The Departed

very little was ever revealed on that face of his, but those eyes…somewhere, just behind a rigid, steely curtain, she sensed a great deal of chaos. Pain. Guilt.
    She remembered how many times she’d heard that he was at the hospital because one of them had gone down. This was the first time for her—she was rarely ever in a place where there was any action going on. But her best friend, Taige, had been hurt a few times and she knew, vividly, that Taylor liked to haunt hospital halls.
    No, he didn’t show much emotion to the world. But he felt it, she realized. He felt a great deal.
    And suddenly, those words were a lot easier to find.
    “You saved my life,” she said softly, setting her drink down and crossing her arms over her chest. “I haven’t said thank you for that.”
    “You don’t need to. I never should have let you put yourself in that position.”
    Dez arched a brow. Oh, yeah, there was emotion. She was nowhere near the emotional bloodhound some of her colleagues were, but psychics, most of them, had similar natures and she could pick up the vibes well enough.
    What she didn’t understand was why she hadn’t ever picked these up from him before.
    Unless he was just having a harder time keeping it all hidden…
    Pushing off the counter, she circled the island to stand in front of him. “There was a girl inside that house, Taylor. He would have killed her.”
    “We don’t know that.”
    “Don’t we?” Reaching down, she caught his hand and said, “Come on.”
    For just a second, he resisted.
    She had no idea why she’d grabbed his hand. She was surprised as hell that she’d done it.
    She was equally stunned when his fingers, long, cool, and elegant, closed around hers. She led him to the bathroom and left him standing by the counter as she faced the mirror. “This damn tape itches like crazy,” she said. “I kept telling that nurse to find some paper tape. I think she liked ignoring me.”
    “You shouldn’t be exposing that yet,” he said, his voice gruff.
    Dez rolled her eyes and made a face at him in the mirror. “Yes, Daddy.”
    Something flashed in the depths of his steely blue eyes—something hot—something that made her knees do the weirdest damn thing. Swallowing, she tore her eyes away from him and focused on her reflection, watching as she peeled the bandage away and revealed the neat surgical scar on her throat.
    Dumping the bandages in the trash, she turned to face him. Bracing her hips against the marble countertop, Dez angled her chin up, let him stare.
    He did. For long, long seconds. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out.
    She caught up with him in the kitchen, grabbing his arm. “It’s a scar, Taylor. A fucking scar. And I don’t mind it. Hell, I’ll wear it happily for the rest of my life. You know why? Because there’s a little girl who is alive .” She stared into his eyes and said, “Hell, even if I’d bled out, I’d consider it worth it, because that monster is dead—you made sure he’d never hurt another little girl.”
    A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Stop.”
    “Stop what? Pointing out the truth?”
    He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “I know all of this,” he said, his voice harsh, colder than normal. “I even knew you’d feel that way—willing to die if it meant the girl lived. But as I’m the one who had your blood all over my hands, and as I’m the one who allowed you to put yourself in that situation, I’d rather not relive it.”
    Her heart softened, something she really, really didn’t need. Not when it came to him. That bit of flesh was already a little too compromised when it came to him. “Taylor…stop trying to be master of the world, okay? I made the decision and I knew, going in, it could be dangerous. I’d do it again, too.” Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips against his cheek. Heat lanced through her but, as much as she wanted to, she didn’t seek out his mouth. Instead, she started to lower back down. “You saved my life…thank you.”
    His hands closed around her arms. Oddly gentle, but firm. Unyieldingly so.
    Dez’s heart lodged in her throat as he reached up, his fingers hovering just above the wound at her throat. Hovering, not touching. A world of emotion crept into his voice as he whispered, his voice raw, “I can’t stand seeing that mark on you.”
    Then he shifted his gaze and stared into her eyes.
    She knew the man had feelings. She always suspected they ran deeper than most