Darkest Before Dawn (Page 52)

Yeah, he was pissed and he was letting her know it. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. In fact, if he had shouted at her, she wouldn’t be as nervous. The low whip of authority in his voice was like a tangible lash of reprimand that she felt.

She licked her lips before parting them to defend herself and promptly found herself hushed when he placed two fingers over her mouth and his gaze dared her to defy his silent dictate for her not to speak.

“We can’t move you until you’re out of the woods,” he said. “You lost a lot of blood and I’m giving you IV fluids and antibiotics. I was just coming in to see if you were awake and in pain, and you are both. So I’m giving you pain medicine so you can rest and heal.”

She stirred, the protest strong on her lips. She didn’t care how hurt she was. She was so close to freedom and home that she could taste it, and she didn’t want to waste another single day. Every hour that she was away from her family was an hour they believed the absolute worst.

“There will be no argument, Honor,” Hancock said in that cold voice of his. The one that made her shiver and become a weak coward. It disgusted her, and it made no sense that she could stand up to an entire terrorist organization and remain defiant in their attempts to hunt her down like an animal, and yet a single man had the capacity to freeze her and automatically make her back down with nothing more than words.

She was no fool, though. This man didn’t need to back up his words. Anyone with sense could see into this man’s eyes. He was a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. It would take someone awfully stupid to defy him, and she was not a stupid woman.

He pulled out a capped syringe and swabbed the end of her IV port. Though he had said he had her on IV fluids and medication, she hadn’t even noticed the restraint of the IV line leading to her right wrist. Fat lot of good it would have done her to accomplish the feat of getting up when she would have had to lug an IV pole behind her.

“This will only take a second. Relax and let it take hold,” he said, a soothing quality replacing his earlier bite.

She frowned when the burn of the medication first hit her veins, and she flinched. Hancock automatically rubbed his palm over her lower arm where the burn was the worst, but she wasn’t even sure he was doing it consciously. This was a man who seemed incapable of tenderness, and yet she knew it for the lie it was. He’d held her when nightmares had plagued her fractured sleep. He’d kissed her and comforted her when she’d awakened, afraid and confused.

She couldn’t figure this man out, but on some deep, instinctual level, she knew he wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t who he even thought he was. And he’d deny to his death that he had one ounce of gentleness in him.

She wasn’t sure the exact moment she’d decided to trust him. Maybe on some level it had been there from the start, even though she’d been wary of his intentions. His motive. But he’d kept his promise to get her far from A New Era’s reach, and, judging by the furnishings of this bedroom, they didn’t appear to be anywhere near the war-torn regions he’d extricated her from.

Already the medicine was making her fuzzy and she was only half conscious. Hancock started to rise, but with the last of her flagging strength, she lifted the arm with the IV attached and grasped his hand firmly so he couldn’t slip from her hold.

He looked down at her in surprise but made no effort to extricate his hand from hers. He said nothing. He merely waited for what she wanted to say.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He scowled, and she realized he had no liking for her thanking him. His reaction had been the same the first time she’d thanked him.

“For keeping your promise to me,” she managed to get out around the thickness of her tongue.

The last thing she registered as she finally succumbed to the medication was the dark, savage look of fury in his eyes. And something even more surprising.

Guilt.

CHAPTER 17

“YOUR wound is getting better,” Hancock said matter-of-factly.

His brisk and impersonal examination of Honor’s stitches told her that indeed he had no desire for her to remember those tender, unguarded moments that he thought she had no knowledge of.

“The swelling is almost gone from your knee. You should be able to walk on it in another day without pain.”

“Does that mean we can go home soon? Tomorrow?” she asked, grabbing on to those last words and holding them to her with unconcealed excitement.

His eyes flickered. She almost missed it before he turned away, pretending interest in one of her other more minor injuries. There was something there. Something he didn’t want her to see. It should have alarmed her, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She trusted him. He’d told her he’d get her safely from the reach of A New Era, and he’d done exactly that.

Then he shrugged. “It isn’t as easy as you seem to think it is. There are . . . things—plans—that must be put into place. It wouldn’t do to make any hasty moves. We aren’t out of danger yet.”

It was vague and yet it was a reminder to her that, regardless of the fact that she felt safe with him, they weren’t safe and they weren’t immune to an attack. She frowned, wishing she knew where the hell they were.

She hadn’t even seen one of Hancock’s men in the days she’d lain in this bed, in this isolated bedroom resting and healing. Hancock had brought her meals. Hancock had dressed and tended her wounds. He’d even helped her bathe, much to her mortification. But he’d helped her in the shower with brisk efficiency that made it appear as though it were the most mundane task in the world. He’d patiently washed her hair, shampooing it several times with each shower to rid the strands of the dye. And then there was the body scrubbing that had her face so scarlet that she likely resembled someone with a bad sunburn. But again, he’d merely been exacting and thorough as he cleaned the henna from her skin, returning it to its original sun-kissed state. If he was trying to make her solely dependent on him, he was doing a damn good job, because even the thought of someone else in her—this—room made her uneasy.