“I guess I passed out. The overload gets me every time.” Her gaze touched his face, jumped away. “It can be a liability.”
He shrugged, the gesture casual. “I’m a GhostWalker too, remember? I know what it’s like.” He got to his feet and reached down, offering his hand.
Dahlia hesitated a moment before she put her hand in his. “I still don’t know what a GhostWalker is.” She took a careful look around. “You got us to the right place. The trapper’s cabin is that way.” She indicated an area to their right.
Nicolas shouldered his pack. “Do you remember Dr. Whitney? Dr. Peter Whitney?” He watched her closely. Her face changed—her expression went blank. There was instant withdrawal, not only physically; she distanced herself from him in her mind. He could feel the separation and it was almost a blow. That stunned him. Uncertain if he could. cover his rare inner turmoil, he was the one to look away, studying the direction she indicated before setting out.
“I remember him.” Her voice was low and filled with distaste.
“Did you figure out what he did to you?” Nicolas kept his voice neutral and continued to walk ahead of her, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t have to hide her expression from him. Or maybe he needed to hide his expression, he wasn’t entirely certain which it was. Before he’d started off on the trail, he noticed she was shivering, her body reacting to the harsh conditions. In spite of the deluge of rain, the air was still warm. It made him want to gather her up and hold her close. He shook his head in an effort to rid himself of his extraordinary thoughts.
Dahlia listened to the sound of the rain. She always found it soothing. Even now, with it pouring down on top of her, she felt she could lose part of herself in it. The part that hurt people. The part she could never control. When she sat out in the rain, it washed her clean. “I feel as if Whitney stole my life. Yet at the same time, I feel as if I should be grateful to him. He built my home and he hired Milly and Bernadette. He also provided me with everything I could need or want. My brain requires…” She broke off and stared at the silent trees on either side of them, afraid she might shame herself with tears. She was exhausted and vulnerable, filled with such grief she could barely breathe. She couldn’t even look at Nicolas’s broad back while they walked, not if he wanted to talk about Dr. Whitney.
“You aren’t alone, Dahlia. Whitney brought over a number of children, most infants, from various foreign countries. He found the little girls in orphanages, and he was very wealthy so he didn’t have much opposition. No one wanted the children, so when he paid for them, the authorities closed their eyes and asked no questions.”
Her heart accelerated with every word he spoke. She forced herself to listen to the cadence of his voice. He might not have an inflection, but there was a carefulness, a way he had of speaking that told her volumes. Nicolas was not as unaffected as he seemed. “I was one of those children.” She made it a statement.
“Yes.” He stopped on the small strip of solid ground and surveyed the grove of trees growing in knee-deep water straight ahead. “We’re going to have to cross this.”
Dahlia sighed. “I told you it was difficult. I’m sorry.”
Nicolas turned his head and grinned at her. It was fleeting and barely lit his eyes, but it warmed her. “I think we’re already soaked.”
A reluctant smile touched her mouth briefly. “I guess we are.”
“Is the rain getting the mud off of me?”
She tilted her head. A hint of laughter crept into her eyes. “Actually it’s running down your face in a rather dramatic fashion. I think you’d even manage to scare an alligator.”
“Before you start laughing at me, you might take a look at yourself.” Nicolas made the mistake of reaching out to brush at a streak of mud on her face. At once her amusement vanished and she moved her head to escape his touch. His hand dropped to his side.