I’ve noticed your ability to use telepathy has grown stronger. I don’t need to hold the bridge entirely by myself. You’re meeting me halfway.
Dahlia blinked. I am? That doesn’t make sense. I have no telepathic ability. I never have. I can send my thoughts if the other person is a strong telepath and they do all the work.
I’m not doing all the work. Nicolas put his arm around her. She’d gone from angry to happy to alarmed in the space of a few minutes.
What does that mean? Dahlia didn’t want to be telepathic. She had enough to handle with the “gifts” she had.
“Pull over,” Nicolas said suddenly, startling her. “Right here, let us out.”
Dahlia looked out the window and saw they were well out of town, just over a bridge near the water. The cabbie parked under a small grove of trees. Nicolas handed him several bills before getting out of the car. He was careful to retain possession of her hand and to keep the taxi between them and any observers. Almost immediately he drew her into the sanctuary of the grove of trees. They watched the cab drive off.
“Where is he?” Dahlia hadn’t seen either the blue Ford or its driver.
“On the other side of the bridge. He pulled onto a dirt road and got out of the car. He was walking up the road.”
“That’s not good. There’s no cover.”
“I didn’t expect them to make it easy. They’d want an out-of-the-way place they could use to get information out of anyone they bring there, and one easily defended. With no ground cover along the road they can see anyone approaching.”
Dahlia sank down gratefully onto the ground and drew off the sweatshirt. It was already hot, and the tank top she’d worn beneath was clinging to her skin. “I guess we wait here all day?” She braided her hair and tied it into an intricate knot to get it off of her neck. Her body desperately needed sleep, and it would allow her not to dwell on what had flared between them on the ferry.
“I’m going to scout the area closer to the road and make sure I’m right, but yes, we can rest here.” He lowered his pack to the ground beside her. “At least you’re outside and away from people.”
Dahlia bunched up the sweatshirt and curled up on the ground, her head pillowed on the thick material. “I’m going to sleep while you go do whatever it is you do. I’m exhausted.”
She looked vulnerable lying on the ground. His stomach tightened into a knot. Nicolas hunkered down beside her, handing her the canteen. “I won’t be long, Dahlia.” He pushed stray tendrils of hair from her face.
She gave him a faint smile. “Take all the time you need. I intend to sleep. I require a lot of sleep in highly traumatic situations. This would be one.”
He continued rubbing strands of her hair through his fingertips. “I thought you had a difficult time sleeping.”
“I said I require sleep. It isn’t exactly the same thing.”
“Are you going to worry about me?”
“Absolutely not. You’re a grown man.”
He laughed. “You have a little mean streak in you.”
She looked smug. “It’s what makes me so appealing.”
He started to rise. Dahlia caught his arm. “Did you bring that raggedy blanket with you?”
Nicolas could feel the sudden tension rising between them. She did her best to look nonchalant, as if it didn’t matter in the least, but he swore he could hear her heart pounding. Her gaze shifted away from his and her hand dropped away.
“I’ve got it.” His voice was gruffer than he intended. He found the piece of cloth with its tattered edges pushed down inside his pack. He extended the scrap of material.
Dahlia half sat to take the blanket from him. She reached for it slowly, her fingers curling around it almost reverently. He watched the way she stroked it, like a child might, almost as if she didn’t know what she was doing, or as if the gesture were automatic. Her fingertips brushed the edges, a small caress. She smiled up at him. A genuine smile, but there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Nicolas.” Her voice sounded strangled.