She sighed and gazed at the injector pen. Then she slowly straightened her long legs and shifted, wincing. The towel at her chest fell forward, allowing Dec to see the bandaged tattoo on her back and the curve of her waist. He swallowed hard. “I’m just going to pull your sweats down a little so I can reach the spot, okay?”
Galena bit her lip and pivoted so she was almost on her stomach. Her head was bowed against the couch.
This was not how Dec had pictured undressing her. With a twinge of regret, he slowly pulled the loose waistband of her sweats down the swell of her hip, revealing her smooth skin inch by inch.
Not the time,
he reminded himself, then he pressed the pen to her gluteus medius and tapped the button. She flinched but remained silent. He pulled the pen away from her skin and tugged her sweats back up. Then he quickly and quietly laid an automatch skin-bandage over her closed wound, adhering it neatly to her skin. “You can take that shower now, if you want.”
She nodded and got up. He watched her go with a pang, her naked back exposed and vulnerable, her shoulder blades sharp, that towel clutched to her bare chest. As he listened to the shower switch on, he cleaned up and then grabbed a quick shower of his own in the guest room. He let the water rinse the blood from his completely healed skin, wishing he and Galena had found a way to make her immortal before the Shades had attacked, feeling utterly at a loss for how to get there with her. He dried off and changed. It was nearly five in the morning. Galena must be on the verge of collapse.
He padded into his room and pulled up short when he saw Galena on the bed. She was wearing a clean tank top and shorts, her legs curled beneath her. She gave him a hesitant smile. “I know you’ve already had your sleep for the day, but I’m exhausted. And I was wondering i
f . . .
” She bit her lip, looking down at the bed. “You said we should work on me feeling safe.”
“Yeah, what do you need?”
Her gaze traveled up his body, and Dec felt as if her fingers were on his skin. “Will you stay next to me?” she asked.
Trying to breathe slowly and will away the tightness in his groin, Dec nodded and approached the bed. He slid onto the mattress and lay down on the opposite side from her. “Like this?”
She slowly crawled closer. “Come my way?”
He scooted toward the middle of the bed. “Close enough?”
She shook her head and closed the distance between them, then lowered herself down and tugged at his hand until he raised it and let her snuggle against his side. He blinked at the ceiling as he felt her carefully positioning her sore shoulder. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable by yourself tonight?”
She sighed. “No, I’m not sure.” He looked down at her, and she gave him a wobbly little smile. “But
I’d
feel safer if you were close.”
His breath caught in his throat as she laid her head on his shoulder, as her arm coiled over his abs. She smelled like his shampoo, a minty herbal scent that nearly covered up the warm honey tang that h
e’d
come to associate with her. He leaned so that his nose brushed over her slightly damp hair, and he closed his eyes. His fingers skimmed down her arm, holding her close.
“I’m grateful, Dec,” she whispered. “For everything.”
Dec lay awake, feeling her warmth against his skin as she relaxed into sleep. This was not how he had imagined the night going at all. But even so, with Galena in his arms, with her body against his, with her feeling
safe
with him, he couldn’t help but feel grateful, too.
He didn’t know how long the
y’d
been lying there when his phone buzzed on the little table next to his bed. Not wanting to wake Galena, he quickly reached over to silence it. He froze when he saw a text from Aislin:
We have a problem.
Dec frowned and texted back:
?
His heart began to pound as he waited for her response. And when it came, Dec felt the blood drain from his face.
Galena is a person of interest in the bombings. She’s expected at Boston PD for questioning.
Dec gritted his teeth.
This is bullshit.
The detective on the case is a hard-liner. For now, we have to go along with it.
Galena shifted, perhaps feeling the rising tension in Dec’s body. He forced himself to relax as he texted:
When?
By noon. Or else they’re issuing a warrant. Can I count on you?
To take Galena to the police station, she meant. To turn her over so that this didn’t become a scandal that reflected poorly on the family and the company.
Can I count on YOU?
he texted back.
As always, I will do what I think is right.
