Luke had told her he’d be back soon. Whatever that meant.
Lying on her side, because it was the only option with her head wound, she was exhausted but hyperaware, listening for clues, looking for shadows among the supply stacks. With every minute that went by, she was getting stronger—maybe it was the pep talks she was giving herself, maybe it was her commitment to her job. Maybe it was the fact that she could hear noises above her . . . movement, things passing from left to right, on wheels. Carts, she decided.
No voices, though. And she couldn’t say that she heard footsteps.
She really had to get out of this bed and—
The door opened, and she knew by the size of the figure that entered that Luke had come back—oh, and he had a rolling cart with him, like something you’d deliver meals on in a nursing home. Maybe more of the same was what she was hearing overhead? He was pulling it with him, the bump-bump, whrrrrrrrrrring of the sets of wheels loud in the dim quiet.
He didn’t speak until he was in range, and he kept his voice down when he did. She wasn’t sure whether it was for the other patient’s benefit—or because he was hiding from someone. Then again, she did not belong here, so he might well be protecting her.
Or himself for harboring an interloper.
“I brought the shower to you,” he said. “And food is on the way.”
Rio had to smile. “You read my mind, huh.”
Standing over her, he seemed to be scanning her internal organs as he looked her down from head to toe. “You’re doing better.”
“I am.”
He nodded and sat beside her. “I won’t look.”
“At what—oh.” She shrugged. “I’m not shy about my body. Who cares, you know? It’s all just anatomy.”
“That’s a clinical way of looking at nudity.”
She motioned with her hand. “And we’re in a clinic. Of sorts.”
Luke pulled the cart a little closer. There was a big basin on the top level, the water inside of it steaming slightly. He’d also brought a bar of soap and a hand towel that was spotted, but folded like it had just been laundered.
“Here, give the towel to me.” She put out her hand. “I’ll take care of it.”
He nodded as if relieved, and got the terry cloth wet. Wringing out the length, he put the warm bundle in her hands.
It felt so good to cover her face and pull the moist weight down to her throat. As the heat was lost quickly, she returned it to him, and they worked out a system where they passed the damp wad back and forth. As she went on to her sternum, she realized she’d been given a loose-necked shirt at some point. Her own, the one that had been cut open, as well as her fleece, were underneath, and as she swiped the cloth— The sting was a surprise. Even though it shouldn’t have been.
Like a knife wound, even a small one, could heal in a matter of hours?
Pulling the borrowed shirt down farther, she stared at the red cut that ran between her breasts. Her bra remained in place, the wound bisected by the clasp, the little unmarked place below the fastening like a speed bump the tip of the switchblade had gone over.
Between one blink and the next, she was back on the floor of that apartment, tied down, unable to stop that man with the— “What did he do to you?”
At first, she wasn’t sure who was talking at her. Then she looked over to Luke. “How did you know where to find me?”
“What did he do.”
Rio pulled the shirt’s gaping neck back up. “Nothing.”
“Jesus.”
“He didn’t hurt me like that.”
As her savior merely stared into her eyes, it was obvious they were both thinking the same thing: He could have.
“That dog just happened to come in at the right time,” Rio said lamely. “It was the craziest thing. But why were you in the building? Did you come to see Mickie? Is that why you were there?”
“Yeah.” Luke rubbed his face as if it hurt. “I was looking for Mickie. You know . . . you should get out of the trade.”
Rio lifted her chin. “So should you. It’s hazardous for everyone’s health.”
When he shook his head, she said, “Oh, no, don’t you dare harder-for-a-woman on me. That could easily have been you on that floor.”
“The hell it could have.”
“If there was a gun in your face—”
“I’d tell them to pull the fucking trigger. And then I’d smile as they blew my brains out against the wall.”
For a split second she didn’t take him seriously—but then she got a load of the dead eyes staring through her.
Maybe no talking, she thought. No talking was probably better.
She had seen that look before, and it had killed her entire family.
Shaken, but determined not to show it, Rio put her hand out to accept the rag—and realized she had lost the rhythm. He was still rinsing the thing. When he put the towel back in her palm, she set herself to work again, doing what she could to clean under her arms, and across her stomach. Then she stared at her legs.
They weighed one ton apiece. Easily. Maybe two.
“Can you help me take my pants off?” she asked.
Under different circumstances, Lucan would have taken those words in a totally different way. There was nothing sexual going on for him at the moment, however. Not when he thought about that cut skin running between Rio’s breasts, and how she’d been strung across that floor, and how that fucking human piece of shit had— “Yeah,” he heard himself say. “And don’t worry, I won’t look.”
“You are a virtuous man, Luke.”
Not usually. She was changing his batting average, however.
Getting to his feet, he waited for her to undo the fastenings at her waistband. Then he took the bottoms of her slacks and pulled them free of her legs carefully. As he did, his eyes went to the hanging drapes around the far hospital bed and stayed there.
Which was ridiculous. And not because he was trying to afford her some modesty.
He wanted to make sure no one else saw her. But like anybody else could see? Was looking?