Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (77 page)

The man would grab her upper arm and escort her to a waiting vehicle, where the woman would open the back door for her. The man would put his hand on her head as she climbed in, because they do that on the reality cop shows. Was it to force someone inside when they didn’t want to go or was it a courtesy thing so you didn’t hit your head?

All she knew was that everyone would be watching, including the media, and within minutes, her picture would be posted on countless news blogs. Her life would no longer be her own. The army would own her. She’d never see her mother again.

“Okay then,” the woman said. “Let’s start with your names.”

Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but Asher spoke first. “Listen. I fucking… need…an ambulance. When will…another one…be available?”

She cut him a sidelong glance. He wasn’t serious, was he, or had he changed his mind about getting conventional medical treatment? Didn’t he know these people weren’t aid workers?

He jerked his chin to the right. “There’s also a poor soul over there…who wasn’t as lucky as we were. Will someone be coming by…to pick him up? Who notifies his wife?”

She was struck by how he made it sound as if they were a team. She decided to chime in and see where he was going with this. “I work here and that’s—I mean, that
was
my boss.”

The AIU woman unbuttoned her navy wool coat, then pulled a stylus and a digital tablet from an inner pocket. She consulted something on the screen, then closed the cover with an efficient snap. Looking up, she smiled warmly, as if they were all on the same side. Olivia wasn’t fooled. This had to be an interrogation technique.

“You’ll need to talk to someone out there,” she told Asher. “They’ll tag the body and get you some medical attention.” She turned back to Olivia. “Getting back to why we came here in the first place, are you the one who helped that female out there?”

Olivia swallowed nervously. “Me?” She looked back and forth between the two of them. She noticed Asher subtly kicking the fireman’s coat further behind the counter.

The woman appeared to be in her forties or fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair pulled off her face by two plain bobby pins. A few strands had slipped free and she kept pushing them away with the tip of her stylus. She must be growing her bangs out, Olivia thought. They were that awkward, in-between length, long enough to hang in your face but too short to tuck behind an ear.

The man, on the other hand, wore a black suit, skinny black tie, and shoes that, despite the soot and ash outside, somehow still held a shine. He studied her, his face devoid of emotion, making her feel like a one-celled organism on a glass slide. At least when someone showed a little emotion, you could pretend it was as bad as it would get. But when there was nothing, it made you think anything, even the most awful, was possible.

“Yes,” the woman said, a touch of impatience in her tone. “The redhead on the gurney. Was that
you
who helped her?”

Asher cleared his throat and answered for her. “No. Olivia was with me. We were here, inside the Grape and Bean when everything happened.”

She tried not to act surprised. Why was he covering for her?

“Is that so?” The woman didn’t sound convinced. “Because we have witnesses—three of them—who said a female individual matching her description had been attending to the injured woman.”

“Why are you looking for her?” Olivia said, referring to herself in the third person and trying to sound more curious than guilty. “Did she do something wrong?”

“We think she might be an unregistered Healer-Talent. The victim had been dying until she came along and saved her.”

Olivia’s bladder squeezed down to the size of a peanut.

Oh God, they know!

Asher let out an exasperated sigh. “Look at me.” He gently rolled up his shirt, exposing his bruised and bloodied torso.

Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh my God, Ash. You’re hurt.”
Ash?
Where did that come from? Her quick healing assessment earlier had told her he’d cracked some ribs, but seeing it in the flesh was shocking. How was he even able to move? She had an overwhelming urge to lay her healing hands on him to ease his suffering. Instead, she crossed her arms and tried to ignore it.

Then he gingerly pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing them his fractured clavicle. “If I noticed a Healer-Talent hanging around, you can bet your ass I’d be begging that person for help. God knows, I can’t seem to find anyone else around here to help me.”

It occurred to her that he’d lost the accent she detected earlier. He sounded just like anyone else in New Seattle.

