He shrugged a shoulder, looking uncomfortable. “Nah. From what I hear, the bad cop did okay without me.”
“Then what’s your angle?” I demanded. “Why be nice?”
He huffed out a sigh. “Well, you’re our scent match. That’s really pretty much it. Do you know how rare that is?”
I kept my lips stubbornly closed and resolutely didn’t breathe in his citrusy Christmas-bread scent.
“Can’t promise things won’t get a lot more complicated if Knox doesn’t make it, though,” he admitted reluctantly.
I steeled myself, knowing I had to ask. “How is he doing?”
“About the same,” he said. “It’s touch and go. They haven’t had to restart his heart again, at least.”
The confession that had tried to escape earlier snuck past my guard.
“If you’re lying about not being traffickers, then I just gave up my client’s name to Heath.” My stomach turned over, rebelling against the food I’d just dumped on it. “And if you’re telling the truth, I may have killed an innocent alpha.”
“We’re telling the truth,” Gage said. “He’s strong, though. He’ll pull through. You’ll see.”
And then what?I wondered.
The silence stretched. Gage rose from his perch on the edge of the bed.
“You want me to leave that for you?” He indicated the half-finished plate.
I shook my head, unable to face eating the rest of it.
He crouched down and picked it up in one big hand, leaving the water bottle. “Okay. Sorry, but I have to lock you in again. I’ll be back with the new blankets and stuff, though.”
I looked away and chewed on my lower lip, my guilt at destroying the room returning even stronger than before.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Gage was good to his word. He dropped off the new pile of nesting materials without a word, and left again, closing and locking the door.
I had no idea if it was day, night, or something in-between. But I was exhausted from crying and ripping up the room. There was no real reason to stay awake. Wind rattled the eaves as I reluctantly changed out of my stinking night-club dress, and into a set of silky pajamas from the bags of stuff Tony had brought.
They were nicer than anything I’d slept in since I was a child. Part of me hated that I was wearing them—it felt like some kind of weird capitulation... although I wasn’t sure to what. To make up for it, I shoved the neatly folded blankets onto the floor and curled up in a tight ball on the bare mattress.
The wind howled louder, and I shivered.
God, Ihatedstorms.
But I was so tired I could barely keep my eyelids open. I’d been leaving the lights on, because it made me feel lessvulnerable to be able to see what was coming. My head was still pounding like a drum, though. As I tried to sleep, the light felt like it was stabbing into my brain through my eyelids, so I got up and turned it off.
It didn’t take long for fatigue to drag me under, now that I’d finally given myself permission to sleep in this makeshift prison of a house. The darkness carried me away, exhaustion overcoming the undercurrent of nervousness at the sound of the wind making the roof creak.
Unfortunately, the dreams came soon afterward.
Sometime later, a deafening crack of thunder jolted me out of a nightmare of sweaty, grasping hands. I lurched upright, because someone was screaming—the pain-filled, uncomprehending cries of a child being hurt while the adults around her laughed and jeered.
It was storming—rain and wind rocking the house, just as it had been on that terrible night after my father auctioned off my first heat to a pack of pedophiles. My skin crawled under the touch of those hot, sticky hands. I flailed, fists meeting only air as I cried out for help that would never come.
Another reverberating crack of thunder shook the floor, weight pinning me down from behind as my body and mind fought themselves.
No-no-no-no—
Another thump... not loud enough to be thunder. A door? Was someone coming to help me after all?
