He was hanging up by the time Ellie emerged from the bathroom, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face shining from the scrubbing she must’ve given it, and her glasses neat on her nose. She came around to his side of the bed and seated herself on the edge, asking, “How’s it feeling?”
“Better. I guess the painkillers are working.”
“Hmmm. Maybe, but it’s been several hours since you had your last dose. I’m surprised they haven’t worn off by now. Do you mind if I take a peek?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Her fingertips brushed his skin as she carefully peeled up the hem of his t-shirt so she could see where he’d been stitched up the night before. Carter wasn’t sure if the sensation that coursed through him at her touch was closer to sparks or lightning, but he definitely felt something. Something he was an idiot to be feeling.
“You can go ahead and take it off, if you want,” he jibed before he could stop himself. “Hell, take everything else off too.”
Ellie pinned him with a reproving look.
“Moron. I don’t have to get you naked to check your stitches.”
“That’s too bad. It’s always fun to get naked. Even better if you’d do it too.”
He could see the smirk she was trying to hide.
“Says you.”
“You could try it and find out.”
“Shut up, Carter. You’re not helping anything.”
“Don’t tell me I’m your first patient to hit on you and try and convince you to get naked?”
“No, you’re just the most persistent. And the most aggravating.”
She bent even closer, her face way too close to his torso, which didn’t help the electricity sizzling beneath his skin.
“This is looking really good,” she said, wonder in her voice. “I can’t believe the difference between last night and now.”
“Some of we shifters heal faster than humans do.”
“I guess so. This progress is incredible. I’m guessing you’ll be feeling like yourself soon, as long as you take it easy for a day or two. And no shifting in the meantime.”
“No shifting, huh? How about lovemaking?”
“Oh, my goodness. Will you stop?”
She got to her feet, and he felt the loss of her nearness like a physical thing.
“What, a guy’s not allowed to flirt with his wife? You must not hate it too bad, or you would’ve left me to die last night.”
“We’re barely married, as you keep reminding me, and I’m not that type of wife.”
“You could be.”
“Yes, because I’m going to stay married to you just so we can have sex.”
“There’s worse reasons to stay married. We could have some fun out of this.”
“I think you’re having too much fun as it is. Just for the record, I know your insinuations are your way of trying to bug me. It’s working. Next time I’m going to leave you to Bigfoot’s mercy,” she added, heading over to the door to answer a knock.
Carter didn’t have time to reply before Ellie opened the door. He didn’t know what he would’ve said if he’d had time. That it was true he kept making the jokes to embarrass her and hold her at arm’s length, but deep down there was more than a grain of truth? A truckload of truth? He disliked admitting that to himself, much less her.
“Miss St. James?”
He recognized the voice outside as belonging to Brea, one of the people who played fetch and carry, running all sorts of errands and acting in general as a go-pher to those higher up in the Costas household.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Costas had me bring these to you. She said if you need anything else to let me know. I’m supposed to take care of your needs while you’re a guest here.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s so kind,” Ellie said, genuine surprise and gratitude in her voice.
“Let me help you carry this in,” Brea offered, and Ellie pushed the door open further, allowing her into the bedroom.
She had a couple of shopping bags, as well as a rolling suitcase she pulled along behind her. When Ellie saw it, she said, “I remember this! I left it here back in November. I can’t believe they hung onto it.”
That had been Carter’s doing, although he didn’t say so. When someone had come to him asking what should be done with the suitcase of Ellie’s belongings, he’d told them to store it. Why, he wasn’t sure, but throwing it away hadn’t felt right. Turned out, his gamble had paid off.
Once everything was in the middle of his bedroom floor, Brea looked over at him.
“Hey, Carter, how are you feeling? Heard you had a pretty exciting time on your trip.”
“I survived. That’s what counts,” he said.
Sobriety darkened Brea’s features. “Glad you did. Ricky didn’t.”
Carter felt himself tense. “What happened to Ricky?”
Ricky, Ricardo Gomez, was a shifter kin to the Columbian El Hombre Caiman, or Alligator Man. He was sly and smart, equally at home in the water as on dry land, patient, and often used by the team when recognizance required his particular skill set. Carter hadn’t known Ricky was on any kind of mission. Maybe the medication, the physical trauma, had wiped his memory.
“Nosizwe,” Brea answered grimly. “We’re not sure of anything except that. He popped up all over the local news this morning. His body was found in a back alley. He was, um…” She shot Ellie a wary glance, as if uncertain how much to divulge in front of this non-shifter human.
“It’s okay,” Carter spoke up. “She’s good. None of this is a secret to her.”
Brea nodded. “He was gutted. The news stations aren’t divulging much, but our sources in the department say it was brutal.”
“Gutting usually is.”
He risked a peek at Ellie to see how she was handling it. She was standing in the middle of the room, frozen, an expression of horror on her face. Maybe the news of Ricky’s death had brought it all back to her: the reality of war between Sean and Nosizwe. The cruel means shifters used to slaughter each other. Humans could be bad. Humans could be every bit as vicious. But humans didn’t have tusks and claws, fangs and talons as well as weapons. If Carter were to guess, he imagined Ricky must have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. In his shifter form, which he’d likely assumed, he’d been rolled on his back so his attackers had access to his softer underbelly. Hence the gutting.
He grimaced and shook his head. Ricky had been a valuable hand. A little hotheaded at times, which may have led to his downfall. Maybe he’d been running rogue when he was attacked and killed. Carter needed more information, but there was only so much he could do stuck in bed.
“Did he have family?” Ellie asked.
“A wife and three year old son,” Brea answered.
“Oh no.” Ellie sank into the nearest chair, looking upset. “I’m so sorry.”
Brea looked as if she didn’t know quite what to make of this outsider’s concern. True, at the onset Ellie had been every bit as mistrustful and hateful about shifters as Carter imagined most humans would be, but since then she seemed to have accepted the idea of their existence, and that they weren’t any better or worse than humanity in general. She really looked sad right now, probably about the family Ricky had left behind.