He silenced his phone. It took effort not to slam it down on the bedside table. Then he looked at the woman nestled against him. Her hair partially covered her face, and he smoothed it back and stroked his thumb across her brow. Again, he was reminded of her delight at entering the Veil for the first time, her bravery when facing down Luke, her fragile, hopeful courage as she had asked Dec to stay next to her. He pulled Galena closer, so he could feel her breath against his throat.
“Me too, Aislin,” he whispered. “
That
you can count on.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
G
alena awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Dec’s voice. “I know, Manny, but I need you to take my day shift again.”
She sat up, her hand smoothing over the large indentation where his body had been. It was cool—h
e’d
been up for a while. She had no idea what time it was, but she hadn’t slept that well in years. She stretched happily, then winced as it pulled at her healing wound.
“I understand,” Dec continued, his tone level and patient, “and you’ll get the overtime pay. Plus some comp time. Come on. I know you had vacation scheduled, but I need this.” There was a long pause, during which Galena got out of bed and tiptoed to the door.
“Already tried. Trevor’s not answering my texts. Look, I know this sucks, Manny, but it’s just another day or two.” After another brief pause, Dec spoke again, but his voice had changed dramatically—from conciliatory to razor-edged. “Let me remind you of two things. One, I’m the Chief. And two? I’m the fucking
Chief
. And the last time I took a vacation was before you fucking joined up, and possibly before you started kindergarten. So complain again. Please. Let me hear it.” He paused. “Oh? You’re okay with it now? Good. Thanks so much for being a team player.”
There was a clatter, probably Dec’s phone hitting the countertop. Hesitantly, Galena emerged from his bedroom and walked into the living area. Dec stood behind the kitchen counter, his black hair standing on end.
“You don’t have to skip work because of me,” she said. Sh
e’d
caused all this disruption to his life, and she was afraid h
e’d
start to resent her for it.
He looked down at his phone. “I guess you heard that, then?”
She nodded, even as her stomach growled. She inhaled, distracted by the delicious scent that was wafting toward her. “What is that smell?”
Dec gave her a sheepish smile and lifted the lid on a skillet. “I made you some eggs and sausage.” He gestured at a pastry box that sat on the counter next to the stove. “And I ordered some croissants. Because I think you might not have eaten in the last twenty-four hours, and that is ridiculous.”
“It also happens to be correct,” she said with a laugh, putting her hand on her stomach. “And I’m starving.”
He grinned, but Galena could have sworn his smile faltered before he turned away. She watched his broad hands as he used a spatula to scoop two fried eggs onto a plate. “Do you eat meat?” he asked.
“When it seems safe,” she said. “It was pretty scarce and expensive in Pittsburgh, and most of what we got was canned.” She shuddered.
“This is good stuff,” he said, arranging two sausage links next to her eggs. “I promise.”
It was probably from some secret agri-lab and had cost a small fortune, but Dec didn’t brag about it. Sh
e’d
noticed that about him, like last night with that guard at the convenience store. Dec had seemed loath to tell the guy who he was—just like h
e’d
tried to be nice and appeal to his colleague’s generosity just now, and only
after
the guy had been a jerk had Dec pulled rank. He usually kept his Scope tucked into his collar, and even though he lived in this heavily guarded enclave belonging to his family, his apartment was relatively humble.
Walking lightly on this earth, letting his actions define him.
She smiled as she slid onto a barstool and Dec placed the plate in front of her. As he handed her a fork, she asked, “So, are you going to eat, too, or is that not a requirement for Ferrys either?”
“Oh, we eat,” he said, pushing the box of croissants closer to her. “I think it’s one of the purer joys in life, actually.” He snagged one of the flaky-looking pastries and set it on a plate for himself. “Have you ever tasted real Irish butter?” He grabbed a dish from his fridge. “There are still a few functioning farms on some of the islands.”
That was a miracle, considering that Ireland had lost nearly 40 percent of its land mass to the sea in the last hundred years, and what was left was a collection of semiautonomous islands fighting over resources. Dec leaned forward, offering her a croissant smeared with the pale-yellow substance. “Try it.”
