Catching Red (6 page)

Dane’s brows lifted. “Since when do you care about rules? Did you even read the most recent revision to the Federal Military Agency Manual?”

The last time Marcus glimpsed the F-MAM was back in training. Even then, he never got beyond the first chapter. “The important parts never change. If you’re done pumping me for as-yet unauthorized information, I’ve got shit I need to do.”

“Fine. Go back to playing Wild Man.” Dane opened the car door. “But start clearing your schedule. Once I get back to the city, you’re going to have to earn your hazard pay.” The 35 percent bonus CA agents received when out in the field was a huge bone of contention between the two divisions.

“Wait.” Marcus sighed and dropped his med kit on the ground. After rummaging through its contents, he unearthed a pocket-sized air horn and tossed it into Dane’s hands. “Do you remember the Morse code for SOS?”

Dane looked dubious, but he nonetheless shoved the item into the inner pocket of his jacket. “You realize my car horn is much louder, right?”

Marcus didn’t bother hiding his annoyance. “If you’re inside your damn car, then you don’t need my fucking help. That horn might sound like a half-dead duck, but the unique frequency triggers a vibration rod installed in all Covert Affairs bunkers. The range is much farther than you might think. My professional recommendation is for you to go back to D.C. But if you decide to do something stupid and end up getting your ass handed to you by a bunch of witches, get as close to our current location as you can. Keep signaling. If you’re lucky, I might show up.”

Scarlet felt as if her body were held together by disintegrating string. No matter how hard she tried to move her fingers and toes, she couldn’t get a response. Her head was about to explode. An internal fire scorched her eyelids and forehead. The inferno scattered her thoughts. Words, sentences, regrets and numbing sadness coalesced into a garbled haze. She couldn’t part her lips. She couldn’t move her tongue. Trapped inside a paralyzed bag of bones, her mind screeched in despair as it struggled to regain control.

A low voice—strong, confident and relentless—commanded her attention. “That’s it. Let’s take a look at those big green eyes.”

His name hovered just beyond her grasp. Her memory was like a rippling pool of water. A masculine shadow danced against the crimson backdrop of her closed lids. The swift arc of a woodman’s ax reminded her of falling stars. Distorted images folded over each other until she saw a narrow face blanketed by strands of gold. She raced toward the safety promised in those piercing blue eyes and chased his apparition farther into the abyss.

The faster she ran, the more distant he became. Her grandmother stood at the edge of Scarlet’s vision, lying in wait until her savior tripped and fell. A splash of blood accompanied the sound of parting flesh. The scraping of a bone saw harmonized with Eleanor’s maniacal laughter. Scarlet’s wail was trapped in her throat. Her pleas went unheard by a hundred smiling faces. And then like all the others, his head was on a spike. White, unseeing eyes accused her of drawing him into a deadly game for which he had no stake.

Roughened fingers smoothed damp hair off her face. Callused palms chilled her cheek. “Forget everything else. Just focus on lifting your lids.”

Something cold, wet, and coarse traced a line from the corner of her eye to her temple. The friction caused a series of painful tugs, but the cool contact alleviated the oppressive heat. Her vision shifted from red to black as the wiping motion was mirrored on the other side of her face.

“Try again. We’re running out of options. You need to get your head in the game and wake the hell up.”

Part of her bristled at his tone. The last thing she needed was someone else bossing her around. But her eyelids no longer felt as if they had been glued shut. Relief overcame indignation.

She concentrated on the muscles just under her brows. After what felt like forever, a sliver of light broke through the black curtain. Instinct made her recoil from the painful flash to seek the dark once more.

She heard a soft pitter-patter followed by rustling sounds. “I dimmed the light. Come on, lazybones. You must be tired of sleeping by now.”

He was right. She wanted nothing more than to escape this prison. Wherever his voice came from, it was miles away from the oppressive yoke of guilt and duty. For the first time in her life, she yearned to escape. Accusing gazes dogged her heels as she forced her lids to lift. When she succeeded, her hazy vision focused on a circular shape. It took a moment before she realized she was staring down the barrel of a pistol.

