Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rowan took the pill he gave her, and twenty minutes later reality retreated into dim fuzz. She curled into herself and watched the world slip by, uninterested.
She didn’t know where he got the pills from.
She didn’t care. She only cared that he gave them to her without demur.
He stopped for food at restaurants and supermarkets, told her when to go to the bathroom and stood guard outside the door while she did.
She didn’t know or care how he was taking care of himself during that time.
All she cared about was the warm blanket of chemical numbness wrapping around her.
She didn’t know how long it was, that zigzagging cross-country journey.
She only remembered dim fragments—leaning against Justin’s shoulder while he talked to her in a low voice, telling her something important she couldn’t quite remember.
His fingers laced through hers, leading her up a flight of stairs.
A warm touch on her forehead while she lay, her eyes firmly shut, in yet another hotel bed.
There were other flashes—him swearing as the car bucked and shuddered, her own thin breathless scream. A dim intimation of danger as they slipped out the back of a Chinese restaurant, Justin saying something over his shoulder as they vanished into the night.
Then there was a long time of nothing, not even flashes.
A single image etched itself into Rowan’s memory.
Justin, blood sliding down his face, holding the knife.
Don’t move, Rowan. Justin whirling, his hand coming up, a roaring sound—and the constriction on her arm eased.
She didn’t look, just closed her eyes, and heard him swearing. Goddamn it, Rowan, talk to me.
Another long time of no flashes. She simply abdicated control.
“What the hell happened to you?” A vaguely familiar voice, sharp and crisply authoritative.
“I just ran a goddamn Sig gauntlet.” Justin sounded exhausted. Rowan leaned against his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, and the world turned into meaningless colored blurs. “They had the whole damn western half of the country in an uproar. I saw Andrews; he says hello.”
“Jesus. What’s wrong with her?” Now the voice held an edge. “Delgado?”
“Nothing, she’s just sedated. Asked for it. Look, General, I’ve got to tell you—”
“Save it. Get her in a room and get your ass up to Four East. I need you. You’re late.”
“I told you, I just dragged through every fucking Sig you’ve ever heard of. They want her bad.”
“How well trained is she by now?”
“Just some basic shit. You know you can’t do much when they’re sedated. What crawled up your ass and died?”
“I just had to live for three weeks without my right hand, that’s all. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t push me, General. I’m in a mood. I’ve got news for you. Give me a few minutes and you can have my full attention.”
Slight pause. Sound of a hand meeting shoulder, a male greeting. “Good to have you back.”
Darkness closed over Rowan. She felt Justin catch her as she swayed.
Rowan came back to herself slowly. She stared up at a plain white ceiling for a long time before realizing she wasn’t alone in the room, and also realizing that the strange naked sensation was back, but oddly muted this time.
Dampers. He’d said something about dampers.
And his voice inside her head, teaching her.
Showing her things. How to shield herself, how to keep herself separate from the world around her—and also how to keep them from seeing her, how to redirect people’s attention away from her more efficiently than pretending to be invisible.
Rowan blinked, pushing her hair back from her forehead with a limp hand. She was bone-tired. “Justin?”
“I’m here,” he said, softly. The room was dark, the ceiling softly glowing in the dimness. He was a shadow with a glimmering pair of eyes. “Just take it easy. You’re groggy from the sedation. It’ll wear off. I gave you a system flush to get it out of you, so you probably feel tired.”
“Are we safe?” She shook her head, trying to clear it. He was wearing dark clothing. She could see a paleness glimmering on his left arm.
“Of course. We’re at Headquarters. They’re working on the dampers now, but it’s no problem. You’re safe, angel.”
“Why is it so dark?”
“It’s three in the morning. Close your eyes, and I’ll turn on the light.”
She obediently closed her eyes, wondering if she would fall asleep again. Light bloomed painfully against her eyelids, she was glad he’d warned her. She felt emptied, swept out. Strangely clean.
Finally, blinking her watering eyes, she managed to prop herself up on her elbows and look at him.
He had a white bandage tied around his left arm, and a row of stitches along his forehead. “God,” she said. “What happened to you?”
“Just a little mix-up with an old friend.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. His face looked oddly familiar.
Of course. How long have I been with him? “How long—”
“Two and a half weeks. It took a little time.” He shrugged, leaning against the wall.
Is he using it to hold himself up? “Are you all right?”
The question seemed to surprise him. At least, he seemed to consider it carefully before his flat eyes returned to hers. “I think I’ll make it. It was a bit touchy there for a while. I almost thought they’d manage to get us both.”
That piece of news made Rowan’s heart thunder against her ribs. Her mouth went dry. “Sigma?”
“Sigma.” He shrugged again and winced slightly as if the movement hurt him.
“You look like hell,” she informed him.
“I probably do. I think I should get some rest.”
“I’m sorry,” she began, but he shook his head.
“You kept me on my feet, Rowan. I’m sorry, for not taking better care of you. But it’s over, and we’re at Headquarters, and we’re safe for now. So I’m going to catch some sleep.”
Rowan sighed, forcing herself to sit up all the way. She was wearing a T-shirt and sweats, her hair was tangled, and she felt crusty-eyed and dry-mouthed. “What should I do?” she asked, and hated the way that sounded—as if she was too stupid to figure it out.
“You can just roam around, however you like. I’ve keyed the door to you, so it’ll open for either of us. Anyone you meet will be able to help you if you get lost. I’m sorry, Rowan, but I’ve got to get some sleep.”
Shame gnawed at her. “Oh. Okay.” Abruptly she wished for more pills to make all this uncertainty go away. “Justin?”
He dropped into a big, shabby orange armchair set next to a rickety round table holding a dark-blue glass lamp. “Hm?”
“Thank you.” She didn’t really have the words to thank him for what he’d done.
“No problem, angel. Anytime.” And just like that, he tipped his head back against the back of the plush chair and fell instantly asleep. He was freshly-shaved, but he looked gaunt, and there were huge dark circles under his eyes.
I wonder if he slept at all during that entire time. Two and a half weeks? Did I hear that right? She glanced around, taking in the room.
Long heavy drapes were closed over what could have been a French door.
There was also a draped window. The floor was hardwood.
Other than the bed she was occupying and the armchair and table, the room was bare except for a steel bookshelf in one corner and their suitcases piled near the door.
I don’t think much of their decorating, she thought, and stretched, yawning.
She felt tired, true, but also clear-headed for the first time since the attack in the parking lot.
Her father had still been alive then.
Rowan’s heart clenched inside her chest. She studied Justin’s weary face in the light from the lamp.
What am I going to do now? What would Daddy do?
She shivered. The room was just slightly chilly, and the naked feeling from what they called dampers was pressing against her skin. And the electric prickles that told her she was near him.
Justin. He was either asleep or faking it so well she couldn’t tell.
Rowan slid her feet out of the bed. First things first. I’ve got to take a shower. Then I should find something to eat.