Under the Moon (Goddesses Rising)

Chapter Five

The true origin of our ancestry has been lost to time and secrecy. Very little is known about our beginnings, but it is believed we are descended from the lines of powerful humans who spawned the tales of the Greek, Roman, and Norse goddesses. Because our heritage is stuff of legend rather than true history, how we use our abilities is of utmost importance.

—The Society for Goddess Education and Defense booklet, “From Isis to Freya”

…



Quinn shoved her door open before Nick finished swinging the car to the shoulder in front of the overturned vehicle. Nonononono. Not Sam not Sam not Sam. She leapt out, skidding on the loose gravel, shouting his name as she ran in slow motion. Nothing moved except a slowly spinning front wheel. The rear tire on the passenger side was gone. The smell of burned rubber stung her nostrils, hot despite the cold rain. The car listed toward the road, the roof over the driver’s side mostly intact. He always wears his seat belt. He’s okay. He’s got to be okay. But raindrops splashed into her eyes and shadows blocked her view through the windshield. She couldn’t convince herself.

Nick sped past her. “Sam!” He slid onto the ground like a batter to second base, looking into the car. “Sam! Sam, buddy, can you hear me?”

Quinn landed on her knees in the sharp gravel next to him, desperate to hear Sam’s voice. But it didn’t come. He hung upside down in the car, his seat belt locking him in place. His hands lay limp on the ceiling and his forehead bled. “Sam!” She reached in through the smashed side window to touch his face. He didn’t respond. “God, Sammy. Please.”

“Let me brace him.” Nick grabbed Sam’s shoulders. “See if you can undo his seat belt.”

Panic fading, doused by action, Quinn flipped onto her back, squinting against the droplets splattering her face. Glass bit into her back as she dragged herself into the vehicle, trying not to brush against Sam in case he had a neck injury. They shouldn’t move him out of there until they knew what kind of damage had been done.

“Sam.” She touched his face again. His skin was reassuringly warm, his breath even against her hand. The flashes of panic stilled. “Sam. Can you hear me? Come on, sweetie.” She fought not to tap him harder or shake him to try to wake him up. The cut on his head wasn’t deep, but it had already purpled, and head injuries were so dangerous. She tried not to think about that, to focus instead on what to do. Sam moaned and moved his arms but didn’t open his eyes.

“Quinn, we’ve got to get him out.” There were sirens in the distance, but they didn’t sound like they were getting closer. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

Which meant Nick thought someone had deliberately caused this accident. Maybe he was only being the protector again, but she trusted his judgment. With gentle hands, she palpated Sam’s neck a little. It felt normal, but she was no medical professional. If she had power, she could identify an injury—but she didn’t. Helpless, and aware that the longer she waited, the more at risk they were, she pulled herself deeper into the car and reached for the seat belt.

“Brace him good, Nick.” She swallowed against queasiness. If they hurt him worse…she felt Nick shift, and his arms moved past her legs to wrap around Sam’s shoulders.

“When you release the latch,” Nick said, “we’ll maneuver him in your way. You can support his head and shoulders while I get his legs out.”

Quinn looked up at where Sam’s long legs were wedged under the dash. It bowed inward in the center, away from the partially crushed passenger side.

“It looks like they might be trapped,” she warned.

“I know. I don’t think they’re busted, though, just maybe wedged.”

“Should you get them out first? I don’t want to break his leg when he falls off the seat.”

“We’ve got to reverse his circulation. If he has a head injury…”

Pooling blood in his brain could cause further damage.

“Okay, here goes.” She reached up, held her breath, and pressed hard on the seat belt latch.

She’d expected it to be jammed from Sam’s weight on it, so when it gave way she wasn’t ready. Nick didn’t have a good angle or the strength to hold all Sam’s weight against gravity. Quinn barely kept Sam’s head straight as he came down on top of her, shoving the air out of her lungs. She wheezed and curled her fists into his jacket to drag him up her torso, trying to straighten his body. Nick cursed and pushed himself into the foot well. One of Sam’s legs came free, then the other, his boot heels thudding onto Quinn’s knees.

She struggled for air but kept Sam’s head cradled on her chest while Nick backed out of the car, coughing. Her lungs recovered and filled, and she tightened her hold on Sam, praying she wasn’t doing it wrong. Nick straightened Sam’s legs along hers, then gripped her ankles and dragged them out of the car. When they were clear, he eased Sam off Quinn and onto the gravel shoulder.

