“Is it working?”
She opened her mouth to respond and then realized that his attempts at macabre humorweredistracting her from the pain. “Don’t trust many people. Even fewer that I’d allow to hold a sharp instrument to my head. But…” Enigma though he was, he’d saved her life. And that meant something.
He was seated beside her, unmoving, one hand on her head. She couldn’t imagine being in a more vulnerable position.
“Go on then, mystery man. Do your worst.”
He cleared his throat. “Be right back.” He got up to do some more gathering of supplies, including what appeared to be a sewing kit. Jesus, she hoped it was clean. “Go fast as I can.”
She nodded, rubbing her cheek against the wet cotton.
“Ready?” The flashlight’s glimmer hit the curved needle in his hand.
“You gonna disinfect that thing?”
“Nah, it’s good. Few germs never hurt anyone, right?”
“Are you—”
“Ah, come on, Leo. You’re tough. You telling me you can’t handle a little bear blood?”
“You’re not seriously—”
“Only ever used it to sew together hides for my hearth rug. You’ll be fine.”
“Ha-ha. Right.” The smell of alcohol wafted over her, and she shut her eyes. “Sorry I doubted you.”
“Understandable.” After a quiet moment, he said, “Tell me when.”
“I’m ready.” Which was complete bull. The first stitch made her want to cry to her mother. And she’d been dead for three decades.
Forcing the tears back, she ground her teeth together through the prick and pull of two stitches before she fell into the breathing rhythm he’d adopted. Slow breath in, slow breath out while he pierced her scalp, then another in, and so forth. The tears receded, prickling her sinuses until she managed to squelch them, shoving them down to her throat and her chest before they settled as an ache in her belly. If she could ignore the weird pull at her scalp and maybe concentrate instead on the warmth of his other hand anchoring her in place, she’d make it through this.
After a few more minutes, he sat back. “Done. I’ll clean, bandage. Leave you be.”
“Thank you, Elias.” Her eyes sought him out. “Whoever you are.”
He opened his mouth, as if he’d tell her what his role was in all of this. Like hewantedto tell her. And then closed it, tight as a steel trap.
For some inexplicable reason, she felt something like hurt. “My last name’s Eddowes,” she gave him, maybe as a peace offering, maybe as a thanks.
His eyes flicked toward her before skittering away again. Was that guilt on his face?
She’d just opened her mouth to say that it didn’t matter when he told her his last name.
And everything changed.
***
“Thorne.” Elias said the name that had put a target on his back and turned him into a pariah. America’s most wanted. “My name is Elias Thorne.”
Everything was quiet.
There was relief in telling the truth, pressure releasing like a balloon popping in his chest.
Now he’d have to deal with the fallout.
Shock, disgust, fear. Maybe even anger. None of those would surprise him.
