dream, her normal life and Justin's capture?

Instead, this gaunt man stared at her, seemingly content just to sit and watch. He reminded her of an alley cat, all nerves and dark eyes, every muscle taut and ready. The sudden mental image-Justin as a cat, prowling in a dark corner, disdainful of a plate of food, and reminding you he could leave at any moment, that he was just visiting-would have made her smile if it wasn't so sad.

"I'm sorry." He even looked sorry, his mouth pulling down and his eyes turning even darker. The shower shut off, she heard Cath switch to I Will Survive and felt her mouth want to twitch again.

"Why? You didn't shoot me." She took a deep breath. "I've missed you."

Three inadequate words, completely unable to convey the longing and frustrated guilt she felt. Rowan hunched her shoulders and dropped her eyes to her knees, one pale and streaked with dried blood, the other still covered with her sweat-soaked jeans. She reeked of sweat, coppery blood, and spilled alcohol.

"I pushed myself," he answered, almost inconsequentially. "To forget. Forget everything about you. I had to-Sigma had me. Then when I got loose, I pushed myself to remember. You're in trouble, angel.

They're sending Carson to hunt you."

A cold finger slid down her spine. Who was this Carson character? The General hadn't said much, just that he was bad news and for Rowan to be very careful.

"Henderson told me." I need a shower. And I need to get dressed. Why is he looking at me like that?

Why won't he touch me, talk to me? Really talk to me? He sounds like he's giving a report back at Headquarters. Nice and impersonal. "Justin?"

He shook his head, as if shaking away a sudden bath of icy water. "Never figured out why you called me that," he muttered, his eyebrows pulling together. He actually scowled, an expression light-years away from the calm, precise man she remembered.What had they done to him? "It's your name," she whispered. It's what I've always called you. "Don't you ... don't you remember?"

"Just Delgado. Or Agent Breaker." He shrugged. "Makes no difference. Look, how soon can you be ready to move? I've got to get you out of here."

Rowan's entire body turned to ice. Her heart gave one wounded, incredible leap and fell back into her chest with a plop, like a stone tossed into a pond. She'd been so sure he would come back-maybe wounded, maybe b.l.o.o.d.y but relatively unbowed. And she had also a.s.sumed that he would want to pick up where they'd left off. But that presented another problem, didn't it?

I hate you! she'd screamed at him in the training room, after he'd pushed her too far. I wish I'd never seen you!

She hadn't meant it. It had only been frustration and agonized grief speaking. But what if he'd thought she had meant it?

Of course, if it wasn't for me the Society would still have Headquarters. Sigma was after me, and they killed everyone they could find at Headquarters to get me because Justin brought me in. He's had time to think this over and remember what a jerk I was to him. Guilt flashed through her, bloomed into a hideous certainty. And I didn't go after him. I left him to suffer there.

"I can be ready in twenty, as soon as Cath gets out of the bathroom," she answered tonelessly, sliding her legs off the bed and rocking to her feet. She swayed, her knees weak. Blood loss will do that, even if you are the Super-Healing Freak, she thought bitterly. She scooped the gun off the nightstand, checked it habitually, and winced as she tested her left leg. The cut leg of her jeans flopped. She tasted bile, feeling the crusted denim against her skin.

"Henderson's going to be happy to see you," she tossed over her shoulder as she hobbled toward the low wide dresser. She recognized her duffel bag sitting next to Cath's and let out a sigh of relief. Fresh clothes sounded heavenly right about now.

"Rowan." Justin's voice was harsh. "They hooked me on Zed again."

She nodded, her lips compressing, as she limped to the dresser and unzipped her bag. Oh, thank you, G.o.d. Clean clothes. "I know. Don't worry, I've got detox down to a fine art. We'll have you fixed up in no time." The fake cheerfulness in her voice hurt. It was the same tone she'd heard other nurses use at the mental hospital. She had always hated that, hated the teeth-gritting falsity of trying to jolly the patients along for their own good.

