“Right behind you.”He kept wishing his hands would stop shaking.It took all his concentration to walk in a straight line.
It helped that he could look up and see her.She reached, using the doorframe for steadiness, and hauled herself wearily up the two steps into the house.Her limp wasn’t very noticeable now, but her shoulders were tight as bridge cables.It hurt him, to see that small betraying hitch in each step.Her left boot dragged each time.
Inside was a small utility room with a washer and dryer, both busily running.Cheerful yellow linoleum glared up, and Delreached, automatically identifying the people in the house.Familiar presences, all—Boomer, Henderson, Zeke, Brew.He’d worried about how many of them had gotten away.
Beyond the utility room was a kitchen with pale wood cupboards, also drenched in electric light.Two laptops were on the counter, both closed and silent, the smell of Brewster’s beef stew bubbling in a crock pot—set with prissy exactitude six inches from the edge of the counter—made his mouth water.Two jumbo packages of soft dinner rolls, too.
So different from a Sig installation.The small things—two pieces of gear left out, the smell of homemade food, and the poster of Jim Belushi tacked to the pantry door—probably Boomer’s—brought home the magnitude of what he’d done with walloping force.
I’ve escaped them.Again.Stole her out from underneath Sigma, again.They won’t try to capture me now—no, it’ll be pure neutralization this time.No decency, no tranquilizers, just a straight-out choice: me or them.
He caught up to Rowan, moving silently, and offered his arm.“Looks like your leg still hurts.”
Amazingly, she accepted, leaning on him.Tented together like a pair of unsteady drunks, they made it through the kitchen, into a short hall leading to a living room.That was probably the nerve center.
He would have to debrief with Henderson, find out what the critical gaps and safety shorts were, get a full layout on the damage to the infrastructure.
If he worked hard enough, he might be able to forget the uncertainty gnawing at his chest.
They rounded the corner into dimness and the sense of movement.Del was a hairsbreadth away from pushing Rowan behind him and pulling a knife when the lights flicked on, and the shout of “Welcome back!” shook the air.
Del glanced down at Rowan, who was smiling again, a beautiful open grin making his gut clench and his mouth go dry.Then all four of them—Zeke the Tank, his massive hairy chest only barely covered by a white tank top; Brewster in a red polo shirt, white teeth gleaming against ebony skin; Boomer, his muttonchops brushed to bushy perfection; and Henderson, broad-shouldered and looking worn but still moving with the same dry precision bespeaking readiness—descended on Rowan and Del, and the babble only increased when Cath whooped and leapt past to jump into Zeke’s arms.Yoshi pressed a cold beer into Del’s free hand; Boomer picked up Rowan, swung her around in a circle, and did it again.
The living room was decorated with a banner,Welcome Home Del!There was a cooler jammed full of ice and beer, plus a platter of cocktail weenies, probably Zeke’s contribution.Rowan accepted a juice-glass of wine while Cath and Zeke unabashedly liplocked in the corner, Cath’s pale fingers tangling in Zeke’s dark curly hair.The only furniture in the room consisted of two mattresses and a purple-velvet loveseat holding three liquor-store boxes next to a pile of kitbags.The fireplace was brick, and the hearth held a large bouquet of supermarket flowers as well as plates of cold cuts, cheese, and crackers.
Jesus Christ,how are we supposed to get any work done with this going on?
Rowan, leaning on Boomer, treated the entire toom to the same open sunshine smile she’d bestowed on Yoshi.
“Itoldyou he was still alive!”she announced, which provoked fresh hilarity.Brew clapped Del on the shoulder, Boomer grabbed him for a gruff hug, and Delgado was surprised to find out that it did, indeed, feel like coming home.
CHAPTER17
Rowan tried to roll over,dislodging a softness, and bumped against something a little less soft, something her leg was thrown over.It felt comforting and cuddly, even though she’d slept in her clothes again.Her left leg wasn’t throbbing nearly so much, and the sense of peace enfolding her was so novel it shook her out of warm, fuzzy sleep entirely.
Did I sleep next to the wall?The theory was immediately proven as she tried to roll back and found her shoulder hitting cold hard verticality that wasdefinitelythe wall.Wherever she was, she was sandwiched very effectively.
She heard low, soft breathing, and the crackling electricity sliding over her skin felt so very familiar.
As she did every morning, she kept her eyes closed, counting to ten and imagining Justin was right next to her.Then, reluctantly, she opened them to find that she’d passed out on one of the the living room mattresses.
Her left leg was thrown over both of Justin’s.He lay on his back, deeply asleep.
Rowan blinked, propping herself on her elbow.The room looked like any space after an enthusiastic party.Cath and Zeke had disappeared early on—probably to a back bedroom to celebrate in their own way.Henderson slept propped up by the fireplace, his hand curled protectively around a half-empty bottle of good Scotch.Brew had cleared off the loveseat and was curled up with his back presented to the rest of the world, the polo shirt riding up to expose a slice of well-muscled back.Yoshi sat by the front window, meditating, his awareness spreading in concentric rings.He had an assault rifle in his lap, fingers resting on stock and barrel as the gun balanced across his knees.
Boomer was sprawled on the other mattress, breathing heavily and regularly but not quite snoring.She had a vague memory of him refilling her wine glass a few times, then persuading her to try something called “Yeager”—which burned foully on the way down, but only the first few times.
Justin was completely still, chest rising and falling so shallowly she wondered if he’d drank himself to sleep, avoiding Zed withdrawal.The dark patches under his eyes had shrunk, but the harsh lines of his cheekbones still stood out.He’d lost more weight than she’d thought, not an ounce of spare flesh on him anymore.The vulnerable notch between his collarbones was exposed since his T-shirt was pulled down.A sheathed knife in his left hand, lying across his chest.
As she watched, his eyelids fluttered in dreaming sleep.
The yellowing bruise over his left eye was almost gone.He was still as warm as ever.His right arm squeezed between them, hand resting on her hip.His forearm against her bare midriff where her tank top rode up, a patch of feverish skin pressed against hers.The fans of his eyelashes, perfect charcoal, lay against his cheekbones and made him look strangely young.
She let out a soft, wondering sigh, watching as his eyelids stopped fluttering and he sank into non-REM sleep.It was true.
He was here.
It was rare for anyone suffering withdrawal to get even a little rest.So she stayed as still as she could, ignoring the persistent throbbing in her head and the equally loud insistence from her bladder.Justin’s chin tipped back, and she watched the pulse beat in his throat.
