Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Zeke grumbled, but submitted to Rowan taking his pulse and blood pressure. Medical training was always in short supply around here, it seemed, and Rowan’s gift for calming people made her even more useful.
“You’re going to be fine,” she told him.
Catherine snorted. “He’d better be. You nearly fuckin’ killed me, Zeke.”
“On that note…” Rowan ducked out of the curtained enclosure, leaving the two to their bickering.
The aboveground infirmary was almost full and down the hall from Delgado’s room, which meant it was where Rowan spent most of her time.
Her attendance at the classes was spotty at best, but the General gave her homework and she was learning to use her strange gift on sick, wounded, and traumatized people.
Just like at the mental hospital.
She checked on Sheila, who lay quietly sleeping, lank brown hair lifeless against the pillow.
The last battle with the drug Sigma had pumped into her veins had taken its toll on both patient and nurse, but Rowan suspected she was very near to victory.
She could almost taste, almost see, how to focus her gift to transmute the horrible physiological addiction back into normal health.
Henderson was very pleased with that news.
Pale, pearly winter sunlight washed the entire infirmary in shades of blue and white.
Electronic beeps from monitors sang their usual song.
Her boots squeaked against the linoleum.
The smells of disinfectant and sickness mixed with the sweetness of strawberry incense Catherine lit, and ozone from the air purifiers.
Her legs felt a little shaky from the punishing run she’d taken that morning, pounding on the track with only the sound of her own harsh breathing to keep her company. It was a blessing to find out she could still run—and that the effort made all the fear and worry go away.
Except for the worry about him.
She checked on Justin as she walked past, then stopped, her hands on her hips. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Justin hissed in a breath as he pulled his sweater over his head.
Three white bandages glared against his torso, muscle rippling under his skin.
The IVs were gone, but he was still wounded.
He was lucky none of the three bullets had hit bone, even more lucky that his heart and lungs hadn’t been damaged, and that one of the two surgeons at Headquarters could extract all three without Justin coding on the table again.
All in all, it was a miracle he was still alive.
“I’m getting dressed. I can’t take it anymore. ”
“Get back in that bed,” she ordered, as he pulled the sweater down, smoothing over his bandages. “You are the stubbornest man I know.”
“Is that a compliment?” He gave a lopsided smile, hazel eyes warming for a brief second. Rowan approached, hands still on hips.
“Get in that bed, Justin Delgado. Now.”
He complied. She pulled the covers up, and his gaze moved over her face.
“I hate bedrest,” he complained. “I’m missing out on training. I’m going to get sloppy.”
“Not likely. Now I’m going to take your blood pressure, and you’re going to stay put like a good little boy. I’ll come back and read to you, and you can take a short walk this afternoon if you really want to.”
“Of course I do; I hate lying around.” He looked up at her as she took his blood pressure. “How am I doing?”
“110 over 60,” she said. “Good. You’re relaxed.”
“Not really.” He caught her wrist, and a wave of heat slid up to her shoulder, dipped down her entire body. “Are you busy?” He let go of her wrist as she stepped closer.
“Not so busy I can’t spare a few moments.” Rowan dropped into the chair by the side of his bed, settling her stethoscope and folding up the blood-pressure cuff. “Is something wrong?”
“Just wanted to talk to you.”
Her pulse sped up, pounding in her wrists and throat. “What about?”
“Kenwood tells me you spent the entire mission in Central, listening.” He examined her face.
She shrugged. “Do you need your pain meds?”
“No. Henderson tells me you didn’t leave my bedside for the first four days except to go get more coffee and visit the bathroom. He was afraid you were going to collapse.”
“I didn’t.”
“Emily found you sleeping on the floor next to the bed.”
“I was tired.”
“Rowan.”
“Justin.” She met his gaze squarely. “What is it you want?”
“Just to say thank you.” He picked at the blue ripcord bedspread. It was the first time she had ever seen him exhibit any nervousness. “You talked me through it.”
“You’d have gotten out.” Of course you would have. You’re Delgado. They think you can do just about anything, don’t they? Nobody ever sees the human side of you.
She pushed away the more stunning thought—that she had consciously used her talents on him, and he’d healed so quickly even she was surprised.