The AIU guy kept staring at Olivia with those emotionless eyes. Had he guessed they were lying and was waiting for her to mess up? She hadn’t yawned just now, had she? If they knew anything about Healer-Talents, they had to know it took a lot out of you. There were probably dark circles of fatigue under her eyes. Had they seen Asher holding her up?

Frowning, the woman tapped the stylus against her lips. “Explain something to me then, because I’m confused. If the two of you have been here this whole time and together, why is it that
you—”
She pointed the stylus at Olivia. “—didn’t know he was injured?”

Crap. Good point. “Um…”

Asher answered for her again. “She was trapped in the wine cellar. And in this condition, I wasn’t able to get to her. She escaped on her own, but it took awhile.”

Yes, perfect. “When I got out, I knew he’d been injured, I just didn’t know it was this bad. Ash, why didn’t you tell me?” She scowled at him in order to sell the ruse, then turned back to the army woman, giving her a woman-to-woman look that said men can be so frustrating sometimes. The woman didn’t smile.

A fresh round of fatigue washed over her. She tried not to fidget or yawn, but she was so damn tired.

Suddenly, Asher’s large hand enclosed hers, his thumb caressing her skin in a non-stranger-ish, almost intimate way. Twinges of electricity shot up her arm, making all the little hairs stand on end. She stiffened, expecting to feel a sudden loss of energy again, but there seemed to be a barrier there now. His fingers and palm were warm and callused. And very reassuring. It made her feel stronger, not weaker, like they might actually make it through this as long as they stayed together.

With their heads close, the man and woman were whisper-arguing. Maybe some small talk would convince them that she knew nothing, and they’d move on. “Any idea how big it was on the Richter scale? Do they know yet?”

The woman looked slightly amused and tapped the stylus on her lips. She and her partner made eye contact again and something silent passed between them. “You think that was an earthquake?”

She took from her response that it wasn’t.

Before she could answer, the man interjected, speaking for the first time. “It was a bomb. The fucking Cascadians again.”

Now it was Asher’s turn to stiffen. His nostrils flared slightly and his pupils were pinprick small.

“A bomb?” When she’d felt the rumble down in the wine cellar and heard the noise, she’d assumed earthquake. It hadn’t crossed her mind that it was a bomb.

“Witnesses saw a man running from the scene less than thirty seconds before the explosion.” The man stared at Asher as if he suspected him. “He wouldn’t have gotten far. May even be hurt.”

Was it possible that
he
had set the bomb? Could he be a Cascadian terrorist? Olivia considered the possibility, rolled it around in her head. If he was her enemy, then that meant these two were her allies. That assessment didn’t make sense, either. It felt as if she and Asher were on the same side. Of the same mindset. He could’ve thrown her under the bus and told these two the truth about her in order to get away, but he hadn’t.

As much as she distrusted this stranger, her intuition told her he wasn’t responsible. What it did tell her was that these army people were dangerous. Not Asher.

The woman asked Olivia for her name and address. Since they already knew her first name, she gave them a fake last name and address. If they went so far as to cross-check it with Marco’s records later, she’d be long gone. As soon as she got home, she was packing up her things and leaving again.

“Okay, got it. And your name?”

“Asher.”

“Is that your first or last name?”

“First.”

Her stylus was poised over her screen. “Last name.”

“Smith,” he said.

“Spell that, please.”

Panic flashed in his eyes so quickly that when it was gone, Olivia couldn’t be sure it was ever there in the first place. Must not be his real last name either. That was another thing they had in common.

She gave his hand two little squeezes for encouragement.

“It’s just like it sounds,” he told the woman.

She looked up from her screen. Her partner leaned slightly forward at the waist as if he were ready to pounce. “There are several spellings.”

Could he really not know how this common last name was spelled?

Olivia debated jumping in and answering for him, but she’d done that once already and worried it would look fishy.

Maybe if she got him started, he could figure it out himself. She moved their clasped hands out of sight of the army interrogators. With her pointer finger, she traced out the letter
S
on his palm.

