“Just do what I told you.”
There was a little bit of stuff in the turkey baster, so he added that to what she’d already drizzled over the cut. The process of sealing the wound wasn’t much different than using a glue stick to put a few pieces of leather together. Since Paige didn’t even squirm, he got it done with a minimum of fuss. Placing his hand on the darkened yet smooth skin of her ribs, he asked, “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Yeah. I may have busted a few when my shoulder was knocked out of joint.”
“Should I wrap it up or something?”
She looked back at him, wincing less than when she’d been steering the car down I-35. “They were busted, Cole. By now they’re probably just bruised. I knocked my shoulder back in place during the fight and it’s just a little sore now.”
“Damn, you’re tougher than I thought.”
“True, but it’s not all because of good genes and a perfect diet.”
Cole chuckled and placed his hand on her ribs again to verify what she’d told him. He was no doctor, but her ribs felt smooth and rounded just like they’re supposed to. The rest of her felt much the same way.
“A few more doses of that serum and you’ll toughen up,” she told him. “Just remember to take it only as you get hurt so your body uses it right away. After a while your system makes enough to heal a lot of wounds on its own. You won’t be able to shake off a bullet, but you won’t have to crawl to a hospital after every fight.”
“How about you shoot me up with that stuff before the fight?” Cole asked. “Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
“Sure, if you want to become an addict. Trust me, more than a few Skinners have learned that lesson the hard way. That feels nice.”
“That’s what all the junkies say.”
“No, what you’re doing with your hands. That feels nice.”
With his hands so close to Paige’s bare skin, he’d reflexively begun to rub her sides and work his way around until his fingertips brushed along the edges of her stomach. The rush of moving his hands up a little higher until he felt the bottom of her breasts against his thumbs was just as good as when he’d felt up Karen McKeag back in the eleventh grade. The big difference came when Paige rested her head back against his shoulder instead of jumping like she’d stuck her toe in the cigarette lighter of his dad’s hatchback.
“I’m feeling dirty,” she whispered.
Cole started to chew on her ear, but paused so he could ask, “Is this another test to see if I’ll let my guard down?”
“You already passed that one. This is a test to see how badly you want to take a shower with me.”
Before he could think of a cool response to that, the phone on the bedside table jangled loudly.
Paige sighed and said, “It’s probably Daniels.” She reached over, picked up the receiver and snapped, “This’d better be good…Excuse me?” She straightened up and gripped the phone tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “I won’t put a deposit down for anything else. Isn’t my cash good enough?” Just when it seemed she couldn’t get any madder, she said, “No, I won’t be making any calls. I won’t even be using this phone…What? You called me!” She slammed the receiver back onto its cradle, flipped her hair over her shoulders, and forced a smile onto her face. “Where were we?”
When the phone rang again, Cole lunged for it before Paige could knock it through a wall. “What?” he snarled.
This time it was Daniels. “I need something from one of Paige’s cases. It’s vital.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“Just one more thing and this ink may be ready for testing.”
“Call back in an hour.”
After a pause, Daniels grumbled, “Fine.”
Cole slapped the phone down and found Paige lying on the bed with her legs pulled up against her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. “Looks like you’re awaiting corporal punishment,” he mused.
“Would you be upset if I didn’t want to do this anymore?”
“You mean…do me anymore?”
She slowly looked up at him with eyes that were sorrier than those countless times she’d cracked him in the head or hit him below the belt during their sparring matches. The rest of her looked about ready to collapse. “Yes, but I don’t want you to think—”
Cole shook his head and held up his hand. Without another word, he walked around the bed, settled in behind her and draped an arm over her shoulder. Paige’s body felt warm and softer than he’d imagined she could be. Letting out a contented sigh, she relaxed so completely that he could feel her steely muscles conform to him.
“That feels nice,” she purred.
“Yeah. It really does.”
Cole awoke suddenly as memories of blood, fangs, and claws assaulted his brain. The quick flashes were like a slap on the inside of his face and brought his head straight up. Beside him, Paige shifted and rolled onto her back, and he saw that she’d gotten dressed while he was asleep. The room was still lit by the cheap fixture hanging near the bed, and her eyes clenched shut reflexively against the glare. The prospect of drifting back to sleep was an inviting one, but his system was already moving too fast for that to happen.
Of course, there was some help nearby.
The little syringe was on the bedside table near the clunky old phone. Cole reached for it and justified its use with ease. Paige knew best, and she’d said he could have one more dose. Then again, there wasn’t much call for it any longer. He was stiff and sore, but those sensations had soaked into his body like a coat of black and blue paint. When he flexed his leg, he resented feeling nothing more than the first aid glue tugging at his skin. The serum had already done its job. There was no good reason to have any more.
Still, if he closed his eyes, he could vividly remember the cool flow of the injection as the serum dimmed his lights while the healing took place. He imagined his senses would be dulled even more if he took the serum now. Without allotting too much of it to a wound, he could just lay back and drift away.
“Jesus,” he sighed as he set the syringe down.
The thought that he’d almost injected a serum mixed with an extract from Nymar blood just to get some sleep made him sick. Rather than dwell on it, he put the syringe back into Paige’s kit and rubbed his face. Not only was he covered in a crust of dirt, grime, sweat, and blood, but his senses were sharp enough to feel every last bit of it. Since he knew that getting back to sleep right away was an impossibility, he grabbed some spare clothes from his bag and took a shower.
Water flowed over his body in an uneven stream. The pressure was marginal, the massager setting didn’t work, and the temperature never strayed far from the lukewarm range, but just getting rid of all that filth made him feel like a new man. He toweled off, threw on some clothes that were somewhat cleaner than the ones he’d left behind, and walked back to the bed. Paige had curled into a ball and looked too comfortable to be disturbed.
He went to his phone and found a text message waiting for him. It was from MEG, and all it said was: CALL WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE. He went to the window to get a stronger signal, tapped the icon to dial the callback number, and waited through a few rings.
“Yeah?” Stu grunted.
“Is that how you answer the official MEG Branch 40 line?” Cole asked.
“It is when it’s just past four in the morning.”
“I got your message. What’s up?”
He couldn’t be sure, but Cole swore he heard a keyboard get kicked around just before an empty soda can rattled against the floor. “Have you checked any news sites?” Stu breathlessly asked. “Or watched TV? Turned on a radio?”
Cole answered, “No,” and was amazed by it. After spending so many years with a computer monitor in front of him, he’d always been connected to current events. Thanks to the little notes that popped up in the corner of his screen, he’d also known when a celebrity had a baby or which annoying asshole got voted off of which reality show.