“No hard feelings, but I can’t take my finger off the trigger until you say something.”

Her eyebrows drew together as she struggled to comprehend his threat. She had been bitten. He had no way of knowing if she was alive or undead. Though her first instinct was to reassure him, it felt as if a web had sealed her mouth shut. It took a staggering amount of effort to extend her tongue and moisten her lips. How was she supposed to make her way home if she could barely summon the energy to confirm her mental competence?

“Won’t…eat…you.” Her words felt like sandpaper as they scraped past her throat. She didn’t recognize her own voice.

“I’m tempted to change your mind.” He lowered the weapon. One corner of his mouth quirked into a crooked grin.

The compulsion to get back on her feet dissipated into naught. Her attention flitted to the dimple on his cheek a moment before she lost herself in those blue eyes. At long last, she remembered his name.

Something about Marcus’ face looked different, but she couldn’t quite place the source. Wanting to touch him, she tried to lift her arm. It seemed as if she were buried under a pile of bricks. She furrowed her brows as consternation flooded her awareness. What was wrong with her?

He placed his sidearm on the floor and leaned forward. Something shifted over her right hand. She breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers laced through hers. If she could sense contact, there was still a chance she would be able to move.

His voice was low and soothing. “Don’t worry. All your body parts are still there. You’re just covered in snow.”

She managed to tilt her chin by an inch and saw a mound of white. Her heart raced as fear reared its ugly head. How could she know he was telling the truth? “I need to see…”

“I get it. Give me a second.” He scooped the snow off her. As the weight lessened, her pulse decelerated. Again, she tried to move and failed. The gut-wrenching horror must have showed on her face.

“You’re just a little weak. Hold on.” His closed his hand over her wrist and lifted her arm. Once it appeared in her line of vision, calm settled in. “See. No need to freak out.”

Her lungs deflated. She could feel the soaking wet T-shirt on her chest and against her thighs. The sensation brought a modicum of comfort. “Why?”

He placed her palm on her belly. “Your fever was high enough to fry your brain. It’s how infected patients become undead. Even now, you’re running so hot I have to dump fresh snow over you every hour or so.”

Her ears registered the sound of trickling water. She managed to twist her head to the right. A glance confirmed she was lying on the bathroom floor. “The storm…How long?”

He rose, limiting her field of vision to his denim-clad calves and bare feet. “You’ve been unconscious for three days, but the storm just hit last night. It’s a good thing you came to. I ran out of IV fluid twelve hours ago.” He started to walk away.

“No. Please…don’t.” The thought of him leaving filled her with panic.

He stilled. “I’m just going to the stove.”

Part of her brain chided her own foolishness. Every aspect of her current behavior seemed irrational. Yet it took several calming breaths before she gave him permission to continue. “Don’t take long.”

Until he returned, time was a slow ebb, marked only by the sound of water. She watched him place a shiny metal cylinder and a pillow on one of the few patches of dry concrete next to her. Then he bent down until his face was against the floor. For reasons she couldn’t explain, looking into his eyes made her feel a thousand times better.

“I need you to swallow some chow. You’re severely dehydrated.”

Eating was the last thing she felt capable of doing. “I can’t. My head hurts.” Even to her own ears, she sounded whiny. At least her vocal cords seemed to be back under her control.

A wide smile made lines form at the corners of his eyes. He sat up and cradled the back of her head with one hand. He tilted her face to meet the ceiling before a scoop of snow landed on her forehead. She experienced pure bliss.

But too soon after, lines of tepid liquid flowed down the side of her face and soaked her hair. It didn’t take long before her head burned once more.

“If you want me to do that again, you need to do as I say.” His threat held a teasing note.

She pouted before accepting the trade with a tilt of her head. He closed both hands around her shoulders and lifted. She nestled into his broad chest and filled her lungs. She wanted to stay there, but he quickly lowered her back onto the floor. This time, a pillow propped up her neck and back.

Not ready to ingest food, she stalled. “Your face changed.”

Judging from the twinkle in his eye, her evasive tactic hadn’t fooled him. “I shaved, that’s all.”