The rain hitting his face roused him, and he jerked his arm up to block it. Quinn struggled upright, weak with relief, her back and thighs throbbing from being dragged across the hard metal edge of the roof. Cuts on her back and shoulders stung, but she ignored them and bent over Sam, trying to block the rain.

“Sam.” She touched his face, her fingers trembling. “Are you okay?”

Nick pulled off his coat and draped it over her to shelter them both.

Sam sighed and blinked blearily up at Quinn. “What the f*ck?”

“Oh, thank god.” The pain in her chest receded, leaving her feeling raw but whole. She fisted her hands in his jacket and bent her face to his solid chest. His hand cupped the back of her head, and she stifled a sob. Leave it to Sam to try to comfort her when he’d been smashed up.

She pulled back. “I don’t know.” Her hands shook as she released him.

“No, seriously.” He tried to roll to his side, but Quinn pressed him back down. “What the f*ck happened?”

“Your car flipped. What do you remember?”

Sam frowned. The movement pulled at his cut, releasing a tiny trickle of blood, and turned his expression into a wince. He touched his forehead. “Something rolled me. Is the car…?”

“Yeah. Can you move your legs?”

His boots scraped on the gravel. “Yeah. I think I’m okay. Hurts. But not bad.” He made to sit up and Quinn backed off to give him room. She watched his movements carefully. He wouldn’t tell the truth about his injuries. Only once she got to her feet so she could hold the jacket over his head did she become aware of all the people standing around the Camaro. A state police car sat several yards behind them, lights flashing. The trooper stood next to his vehicle, talking urgently on the radio he’d pulled through the window, probably reporting in before approaching the wreck. She could see the top of an ambulance winding through the gridlock. They weren’t getting out of here anytime soon.

A man in the crowd made eye contact with her. Her heart skipped, but he turned to talk to the woman beside him, his body language unthreatening. Maybe Quinn was paranoid to think someone could have caused the accident on purpose, but given everything that had happened lately, it was safer to assume so.

“Nick.” Sam’s voice was weak.

Nick crouched next to him. Quinn couldn’t hear what he said, but Nick nodded, then crawled inside the car. He backed out with a laptop case and a huge canvas duffel that almost didn’t fit through the bent window. He carried them toward the Charger as the trooper approached.

“How’s he doin’, ma’am?” The trooper touched the brim of his hat and settled on his heels at Sam’s feet.

“I’m not sure. He seems okay.”

“I’m fine.” Sam pulled his feet under him to rise but wobbled on the hand braced on the ground and sat back down. He pressed his fingers to his eyes.

“Lightheaded?” Quinn asked. He nodded. She put her hand on the back of his neck, wishing she could do something.

“You know him?” The trooper stood.

“Yes, sir, we were a short ways back. We were on the phone with him, as a matter of fact, when it happened.”

The officer looked disapproving. “You hear it?”

“No. It was on speaker, and we were talking on our side.”

“You see anything?”

Nick joined them on the shoulder. “The wheel flying by, that’s it. Doesn’t look like any other car was involved.”

“It wasn’t.” Sam braced himself again. Nick bent to help him up and steadied him when he swayed. Quinn slipped under his other arm to take some of his weight. His T-shirt was soaked through, and fine tremors shook his torso.

“What happened, son?”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and blinked them back open, as if his vision were fuzzy. “I’m not sure, Officer.”

The ambulance had made its way to the crowded shoulder, and paramedics hustled over. Sam threw Quinn a pleading look as they led him to the ambulance, but she didn’t know what she could do. He was hurt, and she had no power to heal him. They would be safe here with paramedics and state police around.

The trooper asked Nick and Quinn a few more questions. When he seemed to have all the answers they could give, he moved on to canvass the onlookers for eyewitnesses. As soon as Sam was taken to the ambulance, though, the people who’d stopped to help or watch thinned out. Traffic streamed by at a faster rate now, and in minutes a tow truck appeared.

“Crap,” Nick muttered. “Sam’s gonna freak about them towing his car.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Quinn walked over as the driver climbed down from the tow truck’s cab and eyed the flipped Camaro.

“That’s my friend’s car,” she told him. “Where are you going to take it?”

“Garage in Angola.” He handed her a business card. “Where’s the driver?”

“He’s in the ambulance. I can fill out any paperwork you have.”

“Here.” He harrumphed and handed her a clipboard and pen. “I gotta talk to the cop.” He lumbered off. Quinn quickly filled out the form and signed it, then left it on the seat and hurried back to Nick, who leaned against the Charger, waiting for her.