“
S
.” She could almost hear the relief in his voice.

When he didn’t continue, she scratched out an
M
, holding her breath that he wouldn’t think it was a
W
.

“
M
,” he said.

The woman turned her attention back to her handheld. Olivia gave him two little squeezes. He squeezed back, which she interpreted as needing more help. She traced the rest of the letters, thankful that he’d picked a short name, and he slowly recited them aloud.

“And your address?” the woman asked.

When he hesitated again, Olivia had enough. “Can’t you see he needs medical attention? He’s lost a lot of blood and is obviously lightheaded and having trouble concentrating.”

The woman was not impressed. She held her ground and repeated her question.

Olivia sighed loudly. “It’s the same as mine. We live together.”

Draping his arm over her shoulder, she ignored her own exhaustion and rose from the stool. She was going to walk Asher out of here, and these AIU agents were going to let her.

The woman reluctantly stepped out of the way.

“Come on, honey,” Olivia said, smiling up into Asher’s face. “Let’s go find you a doctor.”

“Okay, I’m fine now,” Asher said as they made their way slowly down the sidewalk. He tried to shrug her arm away but she was having none of it.

“Like hell you are,” Olivia replied.

The further they got from the explosion site, the more the chaos and noise faded behind them. The walk to his car was taking longer than Asher would’ve liked, but his ribs and collarbone still hurt every time he took a step. He tried whistling for Conry, but because he was using his opposite hand, it came out more like a forceful exhale.

“Here. Let me try.” Olivia made a
C
with her thumb and ring finger and lifted it to her mouth. The sharp burst rang through his head like a gunshot.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he said, giving her an are-you-kidding-me glare. He would never have guessed she could whistle like that.

She looked pleased and a little mischievous. “What?”

“On top of all my other injuries, now have to deal with pierced eardrums, too? ”

She groaned. “Such a baby.”

It hadn’t been his idea that Olivia come with him, though he hadn’t protested too much when she insisted on helping him find Conry, but he’d refused to let her fix the rest of his injuries. The healing she’d done for him in addition to healing Monique had taken a lot out of her already. He was good enough. He’d heal the rest of the way on his own.

“I can’t get my car out of the garage now, anyway,” had been her argument. “So you’re going to drive me home. Besides, we’re living together, right? Shouldn’t we at least make it look like we’re going to the same place in case anyone’s watching?”

“Thanks for what you did back there. Not only for the healing, but for telling them we lived together.” He’d been trying to give them the information on his false identification papers, but with the added pressure of needing to keep Olivia’s secret hidden as well, everything kept getting mixed up in his head. It was pathetic, really, given how many times he’d had to produce it before. It should’ve been easy.

“Under the circumstances, being your fake girlfriend was the least I could do.”

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, pausing only to call for Conry. Olivia had a smudge on her cheek, bloodstains on her dress, and her hair was tangled and messy, and yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so completely captivated by a woman.

“Why do you hide your ability to heal?” he asked. Could she be afraid to use them? And then it occurred to him. “Or is it them you’re afraid of?”

Her breath hitched and she turned to face him. With the light reflecting in her eyes like this, he noticed for the first time that they were mismatched. One a greenish hazel and the other brown. It wasn’t very noticeable, but with the light just right, you could tell they were different colors.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.

So she’d guessed he was Cascadian. Telling her a lie would make sense right now, but he owed her the truth. Or at least as much of it as he could share. “Not really.”

“But you didn’t have anything to do with the bomb.”

“No,” he said simply, treating her statement as a question.

“I didn’t think so.”

He debated telling her more about himself, like who he was and why he was here. Part of him craved a deeper connection with her. It felt good—really good—to have shared secrets with her already. Back at the explosion site, it had been the two of them against the world and he liked it. They’d made a good team, playing off each other so easily. But another part of him didn’t see a good reason for taking this any further than he already had. He couldn’t afford to build any relationships here. At least, not the romantic kind.