Reckless (17 page)

This time she wiped a streak of blood from
his face. She put the cloth in his hand. “Here. You can do your own
hands.” He did. Toni gave one last, worried glance at the patch of
white on his thigh and pulled the covers over him.

“You gonna read me a bedtime story, too?” His
voice was heavy with sarcasm but heavier with exhaustion.

“I'm not going to fight with you tonight, so
you can quit trying.” She tucked the blankets around him. “Now, is
there anything else you need before you go to sleep? Another shot
of whiskey? Some more Ibuprofen?”

“No. I'm fine.”

“Okay, then.” She gathered up the bandages,
the discarded wrappers, the ruined pants and dropped all of it into
a plastic bag. Then she looked down at her yoga pants, which she’d
put on for easy running, and saw they were smeared with his blood.
Her hands were, as well. A shower was definitely in order. “I just
need to clean up, but I'll turn off the light so you can rest. I
don't want you to move, Nick.” She chewed her lip, hating to leave
him alone in case the bleeding should start up again. “I'll leave
the door open. Yell if—”

“It's my thigh, not a damn kidney. I've hurt
myself worse than this playing basketball.”

She ignored him and went into the bathroom
for a record-fast shower. She pulled on an oversized hockey jersey,
her favorite sleepwear, and tiptoed back into the bedroom. Pulling
a chair nearer the bed as quietly as she could, she sat down in
it.

“What are you doing?” His head turn in her
direction as he spoke.

“I'm sitting. What does it look like I'm
doing?”

“You don't have to sit there all night. I'm
okay. Go sack out on the couch.”

“No thanks. Wouldn't sleep a wink out there,
anyway.”

“Why, for crying out loud?”

“Because you might need me. Whether you'll
admit it or not, Nick, that’s more than a scratch. You lost a lot
of blood and you are not out of the woods yet. If you need me, I
want to be close.”

He blew a short sigh. “I won't. I don't need
anyone. I never freaking have.”

“Well, I'll be here, just the same, in case
you ever freaking do.”

Nick lay awake for a long time, despite his
feeling of having been wrung out like a wet rag. He watched Toni,
certain she'd get up and walk out before long. She wouldn’t get far
if she did. The door was unlocked, yes, but if he thought she had a
chance in hell of making it off the grounds without his knowledge,
he wouldn't have had Carl leave it that way. If she got away, she'd
end up dead. He wasn't sure why he'd blurted the warning he had,
about taking his gun and leaving the country. He supposed it was
because he'd lost so much blood and wasn't thinking too clearly. Or
maybe because he had to admit there was a slim chance she could
escape. She was resourceful. And gutsy.

He never for a minute thought he'd take a
turn for the worse and need help. Leaving the door unlocked was
completely unnecessary, the way he saw it. Part of him, though,
needed to see her leave. He wasn't even sure why, but he needed to
see her do it. He needed to be reminded, in no uncertain terms,
that people couldn't be trusted. They left you the minute your
defenses were down.

She didn't leave, though. He watched her
small form silhouetted in the half light for as long as he could
stay awake, and she never left. After a while her head fell to one
side. Her breathing grew deeper and took on the rhythm of sleep. He
couldn't believe it, wouldn't have, if the proof hadn't been right
there in front of him. When he fell asleep, it was in a state of
confusion. She hadn't left. But she still might. Maybe she hadn't
got from him all that she wanted just yet. Maybe she'd wait until
morning.

For a time his mind relaxed in blissful
darkness, but then something changed. The lights came up slowly,
and the stage was set. Danny lay on the rotted wood floor, pale and
blue lipped. Nick shook him, but he barely had strength enough to
do so. He felt incredibly weak and clumsy and colder than he could
remember being in his life. Still, he recited the lines he knew by
heart. “Don't die on me. Hold on, Danny, hold on. Don't die...don't
leave me, damn you.”

