Predatory Game (GhostWalkers, #6)(16)
Jess doubled his fist wanting, needing, to smash something. In ten months Saber had never once come home early from work. The security guard should have called him, damn it. Brian should have called him. Why was she home? And what the hell was wrong with her? She hadn’t known it was Jess holding the gun, he had been shielding the scents and sounds in the room, yet she had fought like a wildcat, even going so far as to scream at him to shoot her.
Instantly he felt the jarring note. Not him. She believed him to be someone else. He winced as he heard her shoes crash against the wall. Who? Who had she expected? He moved toward the darkened living room.
A soft muted sound stopped him cold. Saber was weeping, a muffled, heartbroken sound that tore his heart right out of his chest. Damn the GhostWalkers and the all-too-necessary security precautions. Damn the security guard and Brian for withholding a warning.
“I’ll go.” His guest moved out of the shadows.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Jess forced himself to say. He couldn’t very well tell her to go to hell. Louise Charter, the admiral’s secretary, had risked her life to hand deliver a small digital recorder to him, yet at that moment, all he could hear, could concentrate on, all he cared about, were the soft sounds of distress emanating from the bedroom upstairs.
Saber never cried in front of him. Not even if she was injured. Tears might sparkle for a moment, but in ten long months, Saber Wynter had never cried.
Jess knew he was bordering on rudeness when he ushered Louise from his home with unseemly haste. The moment the door was closed he waited impatiently for the lift. It seemed to take an endless amount of time. He had a mad desire to try jumping his wheelchair up the flight of stairs, balancing on two wheels.
Why had she come home? He remembered the feel of her satin skin burning his. Of course. She was ill. There could be no other reason conscientious little Saber would leave her job. He didn’t let himself remember the cool steel in her eyes when she’d first turned, the ease of her body rolling, and her hands coming up in a classic defense. Only the hurt, the betrayal in her eyes—in her voice—mattered. Her voice had slid into his mind with such ease, such clarity, such pain.
The lift carried him to the second floor and his racing chair glided silently through the sitting room to her bedroom. He paused in the wide doorway, his dark, stricken gaze on Saber’s slender form. She was on her stomach, her tear-stained face buried in the crook of her arm.
His heart turned over. One thrust of his powerful arms and he was at her side, his hand tangling in the riot of curls. “Baby.” He groaned it softly in a kind of anguish. “Don’t, don’t do this.”
“Go away.” Her voice was muffled.
“You know I’m not going to do that,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “You’re sick, Saber, I’m not just leaving you up here to fend for yourself.” His hand stroked her hair. “Come on, love, you’ve got to stop crying. You’ll get a headache.”
“I already have a headache,” she sniffed. “Go away, Jesse, I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Who can see? It’s dark in here,” he teased, hands sliding to her shoulders in a calming rhythm.
“Where’d your little friend go?” Saber couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, could have bitten her tongue off for doing so. As if she cared. He could have fifty women, a whole harem over every night while she worked at the station.
Jess found himself smiling in spite of everything, and had to hastily control his voice. “You’re running a fever, little one, let me get you a cold cloth. Have you taken any aspirin?”
“So perceptive of you to notice.” Saber sat up, rubbing her eyes with her fist, furious with herself for crying. She swept a hand through the mass of raven-colored curls in a vain effort to smooth the disheveled mess. “And I can take an aspirin all by myself.”
He was already halfway to her bathroom. “True, but would you?” he queried as he pushed open the door.
Jess had designed the remodel of his house, making certain that every door was comfortably wide, everything was low enough for him. Now, he was particularly grateful that he’d made certain he had ease of movement upstairs as well as down. Ignoring the lacy scraps of female underwear hanging to dry on the towel rack, Jess scooped up a washcloth.
Saber made an effort to pull herself together. So she wasn’t feeling good. Big deal. So her best friend in the entire world had scared the hell out of her. Big deal. Jess was sneaking around with some woman he didn’t want her to know about. Rotten, stinking, no-good bum. Saber smoldered with resentment, frustration, and something that was far too close to jealousy.
Just what was he doing with all the lights out? How often did Jezebel visit while she was gone? It wasn’t like Saber didn’t tell him about every single disgusting date she went on. They had endless discussions about them. She didn’t sneak behind his back.
Jess stifled a small grin. It took tremendous effort for him to keep his expression blank. Her violet-blue eyes spit fire at him. Jealousy meant she cared, whether she wanted to care or not. Something stirred in him deep down, something gentle and tender and long forgotten.
“Baby,” he said gently, “if you continue to look at me like that I’m bound to fall dead on the floor.” The cool washcloth moved over her burning face, stroked down her neck.