Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
He stood in the dark, staring out through the French doors and listening to the subliminal sounds of Headquarters. He’d chosen this room because it was far away from the bustle of others; he wasn’t immersed in the chatter of other minds.
And the light from the windows, light any time he wanted it, a room where he could shut and lock the door at any moment, a bathroom to himself—all these things more precious than a civilian could imagine.
Just being able to lock a door was like every Christmas he’d ever had rolled into one.
His memory of the first year at Headquarters was a blur of prowling the corridors fighting the burning need for Zed, sometimes holing up in a faraway lonely spot to curl in a ball and sob while the agony of breaking the addiction tore through bone, muscle, brain.
When he had finally recovered enough to be useful, Henderson suggested he find some rooms he liked; Delgado had used them sparingly in the years since, not bothering to hang anything on the walls, not daring to make anything about them personal.
Now the room was alive with reminders of Rowan.
Plants and bookcases, one of her fluttering blue scarves wrapped about a bedstead pillar, a stack of art books she’d bought in town holding up a terracotta pot with a blooming blue orchid.
More than that, though, was the aura clinging to the air; a scent so faint he doubted anyone else would recognize it.
Delgado filled his lungs with that subliminal smell. Sooner or later she’d come back, unless she was going to abandon everything in here.
His conscience pricked. He should be standing guard, watching over her.
He’d promised she wasn’t going anywhere alone.
But nothing had happened for weeks and Delgado, for all his quiet snooping, hadn’t found anything to make him think Jilssen was anything more than simply obsessed with Rowan’s manifold and manifest talents.
Besides, she was angry; she wouldn’t appreciate him following her around.
I hate you! I wish I’d never seen you! Her voice echoed down the dark well of his brain. Had he ever thought she would understand?
She’ll come back eventually. Then you can apologize. Hell, you can get down on your knees and beg. She’s got a soft spot; you can use that. You’re the biggest idiot on the face of the Earth.
“I don’t care.” His breath fogged the glass. “If I’m cruel here, she’ll be ready for out there. Facing them.”
That wasn’t training, the sharp calculating voice he hated jeered. You saw her sparring with Ellis, and you’re jealous of anyone who gets that much of her time. Hell, you’re even jealous of her patients. You’re obsessed, Del, and you miscalculated bigtime.
“She’ll forgive me.” He didn’t care about talking to himself; here at Headquarters it was practically required to mutter to yourself and look grim.
Some of the telepaths had to subvocalize to make their talents work.
What if she doesn’t? She’s never yelled at anyone like that before. She told you she hated you.
“She doesn’t hate anyone, that’s her problem.”
Still, you’ve done a good job of teaching her to hate Sigma. What if she uses that lesson on you?
“She’ll forgive me.”
Maybe she won’t. Maybe this will be the thing that shows her what you are. Who you are. And you pushed her, right over the edge.
Shadows lengthened, dusk turning into night. The fields surrounding Headquarters fell under folds of darkness. Past dinnertime. Where was she?
If he reached, he could probably tell. But that was a violation of her privacy. Just because she shared a slice of her mind with him didn’t mean she wanted him spying on her… even if she was the only thing he could think about.
The only thing he could care about.
Even if he was worried, standing here trying not to strain for the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. Worried enough to make a fist. Worried enough to curse under his breath, touching the fogged glass, and tracing the letters with a fingertip. R. O. W.
Footsteps outside, a low laugh, and the door slid aside. The air inside the room tightened in anticipation. “Let me grab my purse,” she said over her shoulder.
Delgado’s shoulders tensed. He stared at the fog on the glass, his breath drawing a vapor curtain over the world outside. The light flicked on, blazing; he turned, trying not to blink as it stung his eyes.
“Justin.” She didn’t sound happy. There was a raccoon-mask of yellow-green bruising over both beautiful green eyes, and the bridge of her nose looked swollen.
She had her purse, was digging in it. Had he frightened her?
Couldn’t she tell he was in here waiting for her?
“We’re going to town, some emergency snack cravings. You… um, you want to come?”
How does she manage to do that, rob me of every good, sensible, logical thought? He closed his mouth with a snap. A green and white shirt with a teddy bear printed on it stretched across her breasts; the bear had a four-leaf clover painted on its belly.
She pushed stray strands of pale hair back, tucking them behind her ears. Then she ducked into the bathroom; he heard movement, the clatter of something dropped in the sink.
She reappeared, sliding a second earring in—a silver Celtic cross, swinging gently.
“Justin?” she prompted, pulling the coat up over her shoulders, purse safely stowed underneath.
“Cath wants Pop Tarts and I was thinking of a cheap bottle of wine and some Cheetos. Brew says he has to return some movies, and Yoshi wants a beer. Are you coming?”
He managed to find his voice. “Do you want me to?” I sound like a teenage boy. He took a step away from the French door. Please, Rowan. Forgive me.
She shrugged, her face closing, the glitter draining from her eyes. “You don’t have to.” Someone knocked on the door. She turned away, her bootheel scraping on the floor.
“I’ll come,” he said. “Just let me get my coat. Can I? I mean… Rowan?”
“Well, then, hurry.” She tapped her toe, cocking her head. “I didn’t think you’d be up here.”
“I was waiting for you.” He ripped his jacket off the hanger and shrugged into it, automatically easing the coat over his rig. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“I know you’re.” She turned again, sharply, pale hair flaring in a luscious wave. “Come on.”
It was a good thing he was wearing his boots. She might have left him behind otherwise.
Brew and Catherine waited in the hall, Brew’s wire-rim glasses glinting. “You coming, Del? Good thing Henderson’s getting the van.” There was an edge of uneasiness to his clipped accent.
Catherine threw Delgado a pointed look, eyebrows raised, and slid her arm through Rowan’s.
Rowan’s hair glowed. Del searched for something polite and normal to say. “Well, I’ve been wanting to go into town for a beer.” It was the only thing he could think of.
Rowan and Catherine were heading down the hall already, arm in arm like schoolgirl chums.
“Come on, mate,” Brew said. “Beer it is. I’ve talked the ladies into stopping by a little bar on Sixth Street. You can buy her a drink and try your luck.”
“Am I that transparent?” Del muttered.
“Not to most. Don’t worry, she hasn’t said a word about it.”
“Great.” That could mean she’s too angry to speak.
“She even insisted we come up here and see if you were in, so we could invite you along.” Brew’s white teeth flashed. He rolled his shoulders under his bomber jacket. “A good sign, eh?”
“Maybe.” Del kept his tone clipped. How about that? Five minutes ago I wanted to smash everything I saw.
Now I feel like laughing.