A Perfect Blood

into thinking that Trent had anything that could prevent Al from doing exactly what he wanted.
    Unaware of my panic, she patted my hand as Winona slipped from the nursery and went to the kitchen to wash a bottle. “Rachel, I’m proud of you.”
    Again, I couldn’t meet her eyes. Again, she was giving me more credit than I deserved.
    Sensing my embarrassment and not understanding it, Ceri let go of my hand. Trent was coming up the long stairs, talking to someone by phone, and I hunched into the cushions, hating this. I wanted the bracelet off, but it was looking harder all the time.
    Pace almost . . . bouncy, Trent took the last of the stairs and stood behind and over Ceri. He’d found a pair of shoes somewhere, and I disparagingly looked at my socks. “Ready, Rachel? I’d like your opinion on the lab that was broken into.” His eyes flicked past us to the closed nursery door before coming back to us, his smile fading as he noticed Ceri’s tension.
    I was such a coward. “You want me to look at a crime scene? That’s a switch,” I said as I laboriously got to my feet. Ceri rose as well, helping me to the stairs before handing me back my crutch. She was still trying to figure out what was bothering me, and Trent’s mistrust grew.
    “How’s that pain amulet holding up?” he asked as he tried to take my elbow and I jerked away, almost falling. He knew the amulet was fine. He was fishing for what was wrong, and I didn’t want to talk about it.
    “It’s good,” I said. “I’m fine.”
    “You are not fine.” Ceri took my arm, pinching it painfully to keep me from pulling away from her. “And don’t you let her walk the entire way,” she admonished Trent.
    “I’m not going to pick her up and carry her screaming to the basement,” Trent said. “It’s a workday. Besides, she has a crutch.”
    “Crutch or no, she’s hurt!” Ceri protested.
    “I mean,” Trent said intently, “she can hit me with it if I do something she doesn’t like.”
    Winona snickered from the kitchen, a weird sort of snuffling chuckle. I turned to her, and she had her hand over her mouth in mortification.
    Exhaling heavily, I hobbled to the top of the long stairway alone and felt myself pale. Crap, it was a long way, and vertigo threatened. “Thanks,” I whispered when Trent slipped a hand under my elbow, and we took our first step down, my feet silent in my new socks. I was reminded of the night I’d been his security and he’d taken me to a casino boat, me wearing one of Ellasbeth’s slinkier dresses. We’d always looked good together, though clearly apart even when standing next to each other. That I was in a nasty pair of sweats and he was in a casual suit didn’t dispel the feeling of alone-apartness I again felt. Always alone. Both of us.
    “I’m glad the amulet is working,” he said, stiff and closed even as he helped me, the scent of sour wine a hint between us. “At least you can’t be cursed.”
    His voice carried a hint of mistrust, and my jaw tightened. “I’ll tell you when we get to the elevator,” I said, and his grip eased on my elbow.
    “I have something I want to tell you, too, before we meet Quen and Jenks. We don’t have a lot of time. Tell me now.”
    That’s why Jenks was gone. “I want the bracelet off, but there are some complications.”
    “I told you I’d help,” he said, and I took another slow step down, the crutch hurting my armpit. I must have winced, because Trent’s grip on my elbow shifted.
    “Good, because I’m really going to need it,” I whispered, leaning on him even harder.

Chapter Eighteen

    M y grip on Trent’s arm had gone white knuckled by the time we got downstairs and to the elevator at the back of the bar, just off the huge great room. I hated that he knew I was hurting, but it wasn’t as if I could hide it. There was a wheelchair beside the lift’s doors, but I leaned on the wall when Trent pried my fingers off him and pushed the down button.
    “Would you rather sit?” he asked, his beautiful voice rising and falling like music, and I ignored him, almost panting through throbbing hurt slipping around my pain charm. The doors slid open, and I hobbled in, propping myself up in a corner of the opulent lift and blowing a strand of hair from my eyes. I hated wheelchairs almost as much as I hated needles.
    Trent had the decency to hold his opinion to a raised eyebrow as he trundled the chair in and silently positioned it next to me, locking the