Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Three weeks later, she looked up from sorting files as Henderson said her name.
“Can you run these to Central for me?” the General asked, handing Rowan a sheaf of folders.
He wore a pair of steel-rimmed glasses, darts of light striking off the frames; the gun at his side had become normal.
Firearms made Rowan nervous, but the people around here were starting to look strange if they were unarmed.
“Catherine’s crunching some numbers, and Brew—”
“It’s all right.” Rowan laughed, taking the armful. “Tell Justin I’ll be back in a few moments?”
He nodded absently, shoving his hand through his hair and turning back to the computer screen. Holding the folders, Rowan watched him for a moment. His back was iron-straight and his sharp, kindly gaze very much like her father’s. The white patch at his temple glared in fluorescent light.
Four East was an underground room, a huge circular dome like Central Op.
Here, Henderson’s Brigade had hung Halloween decorations—Catherine’s—and a huge print of Monet’s water lilies—Brewster’s—plus a poster of a wet cat clinging to a branch with the caption Just Hold On—Zeke’s.
Rowan’s contribution was a salvaged airplane plant, sending out long tendrils with balls of whippy green leaves at the end.
“I don’t know what you did to get Del on his feet so quickly,” Henderson said suddenly, still staring at the computer screen, fingers flicking over a keyboard.
A perpetual-motion thingie—four steel balls hung from thin filaments, clicking back and forth—stood next to his computer.
Henderson’s command chair was an ergonomically correct black-mesh-and-cushion deal; he leaned back and took a swallow from a silver hip flask while she stood, the files balanced in her arms. “But it’s a miracle, and I’m grateful.
He’s working the best he has since he arrived. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him looking really happy. “I’m glad.” She took a deep breath. “Sir?” she asked carefully, gathering her courage.
“What?” He didn’t sound angry or even impatient, he hit the enter key twice, reached over and grabbed another manila folder and flipped it open.
“When will I be able to… do what the rest of you do?” Her heart hammered, coppery dryness in her throat. I know I’m practically useless, but I don’t ever want to be here alone again and listening to Justin get shot at.
“You mean be an operative? You’ve been here for months, but you’ve been missing classes and Del hasn’t cleared you through combat training.
Brew will need you in weapons, too. We can’t take you on operations until we’re sure you won’t get yourself or one of us killed.
I really need those files run down to Control, Miss Price. ”
“Yes, sir.” Rowan turned sharply and strode for the door. Well, that went as well as could be expected.
The passageway outside was lit by yet more fluorescents, and Rowan hummed as she stopped before the transport door. The files were heavy. She was lucky to be allowed into Central, especially after being here for so short a time.
Short? It feels like forever. Justin’s back to normal; he’s been putting in fourteen-hour days and we haven’t talked about anything.
She sighed. Those nightmarish days of holding him to life, willing him to survive, were a sore spot inside her head.
She didn’t want to speculate what sort of emotional muscles she’d pulled.
The thought of losing him—of him dying like her father—made her entire body go cold.
And the thought of her father made the familiar black ball of grief and anger rise up in her throat, like a lump of tears with sharp spikes.
I should check in at the infirmary. Annika’s team came back all beat up. Rowan shifted side to side, her calves protesting from the punishing run she’d taken that morning.
Annika, a short, gymnast-muscled woman with long dark hair and empty flat blue eyes, had brought everyone back safely, but she’d lost half her spleen and now boasted a long scar down the side of her face.
It was yet another thing to hate Sigma for, and Rowan found that hating the faceless monolith didn’t make her uncomfortable at all.
And yet sometimes, she wondered.
The transport door opened. Dr. Jilssen’s blue eyes peered out from behind their thick lenses.
Rowan’s stomach did its best to rise in revolt. She tasted bile, and her skin prickled.
“Miss Price!” As usual, the old man sounded delighted. He jammed the button that kept the transport door open, his rumpled lab coat rustling. “Just the person I wanted to see! Where are you going?”
She clutched the files to her chest like a schoolgirl, hitching in a breath. “Central,” she said, unable to lie. Why do I feel so sick every time I’m around him? The prickling intensified right on her nape.
He’s not dangerous, she told herself, and moved forward as if to step into the transport. She stopped.
Her body literally wouldn’t obey. She struggled with herself, not wanting to be impolite.
“Good! I’ll go with you.” He was beaming, his hands trembling slightly, like usual. But today there seemed something predatory about his face, lean and leathery instead of just old and fragile. His tie was blue, stained with something darker, and his right loafer was untied.
“I… I left something,” she stammered, backing away. This wasn’t like her; Rowan Price didn’t lie, and she didn’t give into irrational fear.
