“You should rest,” she said, quieter now. “You’re burning up.”
Rook smirked, even pale as death. “Nah. I’m fine. Besides, I have my own place just down the road.”
Blake shook his head, packing away the bloodied gauze. He felt Elise’s eyes still on him, questioning. She was too smart not to see through the flimsy cover story, but she’d hold the questions until they were alone.
The storm was coming. Blake could feel it pressing on the walls of the cottage, heavy and inevitable. But tonight, he had one job. Keep his friend alive.
Blake stripped off the bloodied gloves and tossed them into the waste bin under the sink. The smell of antiseptic stung the air, cutting through the faint woodsmoke drifting in from the old fireplace he’d coaxed back to life earlier.
“Soup in the car?”
“Yeah.” Rook nodded and swallowed hard. “Probably should have some.”
“I’ll go get it.” Blake was out and back in less than a minute. He put two cans on the counter.
“Elise, please open one of the cans of soup so he can see you work and heat it up.”
Blake washed the pot she’d use while she opened the can. Rook leaned back in the chair, head tilted against the wall, his breathing uneven but stubbornly steady. His color hadn’t improved. If anything, the gray pallor made the sweat shining on his brow look worse.
“Don’t pass out on me,” Blake warned, crouching to check the dressing one more time. “You’re not dying in some kitchen on the outskirts of Budapest.”
Rook cracked an eye open, a smirk tugging weakly at his mouth. “You always were the nurturing type.”
“Yeah, nurturing enough to knock you out if you argue with me again.”
The corner of Rook’s mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Blake almost laughed, but Elise was still there. She was leaning against the counter now, waiting for the soup to warm. Her arms were folded, her sharp gaze flicking between them. She’d kept quiet through most of the procedure, but silence with Elise meant her mind was cataloging every detail, filing away inconsistencies like evidence for an article she hadn’t yet written.
“Cup or bowl?” she asked after a moment.
“Cup, please. Havoc?” Rook looked at him.
“Got it.” Blake grabbed a cup out of the cupboard and washed it with enough soap and hot water to clean the entire cottage … twice. When he was finished, Elise gave him a concerned look but poured the soup into the cup. She handed it to Rook, and his friend thanked her.
Rook sipped it slowly but steadily. Blake finished putting his medical kit back together while Rook ate. “Didn’t realize it had been so long. I was focused on other things.”
“Like getting shot.” Blake took the cup for him and refilled it with the remaining broth.
“You both make it sound normal,” she said at last. “Just a note … it isn’t. Not getting shot and not performing minor surgery in the kitchen.” Her tone wasn’t accusing. It was more curious and probing, but it tightened something in Blake’s chest anyway.
“Normal is relative,” Blake answered evenly as he checked the bandage around Rook’s wound.
Rook cleared his throat, drawing her focus back to him. “He’s exaggerating. Happens when you’ve got a mother who’s an ER doc. Every scratch looks like a crime scene with him. I think he likes to play doctor.”
“That wound isn’t a scratch,” Elise replied, her voice calm but steady. She took a step forward, refusing to back down. “And you don’t get shot by accident. Not in Budapest. Not in Antwerp. Not in places where I keep finding bodies in my notes.”
Blake met Rook’s gaze again. Another silent exchange, this one heavier.Hold the line. Don’t give her the truth. Not yet.“Well, I wasn’t in those places, so you're lucky, but … just thinking out loud here, maybe the bodies are a sign you should avoid traveling with Blake,” Rook said, attempting humor through gritted teeth.
Blake sighed, shaking his head. “You need to sleep, and you aren’t traveling any farther tonight. Besides, you’re useless right now.” Blake grabbed Rook’s arm and helped the man stand. “Up the stairs. You’ll sleep in my room tonight.”
“Seriously, I can drive a half a mile.” Rook tried to pull away from Blake, but Blake pressed the slightest amount on the man’s ribs, and Rook gasped for air and almost dropped to the ground.
“And that wasn’t anywhere near the wound.” Blake looked at his fellow assassin, who raised a shaky hand in mock salute.
“Orders received, boss.”
Blake assisted him up the stairs, and Elise followed them. He helped Rook do a controlled burn in his bed, then covered him with the quilt at the foot of the bed. Rook’s eyes slid shut, his body sagging as exhaustion claimed him.
