Chapter 23

Eli pulled himself up, tried to drag himself to a standing position. Tish had gone down to get tea—crazy blast from the past.

He had to get to the site by four, ready to play. Bargain for his life, and Ian’s.

And if he wanted to do all that and not die in the process, he had to get stable. The tea would help. Damn it all, his military training would help. Should help.

And there was a mickey in his car if it didn't.

He stood, leaned his hand against the wall, felt the chill in the plaster, just as a whoosh from the furnace whisked air over his bare feet. Crazy thing had been blowing warmish air off and on since he'd finally gone into the dank, dark basement earlier to check it. Not hot, but that was too much to expect for a basically abandoned house. Though he'd joked to Tish it had only needed its master's hand to work, and she'd thrown a tea towel at him.

But it almost seemed like it was true. Once he'd fiddled with that furnace earlier, things had at least, and immediately actually, progressed to warmth. On all fronts.

Hell. If only he could tell her he was still crazy in love with her...but that was madness. He couldn't tell the brotherhood he’d changed his mind.

He shook his head. As soon as he was mobile, he was out of here. Gone. Into that dark, winter-swept street.

He squatted down, rose up. Flexed his legs a few times, heard the carpeted floor squeak as he did so. Things were coming back. Good.

He looked around the old room, taking in the odd walls, the high ceilings, and of course, the gaping hole in the ceiling. And this room, different from the others they'd been in, didn't have the requisite tall baseboards. Like they'd redone it with drywall or something, and cheated the original design.

And over the doorway, the tack. In that room too. Reminding him of the mistletoe kiss he’d never been able to give her. His lips formed into a flat line, and he shrugged.

He walked over the slanting floor to look out the window at the front of the house. Long and low, the sash was only a foot from the floor. Moving the curtain aside in the dark room, past the old string of Christmas lights mounted around the window, he saw the scene outside. The wind bellowed down the street, swirling the snow into a mad tunnel, then splaying it everywhere. The whoo of it was strong, varying in pitch, but unyielding. Somehow, comforting. Or could have been.

But it wasn’t comfort he was after.

He scrutinized the street, looked for signs of Score’s men.

Nothing.

No signs, but that didn’t mean anything. They’d had time to burrow in if indeed they’d made it this far. He’d keep checking. It was the first thing that had come to his mind after he’d waken up from the horribly timed fever, and he’d had to make sure, to the best of his ability.

No sign of them. He’d keep watching.

For the moment, they were safe, and relatively well taken care of, inside. But that could change in a heartbeat.

And something else odd. There was that unusual sound. Yes. A soft, light ticking. Whenever the wind abated slightly, it seemed to be there. Or was he just imagining it?

“Hey you.”

Tish appeared in the doorway, her coat unzipped, ski turtleneck showing through. Very chalet fashion. And something in his gut tensed, as though he'd been punched.

He was here with Tish, again. Surreal. Picking up, at least partly, as if they'd never been apart.

Like breathing. As natural as that.

"Here's the tea." She smiled as she handed it to him. "Did you want to drink it downstairs? Might be warmer."

"Are you trying to get me out of this room?" He grinned, lowered himself against the wall, and patted the carpet beside him. “Here."

She slid down beside him. "You're going soon."

"I am. As soon as he gives the word, I’m gone.”

She circled her knees with her arms. Didn’t say anything.

"Tish..."

"You don't have to explain. I get it. You have to go."

But she didn't sound convinced.

"I got the call, that night, three years ago. Ian was in deep shit if I didn't go and take care of matters."

"I get it. You're needed. If you don't get back, there'll be hell to pay. I care about your little brother, too. About family.” She looked at him with a face gone pale. "Go."

"Tish. It's not what I want to do, it's..."

She looked at him with a rueful smile. "It's what you need to do."

He nodded his head up and down, slowly, eyes intent on her. "Yes."

* * *

She took the chance. She had to. False pride was not going to serve her well now, just torment her later if she didn't ask. "Will you ever..."

"...have a different life?" His brow wrinkled as he winced. "I honestly don't know."

"Well, that's it, then." She scooted back to him, threaded her arm around his shoulder, pulled him close to her. Their backs thudded against the wall, and she felt his heat at all the spots they connected. Shoulders, upper arms. Butts.

She sat there, feeling each point of contact, reveling in it. The words came out matter-of-fact, because they were fact. No preamble necessary. "I love you."

He turned, looked deep into her eyes. "I never stopped. Ever."

Warmth spread through her body. Eased the spots that were constricted, and once she stopped holding her breath, even the oxygen flowed better. She breathed easier. "So that's settled."

He put his arm around her, tugged her close. "Seems to be."

She rested her head on his shoulder, found the height good. "I want a piece of you before you leave."

He laughed, laid his head onto hers. "Now that I didn't expect."

She drew her head back. "Why? Was I ever a prude?"

He shook his head. “No.”

"So?"

"Okay then, well, answer me this, Missy. Just how big a piece?"

"It's been a while.” She smiled. “How big you got?"