What if it’s not irrational? But I’m safe here, we’re all safe here.
“Rowan?” Now Jilssen stepped out of the transport, his face the picture of concern. But was there something else beneath that concern? Something… almost hungry?
“I have to go,” she began breathlessly, backing up two steps, then whirling—and almost running into Justin, the breath slamming out of her chest. He seemed to just appear sometimes without moving through space like a normal human, and since starting his regular workouts again, his shoulders were once more impossibly broad.
He caught her, one hand curling around her shoulder, and the other catching her upper arm, setting her back on her feet.
“There you are.” His dark eyes, flat and ironic, flicked over her, probably taking in her scarlet cheeks and set jaw.
Then he turned to Jilssen, who had retreated back into the transport.
“Henderson says he needs one of those back. Afternoon, Doctor.”
“Well, maybe next time, Rowan.” Jilssen put on a jaunty smile. Was it Rowan’s imagination, or was the older man sweating? “Remember, I’ve got my eye on you!”
The transport doors closed. There was a slight whoosh.
He was gone.
Rowan let out a shaky breath. Justin used two fingers to tip her chin up, examining her face. His mouth was a straight line, his cheeks dark with afternoon stubble. The tingling from his touch washed through her, almost but not quite dispelling the sick sense of fear and dread.
“Christ,” he said. “He really upsets you, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know why.” She leaned into his touch. “It’s probably nothing. I just…”
“Just what?” He looked interested, of course, but his gaze had fastened on her mouth.
“I get that sort of storm feeling, and my head aches. And my stomach. It’s…” She hesitated, plunged on. “It’s almost how I felt when that man tried to kidnap me.”
Justin’s gaze met hers. Rowan’s breath left her in a swift gasp.
His eyes had gone even more flat, cold and dark, and his jaw set. But it was as if a switch had flipped, turning him from Justin into Delgado, the cold machine the rest of them saw. There was something else, too.
Something she’d only seen once or twice, a kind of thoughtlessness in his face, the scary, static-laden last breath before an explosion of violence.
His fingertips were still under her chin. He trailed a soft touch along her jaw, then up her cheek. Rowan’s entire body flushed.
“Listen to me.” Quietly, as if taking it for granted she would. And she did—froze, her complete attention focused on him. “Don’t ever doubt that feeling, angel. Ever. It will keep you alive. From now on, don’t go anywhere without me, all right? I’ll make some inquiries.”
“What do you think is going on?” Is he saying it’s not safe here? The bottom dropped out of her stomach as if she was on a roller coaster; not a fun amusement ride but a scary, rickety, dangerous plunging toward the ground.
“I don’t know yet.” He caressed her cheek.
It was vaguely jarring, the contrast between that empty emotionless face and the gentle touch.
And the fierce emotion pouring out of him, wrapping around her, not drowning her like other people’s feelings, but…
cradling, almost. “But I’ll find out. Until I do, don’t go anywhere without me. All right?”
She wanted to nod, but that might dislodge his fingers. “All right,” she whispered, and his gaze dropped down and fastened on her mouth again.
“You going to Central?”
“Um-hmmm,” she managed. If he leans down just a little… The memory of that other kiss burned through her. “Did Henderson want one of these back?”
He kissed her cheek, just a gentle press of lips. Rowan’s breath became shallow, and her pulse raced. It was a sweet fear, better than the clinging, painful panic of facing Jilssen.
“No, I lied. You all right?” he asked.
“I guess.” She sounded whispery, couldn’t quite make her voice work. He lied? Why? Because I looked upset, or… Oh, God, could Jilssen tell what I was feeling? No, he’s normal. A deadhead, Brew would say.
“Let’s go to Central. Then I’m free for the rest of the evening. Have dinner with me?”
It sounded unexpectedly intimate, though they usually both stole the same meal and coffee breaks. “Of course,” she said, automatically. She’d spent more time with him than anyone except her father, and it felt just as natural.
For a fleeting moment, his eyes weren’t flat—they were warm and deep. Then his face closed with an almost audible snap. “I’ll find out what’s going on, Rowan. I promise.” His fingers trailed down her cheek, and he slowly, reluctantly, peeled his fingertips away.
“I know you will,” she said, struggling for a normal voice. “I just… I wonder if I’m jumping at shadows. A person can only handle so much trauma before they start to unwind.”
“Don’t worry, you’re perfectly rational.” He punched the button for the transport, moving with that quick, eerie grace. “And you’re stronger than you think.”
It took a few moments for his words to sink in, and Rowan didn’t answer him. That’s what I’m afraid of, she thought.
And tried to shove the idea away.