Chapter 18
Del glanced over the printout. His neck hurt and bones ached from second-stage Zed withdrawal; he ignored the sensations.
“How much worse is it?” He checked the living room again, helpless not to.
Rowan was occupied with packing kitbags. She took a sip of cold coffee, swirled it in her mouth, and grimaced, downing the rest as if it contained alcohol. She was so pale her skin appeared almost translucent, save for the faint flush that rose to her cheeks whenever her eyes met his.
He wondered what that meant.
He’d lain next to her last night, listening to the steady rise and fall of her breath as the party wound down and the others dropped off.
When he had finally found himself relaxing despite the aching of withdrawal, he had even dared to turn his head and take a deep lungful of pure heaven.
He’d tucked his coat around her because she’d looked cold.
And this morning she’d been gone when he opened his eyes.
That was a nasty shock, but he’d reached instinctively, found her concentrating on taking a shower.
He’d retreated hurriedly back into his own head, glad she hadn’t been aware of the quick brush.
It made him feel like a voyeur—not so much because he’d done it, but because he wanted to crawl into her mind like a badger into its hole.
And stay there.
The General spared a brief grin. “Actually this is the bad news. We’ve gained a lot of ground in the last month or so—fourteen newbies, and we’ve gone back to the decentralized training.
Eleanor’s got a bunch up in Calgary. She sent word back with Boomer that things are kosher there.
Everyone who was out and away from Headquarters survived largely intact, thank God.
” Henderson’s voice dropped. “If it wasn’t for Rowan we wouldn’t have made it. ”
“Ro!” Cath stuck her head in the living room. “Zeke wants to know where you put the—”
“Bathroom, second shelf.” She nodded at Yoshi, handed over his full kitbag. “In the blue bottle. Tell him to leave some for the rest of us, and is he taking his meds?”
“You know how he is.” Cath rolled her eyes. There was a large, fresh hickey on the side of her neck; her blue-violet eyes were hooded and sleepy. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Rowan flipped the messenger bag on closed, handing it to Yoshi as well. Del watched, but the man didn’t steal the chance to brush her wrist when he took the bag, didn’t lean in like Justin would have done.
That was very good.
“Rowan?” This time it was Brew. “Need anything else?”
“Just another couple mags for Zeke’s Walther, if you have any.
Oh, and ask Justin what kind of hardware he needs.
” She hunched, shooting Del a guilty look.
Her hands continued moving, swift and deft, taking the next canvas messenger bag, stowing the medkit, extra mags, pad of paper, the pen with the digital camera in the shaft, copper wire, Matheson handheld—all the little things no Society op should be without.
“Already did.” Brew tipped Delgado a wink and vanished, after Cath, back down the hall. If the danger came closer, into the critical zone, it was Brewster’s spider-sense that would warn them to scramble.
Del’s throat was dry. His body cried out for Zed.
So long as he stayed near her it was tolerable—the red-hot ants didn’t jitter so badly over his skin and he didn’t feel like he was breathing through wet cloth.
The spikes of pain were distracting, intense enough to make him sweat, but still tolerable.
Take Rowan out of the room, though, and everything got a lot worse. As object lessons went, it was extremely elegant. If he needed yet another reason to watch over her, that would have done it.
His jacket also smelled like her now. It was an unexpected blessing, the faint scent of woman attached to the lining of his coat. Not just any girl, either; the only one Del had ever…
“She’s missed you,” Henderson said quietly.
The table between them was a flimsy portable number, barely capable of holding the printouts and maps.
The old man’s steel-rimmed glasses gave a glint to match the white patch at his left temple.
That patch had grown, and Henderson himself looked older.
The fine fans at the corners of his eyes hadn’t been there before, nor had the weary shadows in his eagle eyes.
“I had to tie her down so she didn’t go running off to ‘rescue’ you from Sigma. ”
“Christ.” Del’s blood ran cold at the thought. He wouldn’t have been able to help her. “I pushed myself to forget so they couldn’t beat it out of me. I don’t think they know what she can do.”
“I don’t even think she knows what she can do. I mean it, Del. We had to damn near kneecap the lady to keep her from raiding any Sig installation she could find on her own.”
Del’s heart felt like it was cracking and throwing itself against his ribs at the same time. He flipped through a few more printouts, seeing precious little of the data. So she wanted to come riding in and save me, huh? Well, that’s something, at least. “Glad you kept her from doing that.”
“You’d kick my ass if you came back and found out I’d let her go.” Henderson’s tone changed, became businesslike. “They’re sending Carson.”
Another chill walked down his back. “Andrews told me.” That’s why I got the hell out of there.
“Andrews. How is the old bastard?”
He would have sent his greetings if he’d known I was on my way to meet you. The man’s almost as fascinated with you as he is with Rowan.
“Just like Anton, as fine and sociopathic as ever.” Del shifted his weight and glanced up, checking on Rowan again. Her head was down, she was packing the last kitbag as Yoshi handed each implement to her. “It’s become personal. He’d love to get his hands on her.”
“Him and everyone else, huh.” Henderson started rolling up maps.
“Glad to have you back, Del. Listen, we’ve picked a new Headquarters.
The nest egg Rowan brought back isn’t as good as we hoped but it’s adequate.
