Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
My head is cold and wet, but the rest of me is overheating. Gentle, reassuring fingers stroke my hair back from my face. I can hear Valentine purring, a low, steady thrum, but I can’t see her. In point of fact, I can’t see anything; the world has dissolved into fuzzy darkness.
“Rune?” The fingers brush my cheek, their touch warm against my skin. I want to nuzzle into them. “Can you hear me?”
Bewildered, I blink—and find myself staring into the chiseled face of Donovan Frost, creased with an uncharacteristic expression of concern. It’s his fingers on my face, his touch that’s made me feel safe.
What in the actual…
“Ahhh!” I jerk upright, dislodging the package of frozen peas draped over my forehead. It drops into my lap, right on top of the plush blanket that was pulled up to my chin. No wonder I was freezing and smothering at the same time. “What are you doing ?”
Donovan takes a startled step backward, nearly tripping over Valentine in his rush to get away from me. “I’m sorry! I was just trying to help!”
“By hovering over me Edward Cullen-style while I’m unconscious?” I pick up the bag of frozen peas and drop it on the coffee table, where it lands with a clink. “How did I get inside? Did—did you carry me?”
He glares at me, the knight-in-shining-armor act replaced by a crochety dude doing his best impression of Get Off My Lawn. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you lying on your porch? Step over you on my way inside to fetch some smelling salts?”
I glare right back. “Since we’re playing Twenty Questions, what were you doing in front of my house anyway? Do you make a habit of stalking damsels in distress?”
Donovan folds his arms across his chest, those penetrating blue eyes of his boring into me. Valentine winds around his ankles, still purring, the traitor. “Do you make a habit of collapsing? Also, most people would just say thank you.”
“Thank you,” I mutter to the folds of the unnecessary blanket, now puddled in my lap.
“You’re welcome. At the risk of invading your privacy, what the hell happened? That’s twice today. Are you…sick?”
I shake my head, trying to figure out what version of the truth to give him. My filter must be broken, because I go with the plain, unvarnished version. “I have premonitions, okay? The rough ones sometimes make me pass out.”
Now Donovan looks more pissed off than ever. His dark brows lower, and he makes a deep noise that can only be interpreted as a growl. “You don’t have to tell me, Whitlock. There’s no need to make up a crap story. It’s private would suffice.”
I should drop this subject. Pursuing it has never done me any good. But I’ve had a truly terrible day, and I can’t let it rest. “What, you don’t believe psychic powers exist?”
He snorts. “I believe in data. Evidence. Not some crackpot excuse for tricking gullible and vulnerable people out of their money. 1-900-give-me-all-your-life-savings.”
Right. So, not only does he not believe me because of my curse, he doesn’t believe people like me exist, on principle. We’re a freaking match made in hell.
Donovan tilts his head, amusement quirking his lips. “Wait. Don’t tell me you do ?”
“I believe,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “that there’s more to the world than what we can see, touch, or hear. That there are forces out there we don’t understand. And just because we can’t measure or exploit them, that’s no reason to dismiss the idea they might exist.”
God only knows why I’ve chosen this moment to fight and die on the hill of my weird abilities. Maybe it’s because those abilities saved Julia, and after seventeen years, she showed up with the proof that what I did that night made a difference. If I hadn’t intervened, maybe the monster and hundreds more like him would have won.
“Agree to disagree,” Donovan says, setting his jaw mulishly. “Are you going to tell me why you keeled over, or not?”
I sit up straight, occupying myself with folding the blanket. “I got some bad news, okay? From someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. Plus, I haven’t had dinner, which, as we’ve already established, makes me woozy. Satisfied?”
The Ice Man’s features soften. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”
“Because. Like you said, it’s private.” I clear my throat, trying to reclaim a modicum of dignity—which isn’t easy, given the circumstances. “Anyway, I’m lucky your date ended early. Otherwise, Mrs. Grant might’ve found me face-down on the porch steps and jabbed me with one of her fancy vibrators to get me to wake up.”
“Her…” He gapes at me, then scrubs a beleaguered hand over his face. “Oh, God, why would you say that? Is this revenge for carrying you inside?”
“Maybe,” I say, grinning. But my smile fades as it occurs to me that his act of gallantry might have had unexpected consequences. Mrs. Grant lives two doors down from me. And as already established, she’s got a phone and she’s not afraid to use it. “Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t know! I was trying to make sure you weren’t dead. Why? You don’t think that damned Facebook group…” His voice trails off.