Her eyelids fluttered as an earlier memory of him resurfaced. “Before…you had hair on your face.”

He gave her a measuring look. “I still do—it’s called a beard. It’s just shorter now.”

Though she had read the word in books, she had never heard it spoken out loud. A request slipped out. “May I touch it?”

There was something calculating about the way he scrutinized her. “Why do you want to?”

Because complex thought was too difficult, she answered with the truth. “I’ve never seen one up close before.”

He placed his palm over her forehead. “You’re still burning up. Chances are you’re not going to remember any of this.” She couldn’t tell if his words were directed to her or himself.

Her brows drew together. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shook his head and made an exasperated sound. “You’re delirious. I’m taking advantage of a hundred-pound helpless woman who is clearly
non compos mentis
.”

His hair was a tangled mess—she wanted to run her fingers through it. “I’m a lot heavier than I look and am of very sound mind.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Now where did a girl like you learn Latin?”

She snorted. “I didn’t. I just like to read old legal mysteries.”

“Me too.” He sounded curious. “Any idea where I can get my hands on some?”

Since it felt nice to share, she offered, “I have a bunch stashed away in my cottage. I’ll show you where it is when I get better.”

He leaned forward. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal all your stuff?”

She considered the possibility. “It’s okay. I’ll probably be dead soon.” She wondered if she sounded as forlorn as she felt. “Corpses can’t read.”

“Why do you think you’re in danger?” He placed his hand on her cheek.

She looked into his eyes. “Can you keep a secret?”

He nodded. “It’s sort of my job.”

For some reason, his meager assurance was enough. “My grandmother wants to kill me,” she whispered, “and I might have to let her.”

His gaze turned flinty. “Why?”

It was surprisingly easy to answer his question. “Because if I don’t, hundreds of other people will die.” Not willing to deal with the overwhelming sense of moroseness, she shifted her attention to the task at hand. “But before I do all that, I want to touch your face.”

He was silent for a long moment. Just when she became certain he was about to refuse, he lifted her fingers with his free hand and pressed them against his jaw. “Happy now?”

She lost herself in the dichotomous of sensation. She hadn’t thought a face could be smooth and rough at the same time. Tiny pinpricks scraped over her skin, but they didn’t feel at all painful. She wondered what it would be like to press her lips where her fingers lingered. Would he let her? “Why did you shave your…” She paused to search for the word he used. “Beard?”

Her gaze lowered to the small lump at the center of his throat. It lifted and fell before he answered. “Do I look better without it?”

She compared her memory of him to his current appearance. Without the layer of grime and facial hair, it was easier to catalog his features. He had a wide forehead and a cleft on his chin. His face was narrow, his cheekbones high, and his jaw was set at a sharp angle. The bridge of his nose was a straight line from his forehead and ended in a sharp point. His upper lip was thin and his lower one full. It made him appear as if he were always smiling.

And because the beard’s removal made it easier for her to see that smile, she nodded.

His cheeks dimpled. “I live to please damsels in distress. Now…” He gently lowered her hand to her lap. “I need you to eat something.”

Without waiting for her response, he reached for the metal cylinder. After shaking it, he unscrewed the top. She sighed before reluctantly taking a sip. The warm brew’s acrid taste almost made her choke.

“What is that?” she asked once she managed to ingest a small mouthful.

He continued to press the container’s opening against her lower lip. “I added a few nutrition packets to hot water. Bottoms up, Red. You need the calories.”

“Whatever this calorie thing is, I don’t need it that badly.” When he stared her down, her eyes grew moist. The sudden manifestation of weakness horrified her. She was acting like a child and had no idea why.

“Those puppy-dog eyes won’t work on me.” His voice was stern, but his hand lowered by a quarter of an inch. “If you didn’t want to drink this, you shouldn’t have broken into a building full of undead.”

The man had a very good point. Nonetheless, she eyed the liquid and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I can. It makes me gag.”

His determined expression softened by a fraction. “You have to try. You haven’t eaten in three days. I’m surprised the IV drip managed to keep you alive. The URV in your bloodstream probably helped.”