Wicked Lies: A Dark Mission Novella (7 page)

Then her other hand settled over his eyes, cool and gentle, and Danny could have sworn that the ache in his battered flesh began to fade.

Wishful thinking, maybe.

“I can’t magically knit you up,” she told him. He listened, but the cadence of her voice settled into his head like a lullaby. Lulling. Soothing. “I can start the process, and you’ll heal a lot faster this way, but it still has to go through the steps. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“’Kay,” he murmured.

“Sleep as much as you can. Just do me a favor, kiddo.” Her voice whispered across his senses. Magic? He wouldn’t even know how to tell.

“What?”

“Go easy on him. He’s handled a lot of shit for us.”

Danny let out a long, slow breath, aware of a knot loosening somewhere in his gut. His chest. “You know that I—” That he what? Liked the man?

Wanted him to like Danny back?

“Hell, no,” she chuckled. “I don’t know shit about shit, on average.” Her other hand settled over his heart, and suddenly Danny’s eyes grew heavy under her palm. He fought back a yawn. “But I know what I see when I see it. Sleep, Danny. You’re safe.”

As he drifted off, lulled into complacency by her husky voice and some sense of relief, she murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “Christ, he’s young.”

Chapter Five

F
IFTEEN HOURS OF
uninterrupted sleep left Danny feeling disoriented, but Jonas had been there with a cup of soup when he awoke. An hour later put Jonas at his side once more, changing bandages, checking the progress of whatever it was Naomi had done. He’d been able to shower and shave, despite the fine tremor that made holding a razor near his bruised flesh a dubious prospect at best.

He’d been handed a bag, found a pair of his own jeans, a T-shirt, socks and underwear, and an old sweatshirt patched at the elbows packed inside it. Bless Grams. He’d never been so grateful to find a new toothbrush. Or so embarrassed when he found a handful of condoms and lubrication in a side pocket.

He hoped his grandmother hadn’t checked the contents of the bag before repacking it for him.

Dressing tapped the last of his reserves. Staggering back out into the living room, he all but tumbled face-first into the sofa.

“Go back to sleep,” Jonas ordered gently. “You need it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” His eyes crinkled with a smile. “I’ll be right here.”

And because Jonas
had
been right there, sitting on the floor by Danny’s shoulder as he flicked through the feeds on a portable monitor, Danny obeyed.

When he awoke five hours later, it was to an empty apartment.

Dread sent him bolt upright, a soft blue blanket sliding to the floor as he grabbed the edges of the couch. “Jonas?” His voice broke through the shadows of the room, battered at the hazy, panic-ridden images of his dreams.

There was no answer. No easy smile, no quiet, reassuring clatter of keys.

Danny shook his head, too aware of the silence. Of a dull rushing noise in his ears, of his rising terror.

Splaying a hand across his chest, he traced the outlines of bandages. They constricted his ribs as he took a deep breath, banded tightly enough that he wondered if he’d broken a few after all. His ribs twinged, reminding him exactly why he lay on an unfamiliar couch, in an unfamiliar room. But as he raised that hand to his face, he felt only the angles of his own jaw. His cheek. No pain, no swelling.

And he could see completely out of both eyes.

“Holy—” He swallowed the word that would get him swatted by his grandmother, raking his hand through his hair instead. Without the gel he used to push it back from his face, it fell over his forehead in a spiky fringe.

He was whole. He was free, and he was alive. Progress.

“Jonas?” He swung his legs off the couch, and when nothing in his body threatened to implode, rose to his feet. Easier than he expected.

Nothing moved. The monitor he vaguely remembered watching over Jonas’s shoulder remained dark. Empty.

Abandoned.
Danny blew out a breath, turned away from the empty kitchenette.

Light seamed out from under the bathroom door.

Relief nearly stole the balance he’d managed to find. His ears weren’t blowing static at him; the shower was on. Now he could hear it for what it was, place the sound behind that door. Streaming water, a dull rush of it. Jonas must be in there.

As if all his body needed was that final signal, a clean bill of health, a picture of the man rose in Danny’s mind. His brown hair slicked back by a steady rain, his glasses no longer a shield over those dark green eyes. Water would be sliding down his bare chest, streaming across his narrow shoulders, his pale skin.

