Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Delgado returned, he heard the shower running. She’d made the bed, but she hadn’t touched any of the pastries. He laid the clothes on the bed and poured himself another cup of coffee from the thermal carafe before it occurred to him that she might not want to walk out into the room naked.
He walked to the bathroom door. It was slightly open, and steam drifted out. “Rowan?” he called, knocking twice.
A listening silence descended on the bathroom. “Yes?” she finally said cautiously, her ruined voice echoing on tile.
“I have some clothes here. Some of them might fit you. Can I put them on the counter?”
Another long silence. “Sure,” she said, and he could tell she’d been crying again.
This should never have happened. Del clenched his teeth against the words and shoved them down.
He laid the stack of clothing on the counter, not even daring to glance at the glassed-in shower.
The bathroom was clean, lit with brilliant incandescent bulbs and tiled in dark blue.
It was a far cry from her neat, cozy home.
There wasn’t even a potted plant in the entire safehouse.
Nobody had the time to take care of them while out on mission.
He retreated to the bedroom and settled with his coffee, vaguely surprised she was still here.
He’d left the door open deliberately so she wouldn’t feel any more trapped than was absolutely necessary.
If she wanted to, she could probably get a fair ways through the house before he caught up with her.
The shower shut off after a short while, and he listened intently, hearing her move. He’d given her two sweaters, a pair of jeans too small for Catherine, a pair of sweatpants, and socks—he hadn’t found any undergarments. They would have something at Headquarters, if she consented to going.
When she finally emerged, chafing at her wet hair with a towel, he found his mouth dry and his throat blocked.
Her eyes were red, and her cheeks blotched.
She was absolutely lovely. She’d chosen the red cashmere V-neck sweater, probably because it was too big for her.
It was one of his, one of the few brightly-colored pieces he had.
Seeing her in an article of his clothing literally robbed him of breath.
Oh, no. He watched her stop dead and stare at him, her eyes huge and rimmed with red. I am in so much trouble.
“There wasn’t…” She pushed the too-long sleeves up, her slim wrists lost in the cuffs. The jeans were rolled up and a little too loose. She was smaller than Cath, the girl had snorted and pushed clothes likely to fit her into Delgado’s hands.
“I couldn’t find everything,” he said lamely, around the lump in his throat. “We’re traveling light. But I… you know, I just…” I sound like a total fucking idiot. You’d think over a decade of operations and missions would have prepared me for something like this.
If she’d been any other subject, he would have been smoothly moving himself through the stages of trust, minimizing her resistance, capitalizing on her vulnerability.
The trouble was, she wasn’t just any other subject.
He didn’t want to see her hurt. And he had almost no idea of how to shield her from the pain.
It’s not that I promised not to hurt her. It’s that I meant it.
“It’s okay,” she said finally. “I don’t suppose it matters much. If I can’t go home, I probably can’t use my bank card or my driver’s license either. Not that I have either of them. They were in the house. I don’t have anything.”
“It’s hard in the beginning. It gets easier. We’ll get you a new identity, and you can draw off the Society accounts, and—”
“I don’t want another identity,” she interrupted. “I want my identity.”
He shrugged. There was nothing to say.
She watched him for a few moments, evidently gauging how far she could go. “You spied on me,” she said, finally. “You lied to me. You told me you were a student at a university.”
“A lot of the research we do benefits the universities,” he broke in.
“And we investigate parapsychological phenomena. I couldn’t tell you that I was a Society member pursued by a black-sector government collection of psychos, could I?
” He didn’t raise his voice; she didn’t deserve that. But he was perilously close.
She stared at him, the blue towel swaying in her shaking hand. “I never wanted—”
“But it’s happened.” Trying to keep his voice low. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it, Rowan. I tried. But it’s happened, and you’ll get a lot farther if you just accept that it’s happened and listen to me. I’m trying to help you.”
Then he could have slapped himself. Way to go, Delgado. She’s really going to trust you now.
Amazingly, she smiled. It was a weak, watery smile, but a smile nonetheless. “You’re right,” she said quietly, hoarsely.
“I’m sorry, Rowan.” He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was going to be repeating that phrase a lot.
She nodded, her long hair, dark with water, lying against her shoulders in tangled strands. “Me too,” she said, slowly. “Me too.”
After a long crackling silence, she retreated back into the bathroom, and Delgado let out a soft, tense breath. That had gone well. Almost too well to be believed.
He closed his eyes, thinking. She’s remarkably resilient. Trying to analyze the situation. Unfortunately, it defied easy analysis.
A cold appraisal of the situation would tell him to maneuver her as quickly as possible into a dependence on him, to ensure she didn’t bolt.
If she ran from the Society, she’d be scooped up by the Sigs in no time.
The thought of her in a Sigma white-room, a needle dropping Zed into her veins and her head shaved, made him shiver.
Nobody had ever made Delgado shiver before.
When she came out again, she was fiercely dry-eyed, and looked about as determined as it was possible to look while still shell-shocked and fever-cheeked. “Okay. What’s next?”
“I suggest some breakfast.” He examined her, carefully. She didn’t look like she was going to bolt. “You need to eat. Then I’ll take you to meet the General.”
“The General?”
“Henderson. He was in the military for a long time.”
“Were you?”
He nodded. “Marines.” A wolfish smile. “Semper Fi.” At least until Sigma got my transfer and started in on me.
“So Dad was right.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Good observation.” He couldn’t look away from her face.
She’d combed her hair and pushed it back.
Her eyes seemed far greener now, rimmed in red.
The insistent prickle of her gift pushed at him, ran over his skin in rivers.
It would be interesting to find out if the others reacted to her the way he did.
Red anger surged through him at the thought of anyone else touching her. Even looking at her. He took a deep breath and pushed the rage down.
She stared at him. She’s sensitive, so she probably felt that. Goddammit, use some of that goddamn control you’re famous for. He clamped down on himself. Pointed at the tray. “More coffee?”
She approached him cautiously. “I guess,” she said, and looked at the pastries as if she couldn’t remember what they were for. Her face changed slightly. He tried to read it, failed. “You look angry.” She finally settled down in the chair across from his, perching unsteadily.
“I wish I could have saved your father, that’s all.”
She studied his face intently for a long time. “I believe you.” A short, sharp nod. “Let’s get this over with, okay?”