Slowly, deliberately, he slid his fingers through hers.Let go of her wrist and held her hand.“Okay.”
It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but she stayed with him, holding his hand for a few moments before glancing at the clock and announcing, “I’m hungry.We need some lunch before you meet Henderson.”
Minx.I didn’t agree to that.“All right, sweetheart.You’re the boss.”
“Henderson’s the boss.”Now Rowan smiled slightly.That weak, tremulous expression made Delgado’s heart start to pound.“When he’s done, I’ll bring you back and tuck you into bed.We’ll have a nice long chat.”
“I’m a wounded man, missy.”
The smile turned into a full-fledged grin.“I’m a medical professional, sir.Are you objecting to my diagnosis?”
“Of course not.”His own mouth curled up to echo her smile.“I’d love to have a nice long chat with you.As long as you like.”How does she do that, make me feel human again?He knew that when Henderson finished he’d be exhausted, and Rowan would too.She was spreading herself too thin in the infirmary.They wouldn’t talk tonight.
But soon.Very soon.
“Great.”She took her hand back, but slowly, her fingers sliding against his.The intensity of her talent had become a warm blanket wrapping around him.Her pulse had quickened.He could feel it even across the space separating them.“I mean it, you know.Thank you.”
What is she thanking me for?I destroyed her life.“What did you say Henderson wanted me for?”
“Paperwork,” she said, rising slowly.How does she do that?How does she move like that, like silk?
“Oh, Christ,” he moaned.“No.”
“You’d better believe it.We’ve got just enough time to get something to eat.And the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can come back here.”
“You’ve got a way of putting these things,” he admitted, beginning the laborious process of hauling himself upright.“All right.Point me at the papers.Where do I sign?”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-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 captionJust 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.