He looked grim and pocketed the business card she handed him. “Every record created from this thing is going to flash a trail.”

“I know. Police report, tow, ambulance, hospital.” She looked back to where Sam sat on the ambulance bumper. “At least it happened here, not right outside of Benton Harbor.” They were far enough away that whoever had done this—still assuming it had been deliberate—wouldn’t be able to guess their destination.

“Whatever. We’ll deal.” Nick gave the back of her neck a little squeeze and left his hand there as they watched the paramedics take care of Sam. The warmth could only counter the rain where he made contact, but it was enough to ease Quinn’s worry. One thing at a time, and right now, the one thing had to be Sam.

“Could this have been deliberate?” she asked Nick. “How could someone flip a car without being on the road?”

“We have to find out what Sam saw.” Nick pointed up the slight rise at the side of the road. “There’s a vantage point that could have given enough visual notice, and you know how it could be done.”

“A goddess again,” Quinn agreed miserably. “Just like the hotel room.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions until we talk to Sam. It might have been an accident.”

But what if it hadn’t been? She eyed the crowd with fresh eyes, worried now about an innocent being hurt if the attacker tried again. They had to wrap this up as soon as possible.

When the paramedics seemed to be finishing up with Sam, Nick and Quinn walked over. The woman smoothing a butterfly bandage over his cut looked up at them curiously.

“We’re with him,” Nick said. “How’s he doing?”

The other paramedic climbed into the back to stow equipment.

The woman said, “He lost consciousness, so we’re taking him to Cameron Memorial in Angola for additional testing.”

“I don’t—”

Quinn cut Sam off. Nothing mattered but making sure he was okay. “We’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry.”

“I’m going to check with the trooper to make sure he doesn’t need anything else,” Nick said. Quinn nodded and watched the EMTs helping Sam onto a stretcher. As soon as they’d closed the door, she headed to the Charger.

Nick climbed in a few seconds later and frowned at her. “You’re hurt again.”

“What?” She’d been concentrating so hard on Sam, she hadn’t even realized she was avoiding pressure on her back. Now the stings became throbs, the scrapes and bruises from being pulled out of the car clamoring for attention. “It’s minor,” she assured him. “We’ll take care of it after we make sure Sam’s okay.”

…



The ambulance was still in the bay when Nick pulled into the hospital parking lot. They hurried into the surprisingly quiet ER, where Sam was just being processed. Quinn went through the triage, registration, and preliminary exam with him. At each step the staff response was more positive about his condition, easing her concerns.

Nick went back to the car and brought in dry clothes for them to change into, and Quinn used paper towels to absorb some of the water from her hair and Sam’s.

“How you feeling, dude?” Nick asked Sam, who shrugged.

“Not bad. Tired of waiting. I want to sleep, but they think I’ve got a concussion so that’s not a good idea for a while. They’re going to do a CT of my head.”

“Everything else okay? No broken bones?”

Sam shook his head very slightly. “No, just bruises.”

“Okay. I’ll wait in the lobby,” Nick told Quinn. “I want to watch the news reports, see if it comes up.”

“All right.”

When the door soughed closed, Sam managed a small smile. “Who gave him a niceness transplant?”

“Stop that,” Quinn scolded. “He appreciates you.”

Sam made a noncommittal grunt and stretched his neck gingerly. “Whatever.” He winced while he stretched his back, then slouched again. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

Quinn rubbed her hand across his shoulders. “I missed you, too.”

He met her gaze. “Me me, or assistant me?”

She smirked. “Both. So what happened? You do remember, don’t you? Even if you didn’t want to tell the cop?”

“Of course I do. The more I think about it, the more mundane it seems, but there’s still a possibility…” He glanced at her, then away. “I don’t know. My lane was clear for about six car lengths. I hit a patch of…something. Water, oil? It wasn’t cold enough for ice, and the road is well drained, but there might have been a dip in the pavement or something. I spun away and rolled over.”

Quinn let out a long breath. “It sounds mundane to me.”

He compressed his mouth and shook his head. “There was a flash, or a splash, or—something that moved in that patch. After that it happened too fast—except the roll went so slowly. I don’t know. My perception was off. How could someone have done it on purpose?”

Oh, she knew how. “With a great view of the road and enough time to see you coming and prepare? A goddess could do it.” She swallowed her anger. “The hill next to where you crashed was high enough. But I’d think the rain would erase any visual advantage.”

