uite, the crystal tumbler in his hand threate

was split

omeone had driven a railroad spike into his left temple and was slowly twisting it. The pain

se of the noise. Scuffling. S

n at the mess

on his Persian runner. Her hair was a tangled

yons, the pig from the Bi

the baton, trying to hide it behind his leg. "I... apolog

s voice was like sandpaper on raw nerves. H

foot to step over her, to retreat into his suit

brushed aga

ed in a m

perfume. Not sweat. Something

tly scent of

ton

it his olfactory nerve and went

was muffled, pushed down beneath a heavy, suffocating blanket of cold silence. It wasn't a cure; it wa

ped to

's hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. He l

The anchor.

rning hot against his hand. She shifted, her cheek pressin

gh Clinton that was better th

ard. "She killed a Fed. She's high on

on st

fluid, graceful

ked at the foreman, really looked at him, with

a velvet rumble that carried more threat than a sc

his forehead. "Sir, it was an eme

Then he looked back at Huston. "She looks lik

d, his courage bolstered by desperation

s eyes n

mov

man could even twitch. With a flick of his wrist, he re

er, wheezing, dro

ton down the hallway.

breast pocket and wiped his hand, as if

Clinton s

o-" Husto

he wants her, he asks me. If you step foot on this deck again wi

s, and scrambled backward. He grabbed his side,

ire door sl

n was

back to

She was limp, dead weight, but burning up wi

nd felt sharper than it had in years.

ed her

heavy double doors shut behind him with his

raight to the master bedroom. He dropped her ont

r hands clawing

, her eyes squeezi

e saw the dilated pupils when her e

een dosed

ide table to call Dr. Guthrie. Hi

uld treat her. He woul

inton

tate? Was it the adrenaline? The drug interaction? If he

't risk i

hand back fr

ing on his sofa, and felt noth

the empty room. "I nee

s burning alive, her body fighting a chemical war. He nee

e murmured, reaching down to grab