Caressing him everywhere Danny could only—

“Jesus!” He sank back to the couch, one hand closing over the front of his jeans. Adjusting himself before his sudden erection caused real damage against his tight zipper, he blew out another long breath and forced his gaze away from the bathroom door.

Go easy on him.

Jonas wasn’t the problem here.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt lust at first sight. Longer still since he’d made a complete idiot of himself over a guy.

He still didn’t even know if Jonas was the type of man who would even be into him. Most of the time, he could ask. It was a straightforward game, one he’d gotten pretty good at. But somehow, he couldn’t work up the nerve.

Are you gay?

No, it wasn’t that easy. Not after he’d already stuck his clumsy fingers into an open wound. Danny dropped his face into his hands. How insensitive could he be? The man used crutches, he hobbled like it hurt to walk, and Danny had drawn attention to it.
Are you okay?

Like an idiot.

The shower cut off.

Danny jerked upright, wincing as his side pulled. Not nearly as bad as it was only—he looked for a clock, found one next to the monitor and calculated fast—twenty-one hours ago. A hell of a lot better than he had any right to expect. Naomi’s “heretical thing” felt like it’d saved him weeks of pain.

He’d take it, and thank her later.

Danny rose to his feet, straightened his wrinkled sweatshirt and padded to the kitchenette rather than wait for Jonas to come out of the shower. Like some kind of creep.

Like a kid with a crush.

He was halfway through heating up leftover soup on the stove when the bathroom door opened. A square of bright light spilled into the apartment, outlining a long, thin silhouette. The light flicked off almost immediately, and Jonas crossed into the room on arrhythmic feet.

Danny glanced over his shoulder.

Swallowed his tongue.

Dark eyes behind glinting glass met his, and Jonas froze.

“You’re up.” That beautiful tenor was hoarse.

Danny swallowed hard. Very firmly forced himself to look away from the bare skin of his chest, the way the single lamp painted his half-naked body in golden luminosity. “Yeah. Want some soup?” Shoulders tight, he stared at the small, dented pot and blindly stirred its contents.

Nothing moved behind him.

Get dressed
, Danny thought, panic clawing in his throat.

No, that wasn’t right. Not panic.
Want.

Because every inch of his body was viscerally aware of Jonas behind him, wearing only a pair of loose jeans low on his thin hips, his bare feet peeking out from the long hems. A towel draped over his still-damp shoulders, catching droplets of water from his slicked-back hair. Even still, he’d seen the rivulets sliding down his pale chest.

Catching in the rippled, discolored scars curving over one hip.

Heat simmered low in his gut. Sympathy—curiosity—struggled to take shape in his brain. He bit down on the urge to ask.

Not again.

Eventually—
finally!
—clothing rustled behind him. “Sorry for the noise,” came the muffled words. Through a shirt, maybe. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“Woke up about five minutes ago.” He stirred the soup as if his life depended on it. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. In his dick.

Go easy on him.

Oh, Jesus. Someone needed to tell Jonas to go easy, too.

“How are you feeling, kid?” A light flicked on, turning the too-intimate apartment into something brighter. Less cozy.

Danny flinched, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted and concentrated on getting the soup off the stove. Pouring the remnants into two mismatched mugs. No drops spilled. A small victory. “Good. Surprisingly good, actually.” He caught himself about to blow on the mug not his. “Soup’s on. Careful, it’s hot.”

An off-kilter step was all the warning Danny received before he was there, reaching for the mug in Danny’s hand. Jonas’s body heat pushed through the thin barrier of Danny’s sweatshirt, soaked into his skin, his senses. Soap and toothpaste. Sexiest thing he’d ever smelled. And this from simply standing behind him.

Eyes almost crossing at the other man’s nearness, Danny pushed the mug into his hands and turned away. The apartment didn’t offer much safety. Small as it was, he’d be lucky if he walked out of here without a permanent hard-on.

“Ribs okay?” Jonas asked lightly, apparently unaware of the blood surging in Danny’s veins. He cradled his mug in one hand, hobbling to the couch with practiced care.

When he sank into the far cushion, away from the blanket nest Danny had made while he slept, Danny’s mind detonated. Images assailed him. Jonas bent over that couch, the skin of his back warm and damp after his shower.