“And the timing had to be perfect. My tire had to hit that spot at the exact moment they did…whatever they did.” He waved his hands. “And assuming they’d go to that much trouble and be that good or that lucky for it to work—”

“Why didn’t they follow through?” she finished.

The door opened and a technician wheeled in a gurney. “Time to go for a ride! Swing over here.” He lowered the gurney and helped Sam transition from the exam table to the wheeled bed. The look on Sam’s face told Quinn how much he hated this.

The tech smiled at Quinn. “I’ll have him back in a jiffy.”

It wasn’t exactly a jiffy, but eventually they returned, and the physician’s assistant came in and told them Sam’s scan was okay. He offered a few sheets of information with treatment instructions and symptoms to watch for, as well as a prescription for painkillers, which Sam crumpled up as soon as the PA left.

“I’m muzzy enough without adding these. I’ll be okay.”

His face wasn’t exactly etched in pain, but tightness around his mouth and eyes still telegraphed it. Quinn retrieved the script and put it in her pocket. “You might change your mind,” she said in response to his glower. “Don’t do that. You’ll make it worse.”

They met Nick in the waiting area. Quinn raised an eyebrow at the TV. Nick shook his head.

“I think we’re good.”

“Yeah, we are. My car is totaled,” Sam griped.

“We’ll get it back.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “You okay?”

“Fine. Stop being so solicitous.” He shrugged off Nick’s hand.

Nick grinned at Quinn, relief obvious in his eyes. “I would, if I knew what ‘solicitous’ meant. Come on, the rain’s let up. We should make good time now.”

They did, though it was far too late once they reached Quinn’s cabin to stop for provisions. Nick went through a fast food drive-thru instead and offered to go to the store early in the morning.

“Tonight, let’s crash and regroup,” he said as he parked the car in front of the traditional-style cabin, hunkered in a clearing carved out of overgrown woods. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Sam trudged up the steps to the cabin, then stopped and turned. “Maybe someone should search the place, make sure no one’s been here.”

“No one has,” Quinn said. She pointed to the top step, one above Sam’s. “Look at your feet.”

The car’s headlights showed light gray dust coating his boots, and dark footprints marred the steps he’d climbed. The top step was unmarked.

“They could have gotten in another way, and how did you keep that from washing off?” Nick asked.

“Trade secret,” Quinn replied. “I’ll do a perimeter check, but I’m sure no one’s been here. I’d feel it.” As much as the bar was home, this cabin was her heart. It had been in her mother’s family for generations, and the two of them had come up here for what her mother called their goddess weekends. They talked about things every mother and daughter needed to discuss, but here was also where Quinn learned how to be a goddess, even long before she came into her power. It was also the last place she’d been with her mother after her father died, before her mother caught the infection that killed her.

She only needed normal instinct to know it was fine, but Nick didn’t operate that way. So she walked around the building with him on her heels, his flashlight flicking at the ground, then the windows, then back to the woods surrounding them. The rear porch, which overlooked the Paw Paw River, held the same layer of untouched gray dust, as did all the windowsills. No one could have gotten to the back doors or windows without evidence. Even goddesses couldn’t fly.

“Could they booby-trap it?” Nick asked. “You know, do the kind of stuff they did in the hotel?”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Quinn said wearily. “All I can tell you is that I don’t sense any use of power.”

“Would you? Without having power yourself?”

“Yes. Like you’d sense a presence in the room even if you couldn’t see or hear them.” She was exaggerating her sixth sense, but they could stand here all night playing the what-if game. They were exhausted and hurt and needed rest.

“All right.” Nick led her to the front and unlocked the door, letting the other two go in while he unloaded the car.

The cabin was small and square, with a central living/dining/kitchen area and two bedrooms, one on either side, with one bathroom next to the smaller bedroom. It had plank walls and large windows framed in plaid curtains that matched the rugged, squishy sofa and side chairs. Shelves held hundreds of books, old videocassettes and DVDs for the small TV/video combo unit, and bins full of old board and card games from Quinn’s childhood. It smelled slightly stale from being closed up and a bit musty from the rain, with a hint of gardenia that Quinn knew had to be her imagination after all this time.

“You can have the first shower,” she told Sam. She was desperate for one, so Sam had to be twice as much. She got a stack of big, fluffy towels out of the linen closet and handed them to him. “There should be shampoo and soap and everything in the shower stall.”

“Thanks, Quinn.” He disappeared into the little room, and she gathered sheets to make the beds. Nick joined her in the main bedroom a few minutes later.