The young Nick in the dream thought he must
have caught his leg on a nail on the way into this dump. His thigh
was screaming. It felt hot and it throbbed like a toothache. He
didn't care—he didn't care if the damn thing fell off, not when
Danny's life hung in the balance. “You're all I got, man. Don't do
this—Danny? Danny!”

The scene faded, but he knew it was there,
just out of sight. Something cold and wet lay across his forehead.
Another cold thing pressed to that spot on his thigh. God, it felt
good. His head was pulled upward, small things between his
lips...pills, then the lip of a glass and icy cold water.

“Drink, Nick. Swallow. You have a fever.”

He followed the instructions of that musical
voice. The glass moved away, and he muttered something. He wasn't
sure what. But it came back. He drank and drank. He couldn't
remember being this thirsty. When the water was gone, his body
moved until his head was cradled in a pillow of warm flesh,
familiar scent. He knew that scent. “Toni,” he muttered.

“I'm right here.” Cool hands stroked his
cheeks and his hair in soothing, slow movements. The cloth left his
forehead, and he heard water trickling. It came back colder.

“You...didn't leave?”

“I told you I wouldn't.”

He hovered between the reality of the woman
who held him and the memory of the dream. “Danny—”

“I know.” Her cool hands stilled on his face.
“It was a long time ago, Nick. Danny is gone. He’s at peace. I'm
here with you now, though, and I won't leave.”

“You will.” Nick let his mind drift back into
the comforting blackness. The pain from his thigh had lessened. It
no longer burned. “They all do.”

Nick woke with his head in Toni's lap. Her
palm rested motionless on his cheek, and he realized with a start
that she'd been in that same position for several hours, stroking
his head and his face as he drifted in and out of sleep. A glance
at the clock's luminous dial told him there was still over an hour
before dawn.

She sat with her back against the headboard,
her legs curled beneath her. Nick's head lay on her uppermost
thigh. Her chin touched her chest, and a frown had etched itself
between her brows, even in sleep. Without moving, Nick shifted his
gaze. On the nightstand a basin of water sat beside an opened
bottle of pain reliever, an empty glass and two soaking-wet cloths.
He tried to remember what had happened during the night to get Toni
from her chair beside the bed to where she now slept. Only
fragments came to him. He remembered pain and pills being pushed
between his lips and the welcome coldness of the water. He
remembered her voice—her touch.

My God, she's still here.

He studied her face as she slept and realized
fully what she'd done. She'd held him all night and she'd done her
damnedest to keep the pain at bay. She'd spoken softly to him,
words of comfort. His own mother had never treated him with the
tenderness Toni had. And she'd promised not to leave.

He was still staring at her face when her
heavy lashes lifted, revealing to him yet again those glistening,
fathomless dark eyes. He saw them narrow at once, felt the hand on
his face tense and move to his forehead as it had done many times
during the night. Finding no more than a normal amount of heat
emanating from his skin, she smiled.

“How do you feel now?”

He shrugged. “All right, I guess.” The silken
warmth of her bare thigh under his cheek was distracting. He lifted
his head so she could slip out from under him. She moved slightly
to the side, stretched her legs out fully beside him, hooked one
hand at the back of her neck and rubbed. “What happened last
night?” he asked.

“Your temperature spiked. I'm afraid you have
a nasty infection trying to set in.” She met his gaze. “You don't
remember?”

“Bits and pieces.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I'm not surprised.
You were quite...disoriented.” She swung her feet to the floor. “I
ought to change that bandage, see how bad it is.”

“Not yet.” Nick sat up, and she turned to
face him. “What do you mean by 'disoriented'?” He hadn't liked the
emphasis she put on the word.

She tilted her head to one side. “You did a
lot of talking. Do you want some of that whiskey before I
unwrap—''

“What did I say?”

She looked away from his eyes. “You told me
everything. I know you're a cop. Don't worry, your secret is safe.
I just don't know why you didn't tell me in the first place. This
whole ordeal would've been so much easier if you'd just...”