His cheek pressed to the cushion, fingers tight in the fabric as Danny licked a path down his spine.

That sweet, angelic voice moaning his name.

His body clenched, cheeks heating so fast, he half expected to see steam rising from his own skin. Clearing his throat, Danny leaned against the only available counter. He could stay right here. Forever, if he had to. “Good,” he managed. “Thanks. I should be ready to go anytime.”

Jonas’s lips curved into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but you’re stuck here until the furor dies down.”

“Furor?”

“Your loss won’t go unnoticed. As the only link to the ghost and her rebellion, you’re too important to just let vanish.” He raised the mug to his lips, pursed them and blew.

A groan fisted in Danny’s chest.

“Just stay here and get lots of rest. I’ll keep in touch with the right people.” Jonas’s eyes flicked to his. “Relax, kid. You’ll be back to your old life in no time.”

But as Danny stared into those mottled green eyes, his pulse loud and too fast in his veins, he read the truth. Knew it as obviously as if God himself had sent down a neon sign.

His old life would never be the same. Not now that he’d met Jonas.

Son of a bitch.

J
ONAS WAS GOING
crazy.

The safe house was too damned small for the both of them. Everywhere he turned, there was Danny. Four hours of avoiding him wasn’t working. Four hours of concentrating on what minimal information the feeds gave him, four hours of flipping through entertainment garbage, four hours of what scrap amounts of work he could do on his portable—none of it helped.

He couldn’t avoid the kid any more than he could avoid breathing.

For the third time in fifteen minutes, Danny sat up, elbowed his pillow to within an inch of submission, and flopped back.

Jonas glanced over his shoulder, his fingers pausing on the small keyboard in front of him. “You should be sleeping.”

“I’m beyond ever wanting to sleep again.” Practically a growl.

Because his eyes were tightly closed, Jonas allowed the helpless smile to pull at his mouth. There was something insidiously charming about Danny Granger. Something that made Jonas want to get up, scoot over, and lean against that couch to stare at the individual lashes fanning his cheeks.

And that was the dumbest thing he’d ever thought.

Jerking back around, flinching as the motion twisted pain up his spine, he glared at the monitor and couldn’t remember what he’d been doing. The cursor blinked at him, taunting from the end of a line of code.

Another frustrated sound, the now-familiar rustle of a pillow shoved into place, and he sighed. It took some effort to get to his feet, but with the help of the small, scarred wood coffee table, he managed. “Okay,” he said, forcing himself to sound as good-natured as he didn’t actually feel. “I’ll make you something to drink.”

“I don’t want something to drink.” Danny’s eyes opened as Jonas limped by. Pinned on him with bad-tempered annoyance clear in their near-black depths. “I’m going crazy over here.”

Jonas’s heart leapt into his mouth. Stumbling over nothing on the carpet, his adrenaline levels shot through the roof as his body jerked itself into an awkward kind of balance.

“Jonas?”

His head snapped around. Danny hesitated at the end of the couch, his dark eyebrows knotted. Concern?

Pity.

He swallowed, teeth gritted, and forced a smile. “Don’t sweat it, kid. You need to stay hydrated.” No problems here. Everything was exactly what it needed to be. In a day, two at the most, Danny wouldn’t need a touchstone anymore.

And Jonas could be free.

“Fine.” Not the most gracious of capitulations, but he’d take it. “What about you?”

“What about me?” He bent, gripping the refrigerator door handle, and fished out one of the energy boosters he’d picked up at the corner store two blocks away. He set it on the counter, grabbed the carton of protein mix he’d included for his reluctant patient, nudged the door closed with a hip. He reached into the single, chipped cabinet for two glasses.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Jonas didn’t even see him move, didn’t realize he’d gotten off his sick-couch. Suddenly, Danny was in his space, reaching over his shoulder and plucking the can from the counter. The line of his chest pressed against Jonas’s upper arm, seared through cloth and skin and bone.

The wild rush of adrenaline foiled once, surged back into his heart. His veins.

Stupid.

“You need real food,” Danny told him, tucking the energy booster out of reach behind him. Jonas whirled, mouth open, then found every muscle locked into place as Danny’s eyes sparkled inches from his. “I’ve been watching you not eat. You can’t survive off soup and this crap.”