Divine Evil

leather, the thick apron she wore was a far cry from a tight skirt.
    He set his helmet on the seat of the bike and walked into the garage.
    She kept right on working. There was music blasting from a new portable stereo. Beethoven's Ninth competed with the hiss of flame. Cam walked over to turn it down, figuring it was the safest way to get her attention.
    Clare glanced over briefly. “Just one more minute.”
    One became five before she straightened and switched off the flame. With competent hands she picked up a wrench and turned off her tanks.
    “I just had a few finishing touches to put on it today.” She blew out a breath and pushed up her goggles. Energy was still vibrating in her fingertips. “What do you think?”
    Taking his time, he walked around it. It looked monstrous. And fascinating. Human, and yet… other. He wondered what kind of imagination, or what kind of need, drove her to create something so disturbing.
    “Well, I wouldn't want it in my living room because I'd never be able to relax around it. It's like a nightmare you could touch.”
    It was exactly the right thing to say. Clare nodded as she stripped off her skullcap. “It's the best work I've done in six months. Angie's going to dance on the ceiling.”
    “Angie?”
    “She handles my work-she and her husband.” She pushed at her flattened hair. “So, what are you-oh my God.” For the first time, she focused on him. His left eyewas discolored and swollen, and there was a nasty gash along his cheek. “What the hell happened to you?” “Saturday night.”
    Quickly, she stripped off her gloves to run a gentle finger over the cut. “I thought you grew out of that. Have you had this looked at? Let me get you some ice for that eye.”
    “It's all right,” he began, but she was already dashing into the kitchen.
    “You're the sheriff, for Christ's sake,” she said as she searched for a cloth to wrap ice in. “You're not supposed to raise hell anymore. Sit down. Maybe we can get the swelling down. You're still a jerk, Rafferty.”
    “Thanks.” He eased his aching body into the ladder-back chair she'd set in the kitchen.
    “Here, hold this on your eye.” She set a hip on the drop leaf table, then put a hand under his chin to turn his face to the sunlight and examine the cut. “You'll be lucky if this doesn't scar that pretty face of yours.”
    The ice felt like heaven, so he only grunted.
    She smiled, but the concern remained in her eyes as she brushed at the hair on his forehead. She remembered Blair getting into fights, too many fights, over the last couple of years in high school. If memory served, a man wanted to be pampered-and praised-under these circumstances.
    “So, should I ask what the other guy looks like?”
    His lips quirked. “I broke his goddamn nose.”
    “God, I love this macho stuff.” Taking the end of the cloth, she dabbed at the cut. “Who were you fighting with?”
    “Biff.”
    The hand on his face stilled. Her eyes, full of understanding, came to his. “I'm sorry. I take it things haven't improved there.”
    “Official business. He was D and D in Clyde's-” Cam broke off and leaned back in the chair. “Fuck.”
    Her hand was gentle on his face again. “Hey, want a brownie?”
    He smiled a little. “My grandmother always gave me milk and cookies whenever Biff beat the shit out of me.”
    Clare felt her stomach clench, but she made her lips curve as she took up one of his hands. “From the looks of these, I'd say he's in worse shape than you.” On impulse she kissed the torn and bruised skin of his knuckles. He found the gesture incredibly endearing.
    “It hurts here, too.” He tapped a finger to his lips.
    “Don't press your luck.” Businesslike, she pulled the ice away and squinted at his eye. “Very colorful. How's your vision?”
    “I can see you just fine. You're prettier than you used to be.”
    She tilted her head. “Considering I used to look like a scarecrow with an overbite, that's not saying much.”
    “I can probably do better once that painkiller kicks in.”
    “Okay. For now, why don't I run over to the pharmacy and get you some first aid cream?”
    “I'll settle for the brownie.”
    He closed his eyes for a moment as he listened to her moving around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, the sound of liquid hitting glass, the muted music from the radio in the garage. He'd never gone in for classical, but it sounded pretty good just then. When she set the dishes and