Protect Me

by Selma Wolfe

  “Look,” he said, and heaved out a sigh. He reached up and shoved his fingers through his hair, staring around the room. His shoulders dropped. “I don’t - I’m sorry, okay? You’re - you’re probably right. I just… I’m on my own here, and I didn’t know what else to do, and… You can keep a secret, right?” When he looked around at her his expression was more like the Rick she knew; the one that laughed easily and always looked like he was hopeful without being expectant. “I just need to show you, to give you an idea.”

  Hope stared at him. She trusted Rick with her own life. She’d already proven that, to herself if to nobody else, however unwise that decision might be.

  But could she trust Rick with his own life?

  She flicked her gaze up at his expectant face, his eyelashes lowered and his expression serious. Her gut clenched. As much as Hope wanted to refuse him, to grab his arm and drag him bodily upstairs,that wasn’t something she could do. If she insisted on autonomy over her life, then she couldn’t be a hypocrite. No matter how tempting it was.

  Hope inclined her head and watched Rick’s eyes light up.

  “If it’s truly that dangerous, you should get rid of it. But show me,” she said.

  As if he’d been holding his breath and waiting, Rick snatched up a wrapped razor on the counter. Hope forced herself not to react other than a slight widening of her eyes.

  “Don’t freak out,” Rick said wryly.

  Then he turned his arm to expose the vulnerable underside of his forearm, and slashed a bright red line down its length.

  Hope made a sudden, horrified movement that went nowhere. “What are you doing?” she breathed.

  She wasn’t sure if she was comforted or not when Rick grimaced in pain. He held up a finger.

  “Wait,” he said. “Trust me, I’m not doing this recreationally.”

  He reached for the test tube lying on the counter in front of him. There was time for Hope to catch a quick glimpse of the small amount of clear liquid inside. Rick flicked a finger against the glass before angling it carefully over his arm.

  “Watch,” he said, and then poured the contents of the vial over the length of his arm.

  Hope watched, uncomprehending, as he dripped the liquid across the cut - which was shallow, thankfully. It looked like he was putting water on it, which probably wouldn’t hurt him, but wouldn’t do much good either.

  She followed his movement to the base of his elbow and then something caught her attention above it. Hope looked back up.

  The hairs on the back of her neck raised and prickled.

  “What,” she said slowly, forcing herself to breathe steadily, not to back away, “what is that?”

  Because right in front of her eyes Rick’s skin was… mending. There was no other word for it. The torn flesh was knitting itself together, healing over the wound until nothing remained but a smear of red over smooth pale skin. She watched the bloody cut on his arm blur and vanish one inch at a time, all the way down to the base of his elbow, until Rick’s forearm was smooth and whole again.

  It was unnatural. Hope wasn’t sure if she wanted to grab some for herself or vomit.

  “You see?” Rick said. He sounded almost breathless as he raised his head. Hope realized that this was exciting to him. He sounded eager and demanding at once.

  Just before his eyes met hers, Hope schooled her face into something neutral. Even now, as irrational as it was, she couldn’t quite bear to see his face fall at her lack of enthusiasm over something that, when she thought about it, was pretty close to a superhuman feat.

  “So this is your secret. This is what you’re hiding.” It was easier to give in to her feet than to her gut; she allowed herself to pace back and forth, making sure not to brush against anything. Who knew what other secrets were lurking down here? She wanted her boots to stamp into the ground, but catlike quiet had been trained into her over the years and she couldn’t lose it now just because she felt like it.

  “It is,” Rick said after a long pause, in way that suggested he’d already answered the question and doesn’t understand why he needed to repeat himself. Hope suspected he wouldn’t have answered Trinity that way, or his yacht friends at all. It was the little things that made you feel loved, she thought, and wondered if she was hysterical.

  “This is… I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said honestly. “I don’t understand why you’re hiding it. Do you want to - what, keep it only for yourself? Auction it off to the highest bidder?”

