Rogue's Passion (6 page)

“Don’t act stupid,” he growled. “Like you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you did it for her, you sure as hell are going to do it for me.”
 

Déjà vu with déjà dick.
 

How the hell had she found herself in another situation like this? Did she give off a vibe that said, “
I have a secret that needs to be exploited?”
Was she some kind of jerk magnet? She flexed her hands and wished she had the nerve to punch him right in the face. She’d hit him on the left side of that chiseled jaw and knock him flat on his ass.
 

Ding ding ding. And the winner by TKO is—

“Whoa,” he said, holding up a palm. “You need to relax.”

She choked out a bitter laugh. Few things pissed her off more than someone who told her to relax. It was condescending and rude. Other than her gynecologist or a masseuse, no one else had the right to say that, otherwise they got lumped into the category of Total Asshole. And right now, this guy was at the top of the pile.
 

“I don’t appreciate being called stupid.”

He looked confused and took a step backward. She wasn’t expecting that.
 

“I didn’t.”
 

“Oh really?”

“But I apologize for giving you that impression.”
 

She exhaled and slowly unclenched her fists. She wasn’t expecting that reaction from him, either. It was possible she’d spent too much time recently in a world where insults and intimidation were the fuel you needed to beat the crap out of someone. Maybe she’d heard him wrong and overreacted.
 

He cast a furtive glance behind him. “You do need to heal me, however. How long is it going to take?”

How long?

Another injured man had asked her the same question in the makeshift training room of an underground fight club. They hadn’t known she was a Healer-Talent and just assumed she was going to apply a few bandages. Why she’d let David drag her there in the first place was beyond her, because they’d only dated a few times. But he was charming, had money, and she was an idiot.
 

David hadn’t wanted to spend the money to hire a trained cutman, so when his best fighter split open his eyebrow in the locker room five minutes before the main event, Olivia had idiotically offered to help. The compulsion to heal every little injury was something she’d learned to control, but when the injured fighter told her he’d been thinking of joining the army in order to provide for his family, that was the last straw. She should’ve fought the urge to heal him, but she didn’t, and then David put two and two together.
 

You’re working for me, sugar, and if you refuse, I’m sure the army will be very interested to hear about an unregistered Healer-Talent.

It had taken her a month to set up a new identity, but as soon as she had, she’d left and never looked back.
 

“Come on,” Asher said, jolting her away from her thoughts. “What are you waiting for?” He stared at her with that penetrating, astute gaze he’d used on her before. There was no way she was going to get around him. He was ready for her this time.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I…I can’t. At least not right away. Healing that woman took too much of my energy. I don’t have much left.”
 

His gaze ran over her body. “I’m guessing you have enough.”
 

Enough for him, maybe, but it’d leave her with nothing. She’d be stuck until her energy levels built back up enough for her to walk out, but who knew if she had the time? “And if I refuse?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Then I’m telling the authorities I saw you bring a woman back from the dead.”
 

It felt as if she’d been slapped. “You can’t,” she choked.

“I can and I will unless you help me.”
 

Her blood ran ice cold. Just like David, this guy was going to use her to get what he wanted. Fine. It wasn’t as if she had much choice. She’d do what he wanted and when it was over, she’d pray that no one came for her before she could run again. “I won’t be able to heal you completely.”
 

“I need to walk out under my own power. That’s all I’m asking.”

She slipped on her jean jacket and slung the strap of her messenger bag over her head to free her hands. She must’ve moved too quickly because the room started spinning. Healing another human so soon was going to be hard work, she thought, placing a palm on the wall to steady herself.
 

In a flash, a strong, muscular arm was around her waist, steadying her. “What the hell?” His breath was warm on her cheek.
 

“Did you think I was lying?” she asked. “That woman was in really bad shape. She was almost dead, so it took everything I had to bring her back. Healing energy is finite and needs to be replenished. I don’t have an unlimited power source.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her tight.
 

“Stop all your movin’ around, lass,” he said, a shadow of pain darkening his features. “You’re killing me.”
 

Since when had she given him permission to give her a nickname? To her surprise, though, she didn’t hate it. It reminded her of something a conquering Scottish hero would say.
 

The side of his muscular body pressed into her. God, he smelled fantastic. Not perfumey or cologne-ish, but rugged, working-man good. Along with the touch of alcohol on his breath, she detected soot and ash, motor oil, soap, and a subtle yet musky, all-male scent. She started to take another long inhale of him.
 

“There you go,” he said, his voice gravelly, his lips inches from her ear. “Breathe. That’s it. Do you need to sit down?” The vibration of his voice hummed through her body like a finely tuned motor.

“No, I’m…I’m feeling a little better. You should sit. You’re the one who was almost killed.” She placed her hands gently on his chest to push him away. He was warm, his muscles well defined and very hard. Although she was barely touching him, healing energy rushed unbidden from her fingertips, mending his broken leg and the torn cartilage in his knee. But it was too much, too fast. The room spun around her and her knees buckled.
 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists and held them away as if they were covered in mud.

Somehow she found herself lying on the floor with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly leaning over her, a look of worry plastered to his handsome face. She must’ve passed out because she had the distinct impression that she’d been in his arms a moment ago.
 

