Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Rowan turned over, pulling the sheet up. Then she yawned, and finally opened her eyes.
Delgado sat on that awful, battered orange armchair, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He looked tired, and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday—jeans, a black T-shirt, and a pair of boots. Does he always sleep in his clothes?
She pushed herself up on her elbows, sudden guilt biting sharply under her breastbone. She hadn’t even thought to inquire whose room this was; she’d thought it was a spare even though his clothes were in the closet and the chair was obviously his. She hadn’t been thinking clearly at all.
Sunlight poured through the French door leading to the balcony, through the window as well. Rowan yawned again and ran her fingers back through her hair, wincing as she encountered tangles. “Morning,” she said, and his shoulders hunched.
When he looked up, he didn’t look any different. Same flat hazel eyes, same straight serious mouth. He was a little pale, that was all.
“What’s wrong?” Rowan asked immediately. “Did something happen?”
He shrugged, sitting up and stretching, the movement bringing him to his feet in one fluid motion. “How are you? Sleep well?”
“Don’t put me off.” She slid her legs out of bed. “What’s wrong, Justin?”
Nobody else calls him that. It’s Delgado, or sir, or Del if they’re feeling friendly.
Nobody else calls him by his real name. That made her frown, thinking about it.
Had he told her his name, or had she picked it out of the air?
She sometimes did that, and most people assumed they had just told her their names.
She tried not to do that. Mom had always said it was rude to use someone’s name without permission.
“We lost another operative,” he said quietly. “One of Shelton’s gang. It’s just depressing, that’s all. I hate losing good people.” He watched her closely, she realized, without seeming to. Why does he do that?
“I’m sorry.” It seemed like being one of the “operatives” was dangerous. This was the eighth one she’d heard about dying. “Why do they… I mean, what…”
“Sigma,” he said, turning away. He crossed to the window and looked out. “Fucking Sigma. You want some coffee?”
“I should.” She watched his broad back as he leaned against the wall, the sunlight bringing out chestnut highlights in his dark hair. She couldn’t see any weapons, but she knew he was probably armed. Was it wrong to find that so comforting?
The hardwood floor was cool under her feet as she approached him cautiously. When she was close enough, she touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I know it affects you.” Her fingers seemed to burn where they touched him, and her stomach fluttered.
He glanced at her, sunlight turning his skin coppery.
Rowan was suddenly aware that she had just rolled out of bed.
Her hair was tangled, and she was probably crusty from sleeping.
She had morning breath, and she was wearing a ratty old sweatshirt and a pair of too-short shorts.
Justin might look tired, but he never looked rumpled or imprecise.
“It does.” He stared back out at the garden. “I combat-trained four or five of Shelton’s kids. I keep thinking that if I’d worked them a little harder they’d still be alive.”
“It’s not your fault.” Her hand moved, almost of its own volition. She rubbed his shoulder with her palm, trying to comfort him. “Really, it’s not.”
He shrugged. “I know it’s not. But I just… I feel responsible.”
Why do I want to hug him? She took her hand away.
It was completely inappropriate, and he didn’t know about the way her entire body seemed dipped in electric crackles when she touched him.
She had noticed that he avoided touching anyone else, and they avoided touching him.
Something to do with his talent, with something he could do.
Something Sigma had trained him to do.
He’s lonely. She bit at her lower lip. “Justin—”
“I’ll go get coffee,” he said abruptly, turning away and brushing past her. There it was again—that sense of a wall going up, a door slamming shut. “You want breakfast here or in the caf? We’re due at class at 0800.”
“The cafeteria, probably, I want to stop by the infirmary and… Justin, will you look at me? What did I do?”
He stopped, his shoulders coming up again. “You didn’t do anything, Rowan. I’m just upset, that’s all.”
“Justin—”
“It’s not you,” he said again, taking another step toward the door.
“Justin.” Rowan used the same tone she would have on a balking patient refusing to take his medication—firm and clear. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
“I’ve made a decision,” he said, staring at the door.
What does that mean? She folded her arms. “Will you look at me, please?”
He turned, reluctantly. His eyes were dark and haunted, and Rowan’s heart leapt into her throat. This was the most emotion she’d ever seen from him—except for when she’d touched him.
She took three quick steps, raising her hand, but he caught her wrist. Goosebumps slid down her back.
“No,” he said.
“I want to help you.”
“I’m not injured.” His eyes were, though—raw, open wells of pain. His mouth was drawn too tightly, betraying nothing. He was taller than her, and muscle moved under his skin. She’d seen just how lethally quick he could be.
They’re all afraid of him. But I just can’t be.
“Please,” she said, softly. “Let me.”
“It’s okay.” Something crossed his face swiftly, like a snarl. Rowan didn’t move, didn’t flinch—she was used to this. He wasn’t going to hurt her. “Save it for the patients, I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
He looked at her hand, her wrist caught in his fingers, as if he was trying to figure out how it got there. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I just decided what I’m going to do, that’s all.”
Rowan’s heart began to pound. “What does that mean?”
“Just relax, okay?” He let go of her wrist, and her hand dropped uselessly down to her side. “I’ll be back in a minute with some coffee. If you want to go to class, you should get ready. There’s a trip into town scheduled for tomorrow, too, if you want to go with Cath.”
“I have to get—”
He was gone out the door before she could finish the sentence.
Well, that was weird. No weirder than anything else, lately, I suppose… but still. Why did he touch me like that? Like he was trying not to hurt me. She rubbed at her wrist, even though he hadn’t hurt her. He’d been exquisitely gentle, the way he always was whenever he touched her.
Rowan’s hand flew to her mouth.
No. It wasn’t possible. But…
You just stop that silliness. Go take a shower and get ready for these classes. You’ve got work to do, and the sooner the better.
But all through her morning ritual, even though she scolded herself, dropped the shampoo and nearly killed herself slipping on some soap, she felt his fingers on her wrist and smelled his after-shave.
And oddly enough, that made her heart race every time.
Even when she started yanking the tangles free of her hair and banged her hip into the sink when she heard a slight noise and thought perhaps he’d come back.