Where the hell am I?
She rolled over in stages to stare at the ceiling, her back sinking into the mattress.The shower was running, behind a bathroom door.She heard Cath’s tuneless humming, familiar from spending so much time with the girl in different houses.It sounded like she was trying to singCat Scratch Feverand failing miserably, but with great relish.
Rowan blinked.Memory roared in.Justin.
Where is?—
The door rattled.
She pushed herself onto her side, reaching for the nightstand and the gun in its habitual place.Had he put it there?
Her fingers closed on empty air; she couldn’t reach far enough.Rowan lunged, caught the 9mm as the door let in a blast of hot air redolent of car exhaust and high plains wind.Justin stepped inside.
Cath had apparently found him a new shirt, but he wore the same hip-length jacket and jeans.As usual, he looked maddeningly precise.The haircut helped; so did the set, grim expression.Somehow he never looked rumpled, even with the fading bruise over his left eye.
Rowan lowered the gun just as he turned, broad shoulders softening.The new T-shirt was blue, and made his eyes seem even darker.Cath’s singing continued, underscored by splashing.
“You can put that away,” he said finally, one eyebrow lifting.He was pale, fever-spots standing out on his cheeks.The jacket hung oddly on his frame; he’d lost weight but still looked deadly, muscle flickering as he crossed his arms.The eyes were new, burning and fully alive, hazel coals in his pinched, gaunt face.“I was checking the parking lot.Nothing stirring.I think we might be okay.”
Rowan laid the gun back on the nightstand, pushed back the covers.Her jeans had been cut away and a bandage was glued to her thigh with dried blood.She peeled it carefully free.Her leg twinged as she gazed at the bloody hole in—and wide dark stain on—heavy denim.
“God,” The material had been soaked all the way to her ankle.She’d bled alotand felt pale just thinking about it, didn’t want to imagine the scar the wound would leave.
It’ll close up and fade like all the rest.It was a chilling thought.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hit?”He yanked one of the chairs from under the spindly table and dropped into it, gracefully.Then he went absolutely still, his gaze sweeping the hotel room.
She found her voice.“You had enough to worry about.”
This wasn’t like any reunion she’d envisioned either.She’d imagined… what?Falling into his arms and everything going back to the way it was before—her father still alive, Hilary still working for the newspaper and calling or dropping by almost every day to visit?Or had she imagined waking up at Headquarters, finding out that it had all been a dream, her normal lifeandJustin’s capture?
Instead, this gaunt man stared at her like an alley cat, all nerves and dark eyes, every muscle taut and ready.The sudden mental image—Justin as a stray prowling in dark corners, disdainful of any food, reminding you he could leave at any moment, that he was just visiting—would have made her smile if it wasn’t so sad.
“I’m sorry.”His mouth pulled down, his eyes turning even darker.
“Why?”The shower shut off; she heard Cath switch toI Will Surviveand her mouth wanted to twitch again.“You didn’t shoot me.”She took a deep breath.“I’ve missed you.”
Three inadequate words, completely unable to convey the longing and frustrated guilt.Rowan hunched, dropped her gaze to her knees, one pale and streaked with dried blood, the other still covered with sweat-soaked jeans.She reeked of sweat, coppery blood, and spilled alcohol.
“Ipushedmyself.”Slow and careless, almost as if it was inconsequential.“To forget.Forget everything about you.I had to—Sigma had me.Then when I got loose, Ipushedmyself to remember.You’re in trouble, angel.They’re sending Carson to hunt you.”
A cold finger slid down her spine.Who was this Carson character?The General hadn’t said much, just that he was bad news and for Rowan to be very careful.
“Henderson told me.”I need a shower.And I need to get dressed.Why is he looking at me like that?Why won’t he touch me, talk to me?Really talk to me?He sounds like he’s giving a report back at Headquarters.Nice and impersonal.“Justin?”
He shook his head, as if shaking away a sudden bath of icy water.“Never figured out why you called me that.”Eyebrows pulled together, he actuallyscowled, an expression light-years away from the calm, precise man she remembered.
What had they done to him?“It’s your name.”It’s what I’ve always called you.“Don’t you… don’t you remember?”
“Just Delgado.Or Agent Breaker.”He shrugged.“Makes no difference.Look, how soon can you be ready to move?I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Rowan’s heart gave one wounded, incredible leap before back into her chest with a plop, like a stone tossed into a pond.She’d been so sure he would return—maybe wounded, maybe bloody but relatively unbowed.She had also assumed that he would want to pick up where they’d left off.
But that presented another problem, didn’t it?
I hate you!she’d screamed at him in the training room, after he’d pushed her too far.I wish I’d never seen you!
It had only been frustration and agonized grief speaking.But what if he’d thought she meant it?
