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Just when the constant motion of the car had rocked me into a blissful sleep, it stopped. I jerked awake and almost fell off the seat. I didn’t remember lying down, but I must have, because it took a conscious effort to haul my aching body back into a sitting position. It was after one in the morning and—chemical poisoning aside—way past my usual bedtime.
Ethan twisted around from the front passenger seat, started to say something, and stopped. He frowned. “Dal, you okay? You look really pale.”
“Long day,” I said. I could still smell smoke in my hair. A shower would be a blessing. “Where are—?” I recognized the hospital parking lot.
We used a side entrance and bypassed the reporters still hanging around hoping for a scoop—or at least an update on the condition of the wounded Meta. Their constant presence infuriated me. They were not there because they cared if she lived or died. They didn’t know her or want to know her. They wanted their story. It was that simple. Murder played better than survival, so it was easy to guess their desired result.
I just wanted my mentor back.
The same uniformed officer still guarded the elevator, sleepier since the last time. He nodded as we passed. The waiting room door was ajar and low voices drifted out. Marco reached for it at the same time as Ethan’s com beeped. The door swung open, revealing Gage with his own com out, placing the call. He put it down when he saw us, eyebrows arching in surprise.
“Hey, you’re back,” he said.
Ethan snorted. “Did your supersight tell you that?”
“Why were you calling?” I asked, ignoring the sarcastic remark.
Gage didn’t, though. He took a moment to glare at Ethan, and then acknowledged my question. “The surgeon came by a minute ago. Teresa is out of surgery. He said she’s doing well, and they’ll know more after she’s rested awhile. We can see her when she’s out of recovery.”
A hand of joy squeezed my heart, threatening to burst it. Impulsively, I wrapped my arms around Gage’s shoulders and hugged. He surprised me by returning the embrace, hard and fierce. His body practically vibrated with tension, shoulders knotted, heart thrumming. He began to shake and inhaled a shuddering breath. And another. I blinked, then held him tighter.
He was crying. Actually crying. Releasing the pent-up frustration and consuming relief of knowing the hard part was over and recovery was just around the bend. That everything would be okay. I held him, letting him cry silently on my shoulder. Ethan and Marco left us alone, and after a while, I realized they were the only other people in the room.
Renee was missing.
She returned to the waiting room halfway through our story, right around the part that made me look pretty smart for figuring out Ortega was the new host. Renee slipped through the door, eyes on the floor, straw-blond hair falling in a loose curtain across her pale blue face. Only Marco raised his head to acknowledge her arrival; I just kept talking.
“He had a head start, though, and we lost him,” I said. “Marco said his scent trail stopped back on the street, so he must have gotten into a car and driven off.”
Gage inhaled, held it, and then blew the air out through his nose. He scrubbed both hands over his face, through his hair. “Okay, so now we’ve got three victims. Jarvis was first, then our John Doe, and now Stark.”
“Jarvis is still our first link,” Ethan said. “Which is keeping Weatherfield near the top of my suspects list, evidence or not.”
“Mine, too,” Gage added. “We need to find out who this John Doe is, and if he has any real connection to Jarvis, or if the Skin Walker took him at random. Same thing with Arnold Stark. Details about him, if he was just the next body or if there was a reason he was taken.”
He started to add something, but stopped. We were all thinking the same thing. Was it Stark who tried to kill me, or the Skin Walker possessing him? Because if it was the Skin Walker, he may not be finished trying. It made all of us open targets, especially if anyone on the street could be possessed by this creature.
“I’m sure Pascal will share whatever he gets,” I said. “He knows this isn’t just a job for us anymore.”
Gage nodded his agreement. “Pascal is a good man, but I don’t want to rely on him for information. We’re not private investigators, but near enough.”
“What do you suggest?” Ethan asked.
“Sleep.” Gage took the time to look at each of us, his silver-flecked gaze hard and tired. “Go home, get a few hours of sleep. Then we’ll do our own checking on Arnold Stark.”
Ethan’s eyebrows furrowed. “But—”
“We won’t be effective if we’re all exhausted.”
Everyone conceded the point.