  A flash of something very like hurt showed in Rick’s eyes before he tilted his head and rolled his eyes, totally disdainful and apparently impervious.

  “Of course not. What would I do with the money? But it’s not cleared yet by the FDA, and the government still hasn’t decided what to do with it, exactly. You see, there are some… issues.”

  This was starting to sound like familiar territory. Hope gave in to impropriety and propped her elbows up on the test table. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh God.”

  “Rather,” Rick said, disturbingly cheerful. “See, the government is worried that there may be a risk of, shall we say… undesirable elements attempting to reverse engineer my little invention. I’m thinking of naming the stuff Skin-It, by the way, what do you think?”

  “I think that will make every single buyer feel like they’re getting the genuine serial killer experience,” Hope said absently. “What do you mean, reverse engineer it? Make their own? Does that really matter so much?” She trailed off, uncertain. It wasn’t really her place to judge how jealously Rick guarded his secrets (the ones she didn’t need to know).

  His gaze slipped away, toward the floor. Hair in need of a trimming fell forward to shadow his face and Rick shifted his weight. He grabbed a pen out of his coat pocket and clicked it a half dozen times.

  “I might have. Um.” He sounded uncertain again, which Hope was rapidly learning was rarely a good sign. Some people you always wanted to have off balance. But Rick wasn’t like that; if he wasn’t standing by her side then things were probably more likely to be the worse for it. “Accidentally proved you could do it? The government’s squirrelly about stuff like that.”

  For the life of her, Hope couldn’t understand why the US government would give a damn about people reducing a miracle cure to its component parts. Rick looked so uncomfortable, and she was tired. This was a lot to take in, all of it.

  So she just nodded and let it go.

  “Alright,” she said. The adrenaline was wearing off properly now, leaving her feeling raw-edged and ragged. She resisted the urge to fidget and pulled her spine straight instead. Rick watched her with careful eyes. “That’s… alright. Okay. Anything else you want to tell me?”

  She was already turning away when Rick reached out and grabbed her arm.

  It took all of Hope’s self-control to whirl around without breaking the hold. She knew that if she yanked away it would turn this moment into an ugly thing, something darker than it was. Already she didn’t know if this was something they could come back from.

  So she turned sharply to face Rick but took care not to jerk away. It brought them close together, their faces scant inches apart. She searched out the light flecks in his dark eyes as he looked at her, cautious but still honest, not hiding his misgivings.

  Hope had no such qualms. She saw her face reflected in his eyes, calm as an untouched pool of water. There were times that she felt that way on the inside, too. But she was starting to forget that feeling. She hadn’t felt that way since she’d stepped onto that boat and come face to face with Rick Stone.

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice deliberately even. His fingers were hot around her arm, like he was searing a brand into it. She didn’t shift or look down, though. It was too much and yet she didn’t want his touch gone.

  Rick stared at her for a moment and then blinked; pulled his hand away. Hope tried not to regret the loss.

  He stumbled backward and shoved his hand in his hair, raking it up
so it looked as windswept as it had out on the water.

  “Is that it?” he demanded. “You have nothing else to say?”

  Hope cocked her head to the side, still distracted by his closeness. “What do you want to hear?” she asked, honestly curious.

  Rick barked out a laugh and stopped moving. His hands dropped to his sides and he just looked at her.

  “I feel like I have to fight for every word out of your mouth,” he said, frustration layering thickly over his voice. The furrow in his forehead didn’t look angry, though. It was honest without being threatening. “All I want is to know what you’re thinking, and I can’t - you don’t give anything away. It’s maddening.”

  For some inexplicable reason Hope’s breath caught. He cares because he’s used to getting what he wants without question, she reminded herself. “Sorry?” she offered.

  Rick shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, tell me something. Anything.”

