Ouch. Sloan wondered if that went for them, too, but she bit back the smart-assed question. He looked exhausted, and her compassionate side took over. When he slid into the dusty driver’s seat, she noticed that there was no air conditioning in the truck. She wore a red neckerchief and took it off, wiping her brow and around her mouth and neck.
“You can open up some of that bottled water and soak it in that. This place makes you feel dirty,” Dan said.
That was a good idea. He had six bottles of water in a container sitting in the middle of the plastic seat. “Out on the Red Sea, it was beautiful. So pristine, the color of the water so clear and pretty,” she said, dipping her neckerchief into the bottle.
“Yeah, out there, it’s nice. Really nice. Here, not so much. It’s like flying. Up there,” he gestured toward the sky, “you feel clean and free. But when you land, you come back to the pain and suffering on this planet.”
Sloan heard a deep wistfulness in his voice as he talked about flying. “You used to scuba dive. Do you still?” At least she knew something about him that could ease the strain so obviously strung between them. She watched him put his hands on the wheel, remembering those same hands skimming her body, creating such fire and need within her. Sloan gulped down some of the tepid water. Then, she blotted her face and neck with the damp neckerchief as Dan drove slowly out of the parking area. Just the warm air circulating through the open windows cooled her a little bit.
“I try to go out on one of those scuba boats at least once a month. Gets the Port Sudan crud washed off me. I think better after a weekend of being in the salt water. You look at the beauty underwater, and you forget about what’s on top.” His comment was cryptic.
He drove faster once he reached the main road. There were a lot of trucks, vans, and haflas—a half truck with a cab and a flatbed behind it—around them. She saw a few Mercedes speeding along, all shiny, black, and polished compared to the rest of the vehicles around her. “I’d love to go scuba diving if we have a chance while I’m here.” She lifted her chin, looking over at him. Sloan felt a reaction, one of hope, around him. And then, like fog on a hot morning, it was gone.
“Okay, I’ll keep it in mind.” Dan opened his hand on the steering wheel, the wind whipping through the cab. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, but I don’t want to say much here. Your apartment is across the hall from mine. I need to get you settled in. And let’s hope the air conditioning is working better in your place than it is in mine.”
Sloan couldn’t smell any alcohol on his breath, and he didn’t appear to be drunk. He drove like he owned the road and was competent, his reflexes as she remembered them. She felt guilty over being undercover about the allegation made by Dr. Reeves. Sloan hoped it was a quirk, and Dan hadn’t been drinking all the time. The scar along his right, lower arm brought the past shearing back to her as if it was yesterday. The bullet had shattered both bones in his lower arm. It had been nearly impossible to put aside her emotional reaction to Dan being gravely wounded.
“We’re on an adventure,” she said quietly, removing her sunglasses, wiping the dampness away from her face and eyes. Dan turned and gave her a swift, intense look as if he was memorizing her face at that moment. He wiped his mouth, trying to steady his emotions. Sloan’s eyes reminded him of soft diamonds sparkling with morning light, so clear, alert, and filled with intelligence. He tried to steel himself for her anger, her pouting, or maybe her silence after they met—but she did none of those things. She looked healthy and had a good, deep tan, so she had to have been on a mission where there was plenty of sunlight. Maybe he’d ask her about that later if they could bridge a connection with one another again.
In no time, he’d gotten off the main drag and made a turn down a narrow asphalt street. There were stucco buildings, two or three stories tall on either side and a lot of wrought iron gates and walls with concertina wire on top. They were wrapped around the homes to protect the owners from theft—and theft was a way of life around here, Dan thought. He pulled into his parking space.
“Your home away from home,” he said, gesturing to the three-story pink stucco building in front of them.
“Not very inspiring, is it?” Sloan hooked the sunglasses over the v-opening to her blouse. The cotton material was already sticking to her sweaty skin.
“No, and it’s not much better inside, so prepare yourself.” Dan pulled his sunglasses off his face, tucking them into his pocket. “Let’s go,” he urged gruffly, climbing out.
She slid out and shut the door, the dust rolling off the side panel. Dan had made a point of grabbing her duffle bag out of the rear of the truck to carry it for her. She noticed he used his left hand again. Was his right arm not as strong since the crash? The muscles on both arms looked the same, so she knew he must be using both arms equally. He pulled out his key and unlocked the gate, pushing it aside and gesturing for her to walk through it. As she did, her arm barely brushed against his torso, the opening not exactly wide. The scent of Dan, the sweat on his flesh, filled her nostrils. Her skin prickled.
Dan locked the gate and used another key to open the entrance door to the building. He led her up the stairs to the second-floor and pushed open another door. The hall had thin, well-used dark brown carpet. “Here’s my apartment,” he said, hooking his thumb over his right shoulder. “And here’s yours.”
Sloan tried to prepare herself as he opened the chipped, white painted door. The place was musty smelling, the windows locked. The red-tile floor was flat and smooth, but dusty. It would need a good mopping. Dan edged by her and placed her duffle bag in the small bedroom on the full-sized bed with brass head and footboards. Coming out of the bedroom, he said, “I’ll show you the air conditioner. Pray it works.”
The air conditioner was stuck in a window frame. It was a smaller unit and didn’t exactly fit the window. Someone had pushed newspaper around the edges of it to keep the hot air from entering the apartment. When Dan flipped it on, the antiquated piece of equipment started churning and making whirring, chugging noises. Sloan stood to one side, holding her opened hand over the vent. She looked up, connecting with Dan’s eyes, feeling his warmth, and it took her off guard. He was staring at her, and she could tell this time he really was memorizing her. But it didn’t make her uncomfortable because she’d grown used to it when they’d been together. Dan often told her that falling into her dove-colored eyes was like being absorbed by luminous moonlight at dusk. He painted such beautiful words about her, about her body and heart.
“I think I feel a little cool air,” she said tentatively, an unwilling smile coming to her lips.
“Yeah, these units are probably twenty years old. The landlord doesn’t give a damn and doesn’t want to spend any money to update the place.”
“Is your unit any better?”
He snorted. “Mine has frost coated over parts of it, and that’s the only coolness I get. Most of the time, I have my windows wide open.”
“But then,” she said, “you’ll hear the jets and smell everything.”
Shrugging, he muttered, “You get used to it.”
Turning, she saw how drab and depressing the colors were in the place. There hadn’t been a new coat of paint on these walls in a long time. It had furniture, but it all looked beaten and battered with time and use.
“I hope Delos isn’t paying a whole lot for these places,” she said dryly, running her hand across the pink-tiled counter.
“Hey,” he said, following her, his hands on his hips, “people consider this a rich man’s palace.”
She smiled a little. “I imagine they would.”
“Where did you just come from?”
Frowning, she tilted her head. “Somalia. I headed up a volunteer medical team to a village of one thousand people.” Instantly, she saw his brows flatten, his eyes churning with emotions.
“That’s one damned, dangerous place, Sloan.”