I’ll need you to start working through security procedures and help Yoshi salvage whatever we can from the old resource net. ”
Del blinked. Did they just expect him to step in where he’d left off? Didn’t they understand he was a danger, that he could be a Sigma mole?
No, Henderson had trusted him long ago in the dim days of Del’s first escape, and never doubted him since.
“You should wait until you know I’m clear,” he said, harshly, watching Rowan roll her eyes as Yoshi made a low comment. She laughed, grabbing for the coil of copper wire. He tried to move, but her hands were too quick. Her hair had begun to dry. Fine, slightly curling strands fell into her face.
They looked very easy with each other. Very goddamn friendly.
The old man shrugged. “Would you drag Ro in to Sigma, see her shaved and full of Zed?”
“Christ, no.” He tried not to sound horrified. “I told you, I pushed myself to forget so they couldn’t use me against her.”
“There you go. Help me clean this up. What else can you tell me about Andrews?”
He wants her, badly. It’s personal now. He won’t stop hunting her down, might even go rogue.
“He’s an idiot.” He reached down and started shoving the papers into manageable piles.
Henderson made a short, disgusted sound, acknowledging the humor. “Well, goddammit, Del, I knew that.”
“Not a moment too soon,” Yoshi murmured, fingers flicking over the laptop’s keyboard. “Four SWAT teams in the first wave. They must have a pretty high opinion of us.”
“I didn’t even know they had SWAT teams in Fargo,” Brew remarked. He scanned traffic and changed lanes, the SUV moving smoothly.
Rowan shifted restlessly in the passenger’s seat, a movement Del could feel in his own body. “Henderson?”
“Clear. He and Boomer and the kids got out with two hours to spare,” Yoshi said. “They’ll meet us in Des Moines. It’s all over the television—an anonymous call tipped off the inquisitives at the news stations.” Yoshi grinned and glanced over at Del. “Wonder who would do such a thing.”
“Can’t imagine,” he agreed. If there was one thing Sigma hated, it was publicity. They had used the local police force to do their dirty work this time, maybe thinking deadheads wouldn’t trigger Rowan’s exquisitely sensitive antennae for danger.
They might have been right. It had been Yoshi’s nervousness and Brew’s insistence that they move on; Henderson knew better than to trust only one set of instincts.
Del’s entire body itched, bones twisting with deep grinding pain as the chemical dependency yanked mercilessly on his nervous system.
He was nauseated and shaking, but it wasn’t bad as it could have been, not like he remembered from his first detox and certainly not as hellish as when they had recently tried to use withdrawal to break him—as if he could have answered their questions about a woman he had forced himself not to remember.
The feeling of being in the same room with Rowan, standing in the path of the lightning bolt of her talent, made it just about bearable.
Only just, though.
Miles unrolled under the wheels. Rowan gazed 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 classical station on the radio, static breaking through at the edge of its transmitter 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 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 goddamn 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 along 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.
Del finally had a chance to talk to her when Brew went to order the pizza and Yoshi to visit the restroom. “How’s the leg?”
And that was more food for thought. The bullet hole had closed up in an astonishingly short time. She hadn’t been able to do that before. Then again, if it made her look so thin and wan, 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-blonde hair fell over her eyes.
“Boomer insisted on giving me some pain meds, but they don’t help.
I seem to burn right through them.” Her gaze scanned the restaurant, moving in quick arcs, settling on the door.
Outside, sunlight simmered, 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, hard. He laid his hands flat on the table.
If he pressed down on varnished wood, she wouldn’t see how badly they were shaking. He checked the restaurant again; the back of his neck was prickling. Plate-glass windows with dusty posters, the staff going about their pizza duties, 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 eyebrows rise. “Do I have to take my coat off?”
She flushed, gazing intently 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 fingertips met Delgado’s wrist.
He was about to turn his hand palm-up to take hers, but the sensation—a palpable wash of peace starting at the crown of his head and sliding 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 it wasn’t the agony of his own talent burning and ripping even as it served his purposes.
Instead, 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 sensations and the agony of a battered mind stretched to its limits.
When she removed fingers 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 similar.
Getting addicted to that feeling would make Zed look like a cakewalk.
Still, it meant she was still emotionally attached to him. He could use that attachment, worm his way back into her good graces and see if he could get a little closer. His hands had quit shaking.
“Rowan—” he began, his voice rusty and hoarse.
Brew slid into the other side of the booth, carrying a tray with four glasses. “Diet Coke, root beer, plain Coke, and plain Coke. Take your pick.”
She picked diet Coke, Del took plain Coke, and by the time Yoshi returned the conversation had turned to pizza as the perfect food.
Brew was a vocal champion, Rowan a passionate detractor—due to the amount of cholesterol in the melted cheese—and Yoshi weighed in, as usual, with a hymn to the wonders of sashimi.
He didn’t seem to mind Del sitting next to her.
Del just sipped his Coke, 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 hell with being fair, or with playing nice. He needed her. If he had to add the sin of manipulation to a 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 so long as she’s safe.
She elbowed him again, and gave a quick sideways look of apology. Del had to take a deep breath and restrain himself from sliding a proprietary arm over her shoulders.