“What happened?” Asher asked, his brows furrowed with concern.
 

“I…I don’t know. It’s never been…that easy before. I wasn’t expecting…the pull was so strong.” She normally had better control. Once the connection was made, she could best describe it as a push of energy that took a bit of effort, like forcing honey through a thin needle. Expecting the room to still be spinning, she slowly sat up. But the room wasn’t spinning and neither was her head. She felt almost back to where she had been before she healed him, which was odd because she used a lot of energy. “Here, let me finish.”

“No,” he said, his eyes hooded and dark.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, woman, but not if it’s going to do this to you.”

A man had never addressed her as
woman
before, either. She couldn’t decide if she liked the dominating way it sounded or not.
 

Maybe a barbarian from Cascadia would speak like that, but not—

Wait. She narrowed her eyes and examined him more closely. Dark hair.
Check.
Slight accent.
Check.
Hiding some secrets, which you would expect if you were a Cascadian in New Seattle.
Big check.
 

Was he…?
 

No. He couldn’t be. He was just your run-of-the-mill, normal, everyday bad boy that she always found so damned attractive but had sworn to stay away from.

A sound near the door—a cough—interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head and every muscle went rigid.

Right there under the torn Grape and Bean awning were the man and woman from the army vehicle. When she was healing Monique, she’d been startled half to death when they pulled up. She’d assumed they had figured out what she was doing and had come to bring her in. But they hadn’t. They disappeared into the crowd of people and she’d shrugged it off as paranoia.
 

Never underestimate your intuition
, she recalled her mother saying.
It’s rarely wrong.
 

“We’re from the AIU and we need to ask you some questions.” The woman’s voice was deep, almost masculine.
 

“The AIU?” Olivia asked.

“Army Investigative Unit.” The woman skirted around an overturned chair. “Since we were on the scene, the Institute for Army Affairs asked us to look into something.”

Panic shot through her veins like a drug from a needle. It was all she could do to remain outwardly calm. Officials from the Institute were the ones who’d taken her brother away.
 

“Your papers, please.”

“Don’t have them,” Asher said, looking down at his tattered clothes. “They were destroyed.”

“Same with mine.” She hoped to God they wouldn’t see her messenger bag on the floor. She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking.
 

Whenever she was nervous about something, she often visualized things down to the smallest detail. It was an imagery technique her father had taught her once.
 

“After you step through something in your mind,” he had told her, “the real thing doesn’t seem so daunting anymore.”

He also said to consider the worst that could happen and know things rarely turned out that way.

Now, inside the ruined wine shop, she pictured the woman cuffing her, the cold metal closing around her wrists. They’d explain how they’d seen her heal the woman and that she needed to come with them.
 

The man would grab her upper arm and escort her to a waiting vehicle, where the woman would open the back door for her. The man would put his hand on her head as she climbed in, because they do that on the reality cop shows. Was it to force someone inside when they didn’t want to go or was it a courtesy thing so you didn’t hit your head?
 

All she knew was that everyone would be watching, including the media, and within minutes, her picture would be posted on countless news blogs. Her life would no longer be her own. The army would own her. She’d never see her mother again.

“Okay then,” the woman said. “Let’s start with your names.”

Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but Asher spoke first. “Listen. I fucking… need…an ambulance. When will…another one…be available?”

She cut him a sidelong glance. He wasn’t serious, was he, or had he changed his mind about getting conventional medical treatment? Didn’t he know these people weren’t aid workers?

He jerked his chin to the right. “There’s also a poor soul over there…who wasn’t as lucky as we were. Will someone be coming by…to pick him up? Who notifies his wife?”
 

She was struck by how he made it sound as if they were a team. She decided to chime in and see where he was going with this. “I work here and that’s—I mean, that
was
my boss.”

The AIU woman unbuttoned her navy wool coat, then pulled a stylus and a digital tablet from an inner pocket. She consulted something on the screen, then closed the cover with an efficient snap. Looking up, she smiled warmly, as if they were all on the same side. Olivia wasn’t fooled. This had to be an interrogation technique.
 

“You’ll need to talk to someone out there,” she told Asher. “They’ll tag the body and get you some medical attention.” She turned back to Olivia. “Getting back to why we came here in the first place, are you the one who helped that female out there?”

Olivia swallowed nervously. “Me?” She looked back and forth between the two of them. She noticed Asher subtly kicking the fireman’s coat further behind the counter.

The woman appeared to be in her forties or fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair pulled off her face by two plain bobby pins. A few strands had slipped free and she kept pushing them away with the tip of her stylus. She must be growing her bangs out, Olivia thought. They were that awkward, in-between length, long enough to hang in your face but too short to tuck behind an ear.
 

The man, on the other hand, wore a black suit, skinny black tie, and shoes that, despite the soot and ash outside, somehow still held a shine. He studied her, his face devoid of emotion, making her feel like a one-celled organism on a glass slide. At least when someone showed a little emotion, you could pretend it was as bad as it would get. But when there was nothing, it made you think anything, even the most awful, was possible.
 

“Yes,” the woman said, a touch of impatience in her tone. “The redhead on the gurney. Was that
you
who helped her?”

Asher cleared his throat and answered for her. “No. Olivia was with me. We were here, inside the Grape and Bean when everything happened.”