  By unspoken agreement they started to walk out of the lab and back into that dark tunnel. Rick shrugged off his lab coat and hung it on the back of a chair. Hope measured her footsteps automatically and tried to think if she actually had anything to say.

  They were at the mouth of the tunnel when she pulled up short and turned to Rick. He stared at her eagerly, expectantly.

  “It’s just… this. You can risk your own life," she told him, her voice deadly quiet and serious in a way you could only use once or twice. "And I can risk mine. That's every person's right. Sometimes life is – well, sometimes things just happen. And sometimes you give up your life as a gift. Sometimtes that’s just how it goes."

  She drew in a deep breath, aware of Rick's eyes on her.

  "But you do not ever try to trick someone else into gambling with your life." It came out so steely cold that Rick flinched. "I get that you have more money than God and think you can pay somebody else to take responsibility for your life, but you can't. And..." her voice dropped into something softer so that it hurt her chest trying to get the words past her throat. "And Jesus, I have to believe that you never thought this through. Because if you would willingly force another person to take that responsibility, then..."

  Horror clawed at her lungs and stole the breath for the rest of the sentence right away from her. All she could do was stare at Rick, miserable, and pray that she was right.

  He looked stricken. But so did so many people who meant every crime they'd committed.

  "I'm sorry," Rick said, stepping closer and raising his hands, but backing away when she shook her head at him. "It wasn’t – I guess it just wasn’t real for me. Not the way it is for you. I’d never want to make you responsible for someone else’s life."

  Not just someone else's, Hope wanted to say. Yours. But she didn't.

  "It would be easier if I didn't want to believe you," Hope whispered, so low she wasn't sure Rick heard her, and plunged into the darkness of the tunnel alone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A loud knock on the door woke Hope up the next morning.

  She salt bolt upright in bed and grabbed the sheets to her chest in an instinctive gesture - it had been a very long time since she’d slept in anything she couldn’t run outside in.

  Caught between sleep and waking, Hope wondered dazedly if yesterday was just a dream. Or if it was real, if it was something that could be set aside. If Rick was calling her to breakfast and she’d throw open the door to find him waiting outside with a grin and sparks heating his gaze.

  Hope wasn’t sure she wanted to forget last night. But she pushed herself out of bed anyway and stumbled to the door, working off the instincts of a kid who went looking for the monsters under her bed instead of hiding under the covers.

  In the middle of another hard knock she yanked open the door. And blinked.

  “Oh,” she said in confusion.

  “Good morning to you too, Princess,” Trinity said with a smirk. She swept right past Hope and deposited a tray of what looked like breakfast on what appeared to be a coffee table. Hope wasn’t really sure what the purpose of a coffee table in a bedroom was. She suspected it was to take up space; the room was about five times larger than necessary.

  “Breakfast?” Hope asked as she trailed Trinity over to the table. The other woman looked rested and together. She’d clearly been up and doing for a while. Whereas Hope… she stole a glance at the clock and winced. Well, she only really needed to keep her client’s hours. Rising at dawn wasn’t a necessity.

  Clinging to false routine was a dangerous way to live, Hope reminded herself, shoving back at the uneasy feeling that clung to her shoulders.

  Since Trinity hadn’t bothered to answer an admittedly stupid question, Hope moved to the sink and asked, “Are you staying to share?”

  “Why not?” Hope caught a glimpse of a pleased smile before Trinity dropped into one of the chairs and started picking at bacon.

  Her morning routine was simple, just the basics and the short amount of time it took to braid her hair. In the mirror Hope saw Trinity peeking over curiously and hid a smile. She was just like any other woman, no more or less capable, only more trained. But she’d found there was no easy way to tell people that.

  “So did you decide on this yourself, or…”

  Trinity shook her head. “No, Rick asked me to bring you some breakfast. Said he was busy.” She shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

  Hope’s reflection paused in her movements for the tiniest fraction of a second before resuming braiding. She glared at the mirror and instructed her shoulders not to slump.

