Stephenie Meyer - The Chemist

Closer, her blood pulsed. Closer.

And then he suddenly jerked away, his mouth sliding from hers with a choked gasp. An anxious whine sounded at her feet. She leaned over and saw Einstein with his jaws locked on Daniel’s ankle. Einstein whimpered again.

“Einstein, at ease, ” he growled, kicking to free his foot. “Get off.”

Einstein let him go, looking to her nervously.

“At ease!” Her voice was husky. “It’s okay.”

With a hesitant huff, Einstein dropped out of the open hatch.

Daniel rolled up and slammed the door shut. He turned toward her on his knees, his pupils dilated and his eyes wild. He gritted his teeth as if he were fighting for some kind of control.

She reached up for him, her fingers stretching to hook into the waistband of his jeans, and he collapsed into her with a low groan.

“Alex, Alex,” he breathed against her neck. “Stay with me. Don’t leave.”

Even in the frenzy of the moment, she was aware what he was asking. And she meant what she said when she answered, knowing it could be the worst kind of mistake.

“I will,” she promised roughly. “I won’t.”

Their mouths locked together again, and she could feel his heart drumming a syncopated rhythm against her own, aligned beneath their skin because his mirrored hers.

The shrill peal of the phone pierced through the lower register sounds – the double heartbeat, the gasping breaths – and had her pushing away from him in a different kind of panic.

He shook his head quickly once, eyes closed, as if trying to remember where he was.

She sat up, looking for the source of the sound.

“I’ve got it,” Daniel said, gasping. He shoved his hand in his jeans pocket as the phone pealed again.

He looked at the number, then hit Answer with his thumb. With his left hand, he pulled her back against his chest.

“Kev?” Daniel answered between pants.

“Danny – hey, are you guys safe?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like you’re running a marathon.”

“The phone scared me. Nerves a little frayed, you know.” He lied so smoothly that she almost smiled in spite of the tumult inside her.

“Oh, right, sorry. Let me talk to Oleander.”

“You mean Alex?”

“Whatever. Give her the phone.”

She tried to slow her breathing, to sound normal. “Yes?”

“What? Don’t tell me the phone scared you, too.”

“I am not a black ops agent. And it’s been a very long night.”

“I’ll keep it quick. I found my guy. Does the name Deavers mean anything to you?”

She thought for a second, working to pull her mind back to the things that mattered. “Yes, I know the name. It was on some of the files when information was being extracted for the CIA. He never came in to monitor an interrogation, though. Is he a supervisor over there?”

“He’s more than a supervisor. He’s second in command these days, with an eye to moving up. He was one of several potentials I was monitoring. Early this morning, Deavers gets a call, punches a few walls, then makes his own call. I know this guy – he loves to make the peons scurry. He doesn’t leave his office; he sends an aide to bring the person he wants to him. Always the power play. But after that second call, he goes running out to see your man Carston like a gofer. They met up at a random little residential park miles away from both their offices and then went for a leisurely and sweaty walk, looking like they wanted to murder each other the whole time. It’s Deavers, for sure.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Hmm. I think I still want the e-mail. I need to see who else knows about this. Taking out Deavers won’t be too hard, but it just tips the other guys off if he’s not alone. Have you got a pen?”

“Gimme a sec.”

She crawled to the front seat and located her backpack. She dug for a pen, then scribbled the e-mail address he gave her onto the back of a gas receipt.

“When?” she asked.

“Tonight,” he decided. “After you’ve gotten some sleep and have your nerve back.”

“I’ll send it from Baton Rouge. Do you have a script or do you want me to wing it?”

“You know the gist. Don’t make it sound too cerebral.”

“I think I could channel some caveman.”

“Perfect. Once you trade cars with the McKinleys, start heading up here.” He switched to his library voice, but Daniel was so close it was a wasted effort. “Danny going to give you trouble about staying behind?”

She tilted her face up toward Daniel’s. It was easy to read his reaction.

“Yeah. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea anyway. Call me paranoid, but I don’t believe in safe houses anymore.”

Daniel bent down to press his lips hard against her forehead, which made it difficult to pay attention to what Kevin was saying.

“…figure a place for Lola. How bad is your face? Oleander?”

“Huh?”

“Your face. What does it look like?”

“Big bandage across my left jaw and ear.” As she spoke, Daniel leaned closer to examine her wounds and then drew in a sharp breath. “Plus all the original fun.”

“That could play,” Kevin said. “Lola’s injured, too. I’ll feed them a story that will keep them satisfied.”

“Who?”

“The dog-boarding place for Lola. Damn, Ollie, you need some sleep. You’re getting dumber by the second.”

“Maybe I’ll write your e-mail now, while I’m in the right frame of mind.”

“Call me when you’re on the road again.” Kevin hung up.

“You’re bleeding through the bandage,” Daniel said anxiously.

She handed him the phone. “It’s fine. I should have glued it last night.”

“Let’s take care of it now.”

She looked up at his face – the panic and ferocity in his eyes had dimmed to simple concern. His chest was still slick with sweat, but his breathing was regular. She wasn’t sure she had reached a similar state of calm.

“ Right now?” she asked.

He gave her a measured look. “Yes, right now.”

“Is it bleeding that much?” She touched the gauze gingerly but felt only a bit of warm wet. From his expression, she’d expected blood to be gushing out in a torrent.

“It’s bleeding; that’s enough. Where is the first-aid kit?”

With a sigh, she turned to the piled duffels. The wrong one was on top, so she had to readjust. While she dug, she felt his fingers cautiously brushing along her left shoulder blade.

“You’re all over bruises,” he murmured. His fingers followed the line of her arm. “These look fresh.”

“I got tackled,” she admitted as she pulled out the kit and turned around.

“You never told me what happened in the house,” he commented.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Okay. I don’t want you to know.”

Daniel took the first-aid kit from her hands and then crossed his legs and set it between them. She followed suit with a heavy sigh, angling the left side of her face toward him.

Gently, he started easing the tape from her skin.

“You can do that faster,” she told him.

“I’ll do it my way.”

They sat in silence for a moment while he worked. The stillness allowed her body to remind her how exhausted she was.

“Why don’t you want me to know?” he asked as he dabbed a medicated wipe against her skin. “Do you think I can’t handle it?”

“No, I just…”

“What?”

“The way you look at me now. I don’t want that to change.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

She shrugged in response.