Rogue's Passion(11)

A strange knot formed in his gut as he imagined what it would be like if she were paying that much attention to him. He recalled the sensation her fingers had made on his skin when she’d helped him into the chair. Her touch, though brief, had sent a soothing shot of energy through his body, numbing his pain and easing his discomfort for just a moment. He’d wanted more, hadn’t wanted her to stop.
Could she have a bit of the Healer’s Talent? Back home on the far side of the portal, those gifted with such Talents generally became village healers, midwives, and herbalists. But this beautiful young woman worked in a coffee and wine shop. Which were healing agents to some, he supposed.
Closing his eyes, he could almost smell a faint floral scent lingering in the air around him. It reminded him of the clusters of delicate white flowers that grew wild in the Cascadia forests.
He cradled his bad arm to his chest and tried to keep his breathing shallow. Even though he desperately wanted to fill his lungs with her scent to replace the chalky, sooty cloud he’d inhaled, it hurt too much. Every breath was painful and every cough felt as though his insides were being ripped apart.
Damn the Fates. He didn’t need this.
What he did need was to report back to the others. The Iron Guild had long suspected the army was behind the bombings in New Seattle, and now he’d seen it with his own eyes. But he was going to have trouble walking five steps, let alone getting back to his car parked several blocks away. Broken ribs notwithstanding, given how screwed up his knee was and the fact that he must’ve broken his collarbone too, driving a car was going to be next to impossible.
Opening his eyes, he noticed it had started raining again. Everyone on the street was getting drenched. Bloody hell. On top of everything else, he was going to have to deal with the weather now, too. Could his predicament get any worse?
Then he remembered Olivia’s employer near the back wall. Yes, things could be worse. Much worse.
Someone had draped an oversized jacket over Olivia’s shoulders. It fell to her knees, almost to the tops of her cowboy boots. The woman on the stretcher was moving and from where he sat, Asher had a better view of her now.
Bloody hell. Was Olivia’s patient the woman from the club? Monique? He narrowed his eyes and saw her red hair and blue sequined top. Yes, it had to be her. But hadn’t she been in the back when the explosion happened? She must’ve followed him outside, hoping to change his mind about leaving. An all-too-familiar feeling clawed and twisted at his insides that he might be responsible for the woman being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Don’t stop.” Monique’s voice carried through the din. He strained to hear more, but as soon as he shifted forward in his seat, he was again met by a sharp, stabbing pain.
Chewing on her bottom lip, Olivia glanced up and seemed to be searching the chaos around her. Looking for what? She turned back to the stretcher, rubbed her fingertips with her thumbs and touched the woman’s arm. With closed eyes, Monique smiled thinly. If the setting were different, he would’ve thought she was getting the world’s best massage. Olivia kept her fingertips on the woman’s forearm, and every few seconds, she’d slant a glance to the left and right, reminding him of a prey animal on the lookout for predators.
Why was she so nervous? Clearly, she was helping the injured woman. Healing her. Unless… And then it dawned on him.
She didn’t want anyone to know what she was doing.
It wasn’t just nerves he was reading in her expression. It was fear. Like she was afraid of being caught.
Suddenly, an aid worker in an orange vest appeared and Olivia jerked her hands away, confirming his suspicions. She’d done that when she’d touched him, too.
The man shouted into the walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder as he unlocked the brakes on the stretcher. “I don’t know,” he said. “Someone triaged her wrong, thinking her sitch was hopeless.” He paused for a moment, holding the device to his ear. “Well, she’s not dead, so get me a fucking ambulance.”
The aid worker quickly pushed Monique’s stretcher away, disappearing behind a parked car. Olivia rolled up the sleeves of the coat. Was she going to look for someone else who needed her help?
He was the one who needed her.
A plan began to form in his mind—a cruel one, yes, but honorable men, particularly those who were desperate, often had to make difficult choices.
Olivia turned just as he pushed himself up to a standing position, and their eyes met. She had a wild desperation to her expression, and for a moment, he thought she might shrug out of that huge coat and run like hell.