She obediently opened her mouth and then moaned when the salty richness hit her tongue. Her teeth clamped down on the soft layers of the pastry, and she closed her eyes while she chewed. She was overwhelmed for a moment by the velvety feel of it, the way it made the pleasure centers in her brain scream for more. Once sh
e’d
swallowed, she looked up to see Dec staring at her mouth.
“I like how you look when you’re enjoying something,” he said quietly. “Now eat up. It’s brain food. Which means you need more than anyone, right?”
She shook her head, laughing, and lost herself in the breakfast for a few minutes while Dec cleaned up. His bright mood seemed a little forced. “Is everything okay, Dec?”
“Hmm?” he asked as he scrubbed the skillet. “Oh. How’s your shoulder?”
Her brow furrowed. “It’s sore, but fine, really. Like the rest of me. But something tells me there’s more than that on your mind.” He wasn’t acting like himself, at least not the self she knew.
He stopped scrubbing. “Finish your breakfast,” he said. “It’s not good for you to go so long without eating.”
She obeyed, despite the twist of unease inside her. The food was so good that she managed to put away the entire croissant and gobble one of the eggs and both sausages before she sat back, completely full.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Please.” But she touched his wrist as he set the mug down in front of her. “Now tell me what’s going on, because you’re starting to scare me.”
He sighed, staring at her hands as she brought the mug to her lips.
The coffee was like the food—a richer, overpoweringly better version of any coffee sh
e’d
had before. It was like sh
e’d
never had a sense of what it
should
taste like until now. She set the mug down. “Please, Dec. I can tell something’s up. I haven’t known you to be quite this cheerful. It looks like it’s taking a lot of effort.”
“You’re way too observant.” He lifted his head. His gorgeous blue eyes settled on her. “You’ve been labeled as a person of interest in the bombing cases, Galena. They want you to go down to the police station and answer some questions.”
Galena’s stomach turned. “I wish yo
u’d
told me before I ate all that food.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t eat if I did.”
He was right. But now it felt like it was all about to come up. “When do I have to be there?” she asked, her voice tremulous.
“Before noon.”
“That’s why you took the day off.”
Dec nodded.
“I can do it by myself, Dec. I’m actually a pretty competent adult in most respects. You don’t have to babysit me.”
He leaned on the counter, the muscles of his arms tense. “I’m a pretty competent adult in most respects, too. So when I tell you that babysitting doesn’t describe what I’m doing, you can believe me.” He looked away from her. “Unless you want to call Eli.”
“No,” she said quickly. She couldn’t bear to burden him with yet another problem. “But Dec, seriously, this has nothing to do with you.”
He moved slowly around the counter, and her heart sped as he reached her. Carefully, his fingers skimmed up under her tank, tracing the bumps of her spine, rising higher and higher. She shivered at the look in his eyes as his fingertips smoothed over the strap of her bra to touch the raven tattoo between her shoulder blades. Sh
e’d
taken off the bandage early this morning when she showered, so there was nothing between his skin and hers as he traced the raven’s wings without even having to look. It was like h
e’d
memorized that piece of her already. She felt a new sort of tingling between her legs at that thought, and when she glanced down, she was embarrassed to see that her nipples were hard against the front of her tank.
“This,” he said quietly, still tracing the raven. “It might have been purely for your protection, but it connects us. It entitles me to a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Like sticking by you when things are shitty,” he said. “Like going with you to the police station and making sure you’re okay.”
His hypnotic caresses made her close her eyes. She would be very happy to let him do this all day—and it was certainly more fun than going to the police department.
Maybe when they got back, though. Once sh
e’d
answered whatever questions they had, Galena was eager to see what else Dec thought he might be entitled to. It was no less scary than it had been last night, but she realized her trust in him had grown with every minute the
y’d
spent together. “All right,” she said, leaning her head back on his shoulder and looking up at him. Her breath caught when his gaze slid from her throat to her breasts.
His eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled his hand from beneath her tank. “Good,” he said, pivoting quickly to head back to his bedroom. “Leave in twenty?” He shut his door and left her sitting there, her heart racing, her nipples hard, the rest of her utterly confused.
