Darkest Before Dawn (KGI #10)(53)

“Right now, you have to focus on getting well,” he said in that grim voice. And yet she heard something else in his tone. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and it bothered her. He seemed . . . uneasy. And Hancock was confident and unreadable if nothing else.

“How long?” she asked, and then regretted exerting herself by speaking so much. Who knew the task of talking would be so exhausting?

Pain had taken steady hold of her. It was raw and pulsing, rising up once more after the initial relief of being sucked back into the heavenly cloud of the bed she rested in.

“As long as it takes,” he said vaguely.

His gaze searched hers, making her uncomfortable with his scrutiny. It was as if he could see every single thing inside her. As if he felt the pain radiating from her body. His eyes grew cold and his lips thinned. He seemed angry.

“You’re hurt, or do you not remember getting yourself shot when you protected one of my men?”

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.