On cue, my phone buzzes. I ignore it.
“I hate this town,” Donovan mumbles. “Everyone’s in everyone else’s business. You can’t fucking sneeze without someone making a documentary about it.”
For once, we’re in perfect accord. Sapphire Springs is my home, but sometimes I hate it, too.
I pace to the window that overlooks my front porch, suddenly convinced I’ll find the monster lurking there. If Julia tracked me down so easily, then so can he. I’ll need a better security system. Maybe a dog. Or maybe I should move, go somewhere he can never find me.
No, I’m not leaving my home. I refuse to let him take anything else from me. I bested him once; I can do it again. This time, within the confines of the law.
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t reach for it. I have no desire to see footage of myself limp in Donovan’s arms as he carries me across the threshold, like a bride who overindulged on her wedding night. Today’s been bad enough already.
“What’s the matter now?” Donovan’s tone is gruff, but when I turn to look at him, he’s wearing the same concerned expression he had when I woke up—like he actually cares what happens to me. His attitude is giving me whiplash.
“Nothing.” The last thing I want is to drag him into my problems. “Just checking for wayward Sinsters.”
Those laser-sharp eyes of his flick to my porch, then zero in on my face. “We have a project to do together, Rune,” he says, each syllable clipped. “Dishonesty’s not the best basis for a strong working relationship. Also, it’s one of my pet peeves.”
The nerve. “Well, God forbid I don’t behave exactly the way you want me to!”
He draws a deep breath, looking like he wants to snap right back at me. But when he speaks, his voice is calm. “Look,” he says, squaring his shoulders, “we’ve both had a shitty day. Sounds like yours was even worse than mine. I don’t want to press, but you’re acting pretty damn squirrely. Does this have something to do with the bad news you got?”
I shrug, hoping he’ll let it go. But no such luck.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but do you, um, want to…talk about it?” The words leave his lips so reluctantly, I almost laugh.
“Thanks, but no.” I give him a tentative smile. “There’s something else you could help me with, though, if you want. Because you’re right, today sucked, and I don’t really feel like being alone right now.” Not with Julia’s words ringing in my ears and that premonition still fresh on my mind.
I take a step toward him, and Donovan’s eyes go wide. Then he retreats, as if he expects me to launch myself at him and defile him on the hearth rug. “I…uh, I really…” he stammers, pupils dilating with panic. “You were just… I don’t think we should…”
“Please, get your mind out of the gutter.” I heave a resigned sigh, reaching for my laptop bag next to the coffee table. “You said you’d take a look at this, to see if the crash did anything to it. Maybe you could do that now, instead of tomorrow at the office?”
A peculiar expression sweeps Donovan’s face—relief, combined with something I can’t quite decipher. “Sure,” he says, blushing furiously as he takes the bag from me. “I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong concl?—”
The doorbell rings, cutting off his apology, and my heart starts pounding.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
Damn it. I stride to the door, wishing it had a peephole, and crack it open to see Charlotte standing on the other side, a pint of ice cream clutched in one hand and a box from We Knead Pizza balanced on the other.
“Rune!” she says. “I came as soon as I could get away. I’ve been calling, but you didn’t answer. I’ve been freaking out.”
That’s Charlotte, obsessing even though she talked to me after the accident, and saw embarrassing photographic evidence of me and Donovan at the Grille. She’s the only person who’s ever fussed over me this way. I pretend it drives me crazy, but it’s actually one of the things I love about her. Right now, though, I need her to go away. If she comes in and finds Donovan here, she’ll never let it go.
“As you can see, I’m fine,” I tell her. “In one piece. And I already ate. Thank you, though! Let’s talk tomorrow!”
I try to close the door, but she sticks her foot in the gap. “Why won’t you let me in?” she says, at the same time as Donovan says from behind me, “No, you haven’t. What’s the matter with you? Do you have a pathological aversion to the truth?”
A grin tugs at the corners of Charlotte’s lips. “Who is that?”
“No one. It’s no one,” I say, desperately trying to shut the door. “Honestly, Char, I just need some rest. We’ll have coffee tomorrow, and?—”
But I never get a chance to finish my sentence, because she shoves past me and stalks inside. Where she gets an eyeful of Donovan, standing in my living room with Valentine twining around his ankles, my laptop in his hands, and his trademark scowl on his face.
Charlotte’s grin widens, lighting her eyes.
“Sex spreadsheet guy!” she says.