The Boston Police headquarters was in a canal zone southwest of Back Bay, in an area called Mission Hill. Galena stared out the window as their amphibious limo motored past rickety flat-bottomed boats and a few amphibious buses. What used to be a thriving residential area was now block upon block of abandoned, rotting flood-damaged homes mixed with the occasional rebuilt apartment building. A public park had been turned into a shantytown. The people on the sidewalks cast curious, mistrustful glances at the limo. Mud-brown canal water splashed onto the windows when speeding uniboats raced by.
Galena stared at the droplets, thinking of Ankita, Luciana, and all the others who had died two nights ago. Dec sat quietly by her side, but she could tell he was tense. He was dressed in slacks and a navy-blue button-down shirt that looked tailored. She felt a little tattered and frumpy in her maxidress and cardigan, even though it was the nicest outfit she now owned. Her nerves were winding like snakes in her gut, and she absently twisted her fingers together—until Dec took one of her hands and laced his fingers with hers.
They pulled up to the dock in front of the police station, and soon their driver was opening the roof hatch. Dec pulled the ladder down and helped her up. As soon as she emerged into the heavy humid air, she saw a stern-looking police officer with a gun and an electroshock baton at his belt, his eyes riveted on her. “Dr. Galena Margolis?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said as he helped her onto the dock.
“Come with me, please.”
Dec was by her side a second later. The cop led them through the stone-floored lobby and down a few hallways, deeper and deeper into the building, before guiding them through a bustling room bounded by three videowalls, with desk screens displaying holographic projections of the city. They ended up in another hallway, this one long and sterile.
The cop unlocked a metal door and waved her inside a small white-tiled room with a black videowall on one side and a table in the center. “You her lawyer?” he asked Dec.
“No. Her husband.” He stuck out his hand. “Declan Ferry.”
The cop’s mouth dropped open as they shook hands, but he recovered quickly. “Good to know. The detective will be here—oh, here we go.”
A middle-aged man came into the room, his graying hair slicked back. His olive-skinned face could only be described as sad. His lips came to a peak in the center of his mouth, with both sides sloping downward, forming a natural frown. His eyes had a heavy look to them as well. It was like gravity worked a little harder on him than it did on other people. “Detective Amil Botros,” he said, nodding curtly. “How are you today, Dr. Margolis?”
“It’s been a rough few days,” said Galena as she and Dec sat down in two chairs on one side of the table. The detective took one on the other. “For you, too, I imagine.”
His eyes narrowed. “Three lethal stabbings, fifteen bombing deaths, one suicide, eight different crime scenes. Yeah, you could say that.”
Fifteen bombing deaths? Galena felt sick. Aislin had said that several had died, but Galena had no idea it was that many. Eighteen people killed, plus Jian.
Under the table, Dec nudged her knee, and Galena accepted the silent invitation with gratitude, entwining her fingers with his once more. She felt stronger holding his hand. “Do you have any leads?” she asked.
“A few. Tell me about your relationship with Jian Lee.”
“He was my lab assistant. One of two.”
“Was he hired for you, or did you pick him?” asked the detective, who was now typing information onto a screen set into the tabletop.
“I was told by my department chair that I needed to hire assistants, even though I prefer to work alone. She said I needed the help.” Dr. Cassidy had reminded her that she was one person, and there was no way she could get all the work done herself. “I chose Jian from a group of applicants.” There had been nearly a hundred of them, but Jian and Ankita had stood out.
“And he worked for you fo
r . . .
”
“Almost a month,” she said quietly.
“Was he a good worker? Did you get along?” Botros glanced up at her.
“We did,” Galena said. “He was fairly quiet, but his work was solid.”
“You never had any occasion to discipline him, anything like that?”
Galena shrugged. “I expect precision, because anything less could interfere with our research results, but generally Jian was very thorough in his work.” She leaned forward. “We had no problems, Detective. I liked him. But the night before the bombing, he was definitely off. Irritable and nervous. He was working on a sequencer—the one that turned out to be holding the bomb. And the day of the bombing, he left early, and Ankita said h
e’d
seemed stressed. The sequencer began making noise after he worked on it, and I thought it was because he hadn’t fixed it yet, but now I believe it’s because he put something in it.”