“This is a nice place.” He shook out the top sheet for the double bed, then bent to tuck it in on his side. “How come I’ve never seen it?”

“It was my mother’s.” She tossed him a pillowcase and bunched up another to put on the second pillow. “We used to come up here together. You and Sam are the first men to be here in decades. Since my parents first got married, I guess.”

“I’m honored.” He dropped the cased pillow against the headboard. “Sleeping arrangements? I notice there are only two bedrooms.”

“You and Sam can share.”

Nick stared in horror at the bed. “No way! I’m not—”

“In the other room, Nick.” She laughed. “There are twin beds in there.”

He groaned. “Twins? Come on. My feet will hang off. Geez, half Sam’s body will hang off, and he was just flipped on his head.”

“I’m sorry—that’s all I have. Unless you want to share with Sam in here.” Those weren’t the only alternatives. They could let Sam have this slightly bigger bed, but all of Quinn’s defenses were down, and sharing a room with Nick would be too dangerous. And sharing a room with Sam, after she’d pushed him away, would be cruel.

She smoothed the comforter over the sheets and left the room. Nick followed. “I already did the beds in there. Towels are in the bathroom. You can go after Sam.” Again she felt a pang of longing, but hospitality won out. Not to mention, if she went last, she could stay in as long as she wanted to.

A few minutes later, as she washed dusty dishes in the kitchen area—she had to keep moving or she’d never start again—Sam limped out of the bathroom clad in only a towel he clutched closed in one fist. Bruises had blossomed on his right ribcage and left shoulder, probably from the seat belt. Another showed above the edge of the towel on his right hip.

Quinn must have made a noise because both men turned toward her. Sam looked down at himself and rubbed a hand across his chest.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” His head came back up, and his eyes met hers, glinting with humor and memory.

Nick rolled his eyes and shoved to his feet. “For god’s sake. Get dressed, Sam.” He slammed into the bathroom without looking at Quinn.

Sam’s mouth quirked smugly. She didn’t know how he mustered the energy to give Nick a hard time, but gratitude soothed the shredded areas of her heart. He’d accepted the change in their relationship, and was even trying to make Nick jealous.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He sank onto the couch. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“If it was deliberate, it was. No one would be after you unless they were after me.” She laughed bitterly. “If it wasn’t deliberate, it was still my fault. I was talking to you on the phone. I should never have done that in this kind of weather.”

“You’re not responsible for my bad judgment.” He pressed his thumb against his temple, his face contorting.

“Here.” Quinn set down a freshly dried plate and filled a glass with water. “I think the first-aid kit we bought has some over-the-counter stuff.”

“When did you buy a first-aid kit?” He scanned her, but the sweatshirt she wore hid her cut arm and the injuries on her back.

“In Boston. Lucky we did, huh?” She handed him the glass, then searched the kit on the picnic-style dining table. There was a packet of ibuprofen right on top. She tore it open and tapped the pills into his hand. “They should help without making you muzzy. But you should go to sleep anyway. It’s late.”

He caught her hand. “Thanks. You sleeping with me to wake me every hour, make sure I’m not in a coma?” His smile now was mischievous.

“Not this time, big guy.” She ran her free hand gently over his unruly hair. “Nick will watch over you.”

“That’ll be fun.” He pulled himself to his feet but didn’t release her. “Make sure he doesn’t have an air horn before you go to bed, okay?”

She smiled. “Okay.” She squeezed his hand. “Thanks for everything, Sam.”

After he’d gone into the smaller bedroom and closed the door, she finished cleaning dishes and wiped down all the cabinet shelves. There were a few canned goods in one corner, but nothing that appealed. If Nick was hungry, he could heat something while she was in the bathtub.

She was putting away the last pots and pans when the bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out ahead of Nick, a navy blue towel around his waist and a pale blue towel turban-style around his head. Quinn laughed with a surge of affection. He was competing with Sam—and doing very well, with his powerful arms and shoulders, solid chest, and flat abdomen—but cutting the threat of such a competition by being goofy.

“It’s all yours,” he said, giving her the complicated version of his smile. It resembled the one he flashed at women in the bar, flirtatious and inviting, but it also had an element of the goof wearing the turban. His eyes, though, gave her the undercurrents. He was worried, conflicted, needy. All things he didn’t want her to see, things he tried to mask with the lip part of the smile. “I hope we left you some hot water,” he added.