“Look,” Gage continued, “I’m going to stay here. You guys, just go home. It’s been a long-assed day, and I am reserving the right to be the stiff-upper-lip guy who stays behind and pretends he isn’t bone tired, too.” Conviction couldn’t mask his exhaustion; it did do a moderate job of making me believe him. He looked old and so damned weary.
Renee stood up. “You’ll call if—?”
“Yes.”
She left first and quickly. My annoyance meter rose a few notches. She hadn’t been there ten minutes ago when Gage needed comfort, and now she was dashing as quickly as possible toward the elevator. Marco and Ethan followed her out. I reached over to squeeze Gage’s hand; I didn’t want to leave him there alone.
He squeezed back. “Where did your friend go?”
“Home, I guess,” I said. “Pascal wouldn’t let him go into the station with us, so he left. We made lunch plans, though, as long as I’m not passed out in bed.”
“If you are, he’ll understand, Dahlia. I was serious before, about feeling protective, so bear with me if I start to take his interest too personally. Especially now, with someone out there targeting you. Promise me you’ll be careful when you go out tomorrow. Keep your eyes open.”
“I promise.” I was a little surprised he hadn’t ordered me to stay home, insisting I not go out in public where Ortega—or someone else, if Ortega was shed just like the others—could finish what he started. Going out wouldn’t be the smartest move of my life, but I couldn’t let this Skin Walker cow me, or make me afraid of the outside world.
I would not.
“Well, I appreciate the concern.” And I did, more than I could ever express. “I never had siblings, let alone a big brother.”
A smile quirked the corners of Gage’s mouth. “How about three big brothers and two sisters?”
“That either.” Sometimes Renee reminded me more of an evil stepsister, but I kept that to myself. No sense in analyzing our inability to get along at one in the morning, with someone who was as emotionally exhausted as I was physically. Renee and I had time to work out our problems. Right now, Teresa and the Skin Walker were our biggest priorities.
“Look, try to rest a little bit.” I released his hand and stood up. “She’ll be fine. Teresa is the strongest person I know. She’s a warrior, and warriors don’t die when a coward shoots them with a gun. It’s not her style.”
He seemed to sink back into his chair, shrinking in front of me. “I know. I guess I thought I was finished sitting by her hospital bedside, worrying if she was going to live or die. I got quite enough of that back in January before she learned to control her power surges. I didn’t think I could ever worry about her more than I did then, but I was wrong.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Go on, they’re waiting for you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
On impulse, I kissed his cheek. He winked at me as I departed, and then settled back into the chair for a long wait.
I caught up to the others at the elevator and got a good look at Renee in the fluorescent light. Her eyes were bloodshot, the rims bright red and swollen. She turned away when she caught me staring. Anger rose, heating my chest. She had displayed the same weakness that she berated me for and was now trying to hide it.
Let it go, Dahlia, just let it go.
Oddly, I was able to, and chose to just ignore her for the entire trip home.
As much as I longed to take an extended shower and wash the last smoky remnants of the warehouse fire out of my odorous hair, I was just too damned tired to bother. We trudged upstairs as a unit and retired to our separate bedrooms. I peeled out of my uniform jacket and pants and crawled into bed.
Sprawled out on my belly, pillow bunched up beneath my head, I closed my eyes but could not sleep.
Images of the shooting kept replaying. The glint of light off the muzzle of the gun; the flat look in Stark’s eyes; the surprise in Teresa’s. The blood on the pavement and on my hands, oozing through my fingers, and the stink of smoke and water and damp concrete. Tears stung my eyes and I forced them away—no more tonight.
I refocused my thoughts on the best part of yesterday: Noah Scott. The short, spiky pattern of his auburn hair, and his mesmerizing green eyes, a shade so startling they didn’t seem real. The way his mouth curled at the corners when he was trying not to smile. He gazed at me like I was the most precious thing on Earth. Only Marco had ever looked at me like that before; I hadn’t been able to return his affection.
I hadn’t been attracted to Marco, no, but the idea of loving someone scared me, too. Noah said it himself—life was short, and we lost people we cared about. My mother had her heart broken and was left alone to raise a child. Renee lost William. Gage loved Teresa, and now she was fighting for her life. Love seemed easy to fall into, but did it ever last? I could easily lose my heart to Noah.
The question: Is it worth it?