  No matter how casually Trinity took it, this was a message, not breakfast. Rick was saying this is the new normal. And maybe Hope could push back if she wanted, but…

  Absolutely not, she tamped that thought down immediately. That wasn’t her goal. It wasn’t her place. Wasn’t her life.

  She finished with her hair and wandered back over to sit across from Trinity. Hope grabbed the only thing on the tray she wanted, the coffee.

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Trinity admonished her.

  “So I’ve heard.” Hope sipped. The roast tasted like good Turkish coffee; strong enough to take the roof off your mouth. Lovely. One of the men she’d worked with in Africa would have loved it. It was astonishing to Hope how far away that time suddenly seemed.

  Across the table Trinity poured herself a cup of tea and then fiddled with it. She added milk, and then a packet of sugar, and then more milk. She stirred it. Sipped it. Set it down. Picked it up.

  Hope raised her eyebrows. “Something on your mind?” she asked mildly.

  Trinity whipped her head up, too quickly for her to have been really taken off-guard. She looked abashed, almost guilty.

  “I… no?” The other woman stared at her for a second and then set the cup down firmly. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed. “Well, yes, actually. A bit.”

  Hope tried the silent thing out for a while until it became clear that she’d have to use her words. She suppressed a sigh. She hated it when that happened.

  “Want to talk about it?” she offered.

  “Well, it’s just, I…” Trinity glanced up from beneath long eyelashes, her expression a little desperate. “Seeing you here, it worries me. No offense, honey, I think you’re wonderful, but, you’re so together and professional, like you’re really going to fight off somebody, and it… scares me.”

  She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Immediately Hope softened. The ramrod line of her spine eased and she tried her best at a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t often that somebody was honest enough for her to actually have the chance to help.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said, and meant it. “Based on knowledge I’m unfortunately not able to share, I don’t think that Rick’s staff - including you - should be in a disproportionate amount of danger. But of course I can’t guarantee anything. If you wanted to take a vacation, I’m sure that…”

  “No, no!” Trinity shook he
r head vehemently, and then gazed up at her steady, fierce eyes. “I want to stay. It just makes me feel so… helpless, you know? It makes me wish I was like you. That I knew how to fight. But…” she opened her hands, palm-up, and stared at them, “I don’t think I could hurt anybody. Not really.”

  She sounded guilty about it, and it made Hope’s heart ache. Hope paused, measuring her response.

  Eventually she said, “People who choose not to carry weapons can still be killed by them. You can’t run from every threat. I decided a long time ago that I wanted to know when to run and when to fight, and how to do both.”

  Trinity’s eyes were downcast. Lightly Hope laid a hand on her shoulder and crouched down to look her in the face.

  “But that’s why I do this. So good people - people like you - don’t have to. There are people who prey on the defenseless, people who defend the defenseless, and people who have higher callings than either of those. Being able to fight doesn’t make you a goddess of war. It’s just another way to shape yourself.”

  The two of them were silent together for a few moments after that. Hope didn’t know what to think of her burst of eloquence. She groped for her coffee and blindly sucked down a too-hot mouthful. She just hoped she’d said the right things.

  “Wow,” Trinity said after a while. She peeked up at Hope and gave her a tiny grin. “I feel like I could move mountains after that. Maybe you missed your calling. Should be giving inspirational speeches instead of hitting folks over the head.”

  Hope grinned without holding anything back for once, giddy with the knowledge that she’d actually done it, she’d managed to say the right things.

  “I don’t think so,” she said drily. “There’s one of those in me per year. Possibly for decade. Think I’m done for a while now.”

  Trinity laughed and got up from her chair. She moved toward the door and Hope let herself keep smiling.

  “You should be flattered, you know,” Trinity said, pausing at the door with a small but honest smile on her lips. It should have scared Hope that she already recognized it as familiar. She shouldn’t have been so attached to this place, to these people already, but… She put the thought aside.