She’d spent hours staring at him as he slept, willing a trickle of energy into him, forcing her talent to its limits.
I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve used my freak stuff on him, God alone knows what it’ll do.
But it’s helping Sheila, and if I can find out how to break that awful drug, everyone will be happier.
He shrugged. His gaze was flat again.
Rowan examined his dark hair, a little longer now, and his broad shoulders under the black sweater.
His black bag was propped against one side of the bed within easy reach, she’d brought him a copy of Blake’s poetry, and the only book he seemed to really read—a copy of Sun Tzu’s Art of War, a glass of water, and nothing else.
Zeke’s bedside table was already full of magazines, a crumpled pack of cigarettes—Catherine’s—bits of scratch paper, sketches, and various other minutiae.
Justin, however, had not even asked for the books until Rowan brought the Blake and announced she was going to read to him. He hadn’t demurred, but she got the idea that he didn’t really listen—he just watched her while she read.
“I want out of this bed,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Not until I’m sure you’re all right,” she said. “Dr. Jilssen—”
“Jilssen’s an ass.” His eyebrows drew together.
Rowan couldn’t help it; she chuckled. It felt good to laugh. She hadn’t had much to smile about lately. “This is the part where I’m supposed to get afraid of you and let you do what you want?”
He actually frowned. “No. I don’t want you afraid of me.”
“Oh, good, because I’m not. You’re staying in that bed for a few more days, Justin, and that’s final. Clear?”
He mumbled something, then one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Did you just scold me?”
“I did.” She reached out again and touched his wrist. The fiery prickles racing up her arm made her shiver. “For me? Please?”
“Fine,” he said ungracefully. “For you. Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Silent as the grave,” she promised, despite the chill that touched her back at the words. Then she took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind that I’m still staying in your room?” Her voice came out a little funny, a little breathless, and she shifted on the hard plastic chair.
“Of course not.” He glanced around the infirmary, and Rowan was suddenly aware of other people listening. “Stay as long as you want.”
“All right.” She let go of his wrist and gained her feet without any mishap. What was it that made her heart hammer and her mouth go dry? “I’ll be back in a little while to read to you.”
“Rowan?”
“What?” She paused at the end of his bed, looking back over her shoulder.
“Thank you. Come back soon.”
She nodded, then hurried away before she made a fool of herself.
Dr. Jilssen was poring over charts at the nurse’s station. “Ah, Rowan! Just who I wanted to see!” He blinked behind his thick glasses, his thin face pricked with color high along his saw-like cheekbones. He set the charts down, one liver-spotted hand trembling slightly. “How is Delgado?”
“Feeling his oats, Doctor.” Rowan forced a smile.
Her skin crawled, like it always had since Justin had left and Jilssen had started actively pursuing her.
He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just old, and he’s one of those doctors that doesn’t like messy human beings and has a horrific bedside manner. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, we haven’t seen you in class or down in the Research Division for a week.
” Dr. Jilssen’s eyes twinkled behind the Coke-bottle lenses.
There was a soup stain on his tie—looked like tomato.
Rowan’s teeth set together tightly. “I know you’ve been busy working on Sheila, but I was wondering if you’d come down and test a telem rig for us. ”
“I don’t know, doctor. I’m very busy with the patients.”
“I’m sure someone else can look after them for a little while.” The doctor reached as if to pat Rowan’s arm.
She skipped back, her elbow striking a vase of tiger lilies someone had brought in. Which would have crashed to the floor, but she managed to catch it in time, water sloshing, splashing the counter.
Dr. Jilssen squeaked and whisked the charts out of the way. She managed to get the vase back up on the counter and stepped back nervously when Jilssen tried to touch her shoulder, maybe in clumsy reassurance.
“Sorry,” Rowan said, not feeling very sorry at all. “Look, I have to go.”
With that, she backed down the central aisle, away from the nurse’s station. “Rowan?” Dr. Jilssen peered at her, obviously perplexed.
Rowan’s entire back started to crawl. She turned on her heel and began walking quickly away. What’s wrong with me? What’s going on?
She didn’t even hear Justin say her name.