Nick felt the blood drain from his face as
she rambled on. He couldn't believe he'd been that feverish...that
he'd blurt something like that and not even remember. He caught
himself then, watched her as she spoke. She was talking too fast
and she never met his gaze.

“What kind of cop?”

She broke off at his interruption, looked at
him slowly, her face blank. “Well— I—um—I guess you didn't
say.”

He smiled and shook his head in silent
admiration of her brass. “Nice try, Toni. I didn't say anything
like that. I know, because it's bull. A figment of your creative
imagination.”

To his surprise she smiled, too, like a cat
leaving a pet store with feathers in its whiskers. “I don't think
so. You believed me for just a second. You wouldn't have if there
wasn't some slight chance you might've said what I just told you
you did.” The smile died slowly. She held his gaze, her own eyes
going softer. “It was a mean trick to play on a guy as sick as you
were last night. I'm sorry. It was either that or go on questioning
my sanity—not a healthy alternative.”

“Your sanity isn't an issue here. It left the
day you started with this imaginary secret identity of mine.”

She shrugged, stood up and carefully peeled
away the tape that held the bandages. “You are one stubborn SOB,
Nick Manelli.”

He didn't answer her. He couldn't just then.
The concern that clouded her face as she unwound the bandage and
gently peeled away the gauze pads was too convincing. Maybe even
real. She cleaned the wound once more, applied an abundance of
ointment and re-wrapped it, taking great care not to hurt him.
“Tell you what,” she said as she worked. “Since you’re in a
weakened state, I’ll drop this subject—for now—if you'll do
something for me.”

“To drop this, lady, you could damn near name
your price.”

Her dark brows shot up. “Well, now, that will
require some thought. Normally, when I'm told I can have anything I
want, I demand chocolate, but—”

“Chocolate? Chocolate what?”

“Oh, anything. I'm a confirmed chocoholic.”
She taped the gauze down and looked at him seriously. “But in this
case, I'd prefer conversation.” Nick's wariness returned in force,
but she hurried on. “Not about what you're not telling me or what
I'm not telling you. I want you to tell me about
you.
The
way I told you about me last night. About my dad, and—”

“What do you want to know?” He still wasn't
sure this was anything but another attempt to get the truth from
him.

She turned from his thigh, pulling herself
fully onto the bed and facing him. “You did talk last night, when
the fever shot up. You talked about Danny.” Nick felt the old pain
twist within him but concealed it. “Your brother, right?”

Nick nodded. “My brother's death is not my
favorite topic of conversation.”

“Of course it isn't. I heard enough about
that last night.” Compassion made her voice thick. “It must have
been awful for you.” He said nothing. “But what was it like before
all that?” He frowned at her. “I never had an older brother—not
that I know of anyway—but I always wanted one.”

What was she doing? Why did she want to stir
up his most painful memory? Didn't she realize that he couldn't
think of Danny without thinking of that horrible night in the
condemned building? He hadn't—not from that day to this. His only
memory of his brother was of those last few minutes in the filthy
building with the sirens and flashing lights outside. Of his pasty
skin and lifeless eyes. It wasn't possible to remember anything
else.

“I always wanted siblings. Had an imaginary
sister when I was very small, you know. She walked me to school
that first day. When I was afraid of the dark, she was always in my
bedroom with me. Sometimes we'd talk all night long—or it seemed
that way.”

“Danny was the one who brought home all the
jigsaw puzzles.” Nick hadn't intended to say the words. They
slipped out, from some unseen crack into his subconscious. “There
was never a lot of money—puzzles were cheap. Some nights we'd sit
up until two in the morning trying to finish a new one.” He felt
something tugging the corners of his lips upward, suddenly
recalling the two of them sitting on the bedroom floor trying to do
a puzzle by flashlight and fighting off attacks of laughter that
were sure to wake their mother.