"Rowan." He sounded as if he was about to say more, but the bathroom door opened and Cath banged out in a puff of steam.

"Christ," she said cheerfully, "you'd think a place in the desert would have more hot water."

Great. A cold shower. Thanks, Cath. Rowan sighed and made her escape to the bathroom's sanctuary, thankful that at least the younger woman had left her a few towels.

She tried not to wonder why tears welled up and traced down her cheeks as soon as she closed the door.

Chapter Sixteen.

Delgado hunched in the back seat next to the kitbags. Cath drove, lighting yet another cigarette. Rowan sat in the pa.s.senger seat and frowned at the map.

He was almost literally boiling with frustration. They shouldn't have put him there next to the guns and the gear, but evidently they trusted him. They trusted him too much, as a matter of fact. For all they knew he could still be Sigma, especially since he was still hooked on Zed.

He'd lied, of course. He hadn't been checking the parking lot. He'd been looking for a place to hunker down and slam the last hypo, but hadn't been able to. The thought of her eyes, dark green and lit from underneath with clarity, had stopped him.

No, that wasn't true, either. What had stopped him was no private place to shoot up. He ran the risk of having the cops called if he jacked in and zoned out for an hour in a motel parking lot. Self-loathing crawled along his skin, burrowing in. No wonder she didn't want to look at him. He could barely stand to look at himself.

Now his hands were shaking, and the unsteady lightning-bursts of pain were getting closer and closer together, his nervous system crying out for a jack and his overstrained will digging its heels in, refusing.

He slumped in the back seat, letting the wind play over his face. It smelled of water and thick, rank growing things, hills rising green and blotting out the empty sweep of sky he'd become used to in the desert and traveling through Wyoming.

We'll have you fixed up in no time. A door had slammed behind those beautiful eyes. He'd done something wrong. She had obviously been glad to see him at the casino, but now the distance was palpable, her lovely face closed, cool, and professional. Cath didn't help, either. Her normally abrasive manners had gotten even worse, if that was possible.

Had he done something wrong? He didn't think so, but his memory was a little spotty. He'd forgotten how gorgeous Rowan was, how a few silken strands of her pale hair could fall into her face and make a man think of brus.h.i.+ng them back, which would lead naturally to touching the curve of her cheekbone, a curve that begged to be kissed just like her flawless pretty mouth or the vulnerable inner hollow of her elbow, not scarred with hypo-marks like his.

He had forgotten just how it felt to look at her bowed head, see her nape because she'd pulled her hair up in a loose knot, and feel his entire body tighten.

He'd been trying to explain why he hadn't been back earlier. Why he had stayed so long instead of fighting tooth and nail to escape and get back to her even if it killed him. He had fouled up somewhere.

He hadn't known what to expect-tears, maybe. She'd cried in his arms plenty of times before, her grief at the loss of her father and best friend still raw and sharp.

He'd been trying to remember why she called him by his first name, and her face had closed with an almost audible snap, her eyes going dark and distant. And since then, she had treated him with a polite cheerfulness that made him want fifteen minutes with a heavy bag so he could let loose a little of the rage he was feeling.

Just a little.

They were heading back northeast to rendezvous with the rest of Henderson's Brigade. Cath's description of the situation-punctuated with such colorful terms as absolute f.u.c.king disaster, Del-lefthim wondering if the Society was worse off than he'd thought. In light of what she was telling him, it was a miracle they had managed to elude a government apparatus with d.a.m.n near unlimited funding and highly trained support staff.

But then again, they had Rowan.

If she had felt like a thunderstorm before, her talent p.r.i.c.kling along every exposed edge of his skin-and quite a few that weren't-she now felt like a smooth deep river of force, deceptively placid on the surface with a riptide underneath. She seemed even more powerful now-and more self-contained than he had ever seen her, her former guilt and insecurity washed away. He'd trained her well, and functioning under fire with the Society for the past few months had evidently taught her a few things. And he'd missed it, dumb useless b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he was, cooped up by Sigma and forgetting-however temporarily-that she existed.