“It’s a big tank.” She draped the wet dishtowel over the edge of the sink and walked to Sam’s giant duffel, which he’d left between the doors to the two bedrooms. She found her own soft cotton pajamas on top and pulled those out, including a pair of comfortable underwear she didn’t let Nick see. Under the clothes Sam had packed for her—a small quantity but everything she would need up here—were myriad guns and electronics, all set into two layers of foam that filled the bag and were the reason Nick had had trouble getting it out of the car.

Nick peered over her shoulder and whistled. “No wonder he wanted me to get that bag. Looks like the trunk of the Charger.”

“Not quite.” She’d been in that trunk. It rivaled an armory. “But yeah, it wouldn’t have been so good for him to get caught with this stuff. He has permits for all of it, but still. Questions.”

“What does an admin assistant have all that weaponry for?”

Quinn zipped the bag and straightened. “Same reason you do.”

Nick frowned. “What’s been happening that you haven’t told me about?”

She sighed. “Nothing, Nick. Sam plans ahead and considers every possibility. Just like you,” she added.

He nodded, eyeing the bag again. “I didn’t know he took it that seriously.”

“Took what seriously?” Quinn folded her arms and stared at him. Way back when she first started recharging with Sam, Nick had taken her assistant aside for a not-so-furtive conversation. Neither one would ever tell her what they discussed, but it didn’t take a mind reader to figure out. Nick had decided there was something between them and had tasked Sam with Quinn’s protection when he wasn’t there.

But instead of ’fessing up, he ignored the question and cupped the back of her head with his palm. “Go get cleaned up. When you come out I’ll take care of your cuts.”

She didn’t argue. She craved that bath now almost as much as she craved sex from moon lust. She filled the deep claw-footed tub in the little bathroom while she brushed her teeth, then eased herself into the steaming water, hissing as it touched the dozens of scratches from her hips to her neck. So much for safety glass.

She soaked until she started to fall asleep, then washed her hair, ducking under the water to rinse it. When she sat up, she noticed tendrils of red in the water. Some of her cuts must have opened after the water soaked away the initial clots. She finished washing and chose a red towel from the pile on the shelf over the toilet. After drying her back carefully, she pulled on the underwear and pajama bottoms, then tucked the top against the front of her and opened the door.

Nick, wearing cotton drawstring pants and a thin white T-shirt, sat at the table. He’d laid out gauze, cotton balls, ointment, bandages, a bowl of water, and a small towel. He straddled one picnic bench and motioned for Quinn to sit in front of him.

“You look flat out. Let me take care of you so you can get some sleep.”

“You, too.” He was heavy-lidded, which made Quinn think about the double bed in her room.

“Arm first.” He held out a hand to cradle her wrist and examine the slice before stroking on antibiotic ointment and taping a wide bandage across it.

She swiveled on the bench to put her back to him and leaned against the table. “How’s it look?”

His fingertips stroked from the nape of her neck, across her back, and down her spine to her hips. He nudged her pants lower and touched a spot at the base of her spine.

“Not too bad. A couple are bleeding, but none seem deep.” His touch was gentle as he spread ointment on the little cuts and scratches, then paid more attention to the worse ones. Quinn sat still, her eyes closed, absorbing the tingles his fingers left behind. Her muscles became languid, soothed more by his touch than the warm water in her bath.

Sounds in the small room seemed amplified. Soft taps as he set things on the table. The rasp of medical tape being pulled off the roll. His bare feet sliding across the wood floor. His breathing.

He smoothed the last bandage on her hip. Then his hand rested on the side of her neck. Stroked down to where it met her shoulder. His thumb swept across her skin. She felt his mouth on the nape of her neck, hot and gentle. She held her breath, not wanting to break the spell. Nick had never allowed himself to touch her like that before.

Then there was only coldness where he’d been.

“All set,” he said, his voice coming from several feet behind her. “Need some help with your shirt?”

“No.” She sounded hoarse and fought not to clear her throat. “I’ve got it.” She carefully pulled the long-sleeved cotton top over her head and down to her waist, then stood and turned to face him.

He looked normal. Until she examined his face, and a flicker of muscle in his jaw indicated how difficult it was for him to keep his expression clear. His hands shook a little as he folded a towel.

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.” He jerked his head toward her door. “Go get some sleep.”

“You, too.”

“I will.”

Quinn hesitated, but she didn’t know what else she could say. She went into the bedroom, closed the door, and climbed into the soft bed with a moan of gratitude.

And fell asleep wishing she wasn’t alone.