The Departed

curled his hand over her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
    She just stared at him in the darkness, wishing she had the energy to argue. She didn’t, though. Wearily, she muttered, “Whatever, Jones. What the fuck ever.”
    As his hand closed around her arm, she jerked away. “I can walk just fine on my own,” she said, her voice cold.
    And she did. One foot after the other, away from the maw of darkness at her back, away from the garage that stank of violence and pain. And away from Taylor—and oddly, even though she kept her shields up, she thought she could almost feel his pain.
    But that couldn’t be right. If he was hurting, it would be like…well, maybe he was letting himself care. Any other time, he’d shoved all that emotion so far down deep, he couldn’t even feel it.
    So, no. He couldn’t be hurting. Not enough for her to feel it. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she stumbled on leaden legs toward his car. She just had to keep it together long enough to get away from him. That was all.
    Then she could fall apart. That was all she had to do.
    She slid into his car, still silently chanting that mantra. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together…
    She managed to do it until they turned off the street.
    But the warmth of the car, combined with the strange way Taylor had of blocking out everything else, it numbed her. She never should have felt comfortable enough to sleep in his presence—never. But she did. She was asleep within fifteen minutes. So deeply asleep, she didn’t even wake when he stopped the car. So deeply asleep, she didn’t wake at the sound of her name, or when he came around and lifted her in his arms.
    * * *
     
    PAYBACKS are a bitch…
    Taylor had no idea who’d coined that phrase, but whoever it had been, he or she had known exactly what they were talking about. Crouching next to Dez in the cold, dark night, he stroked his fingers down her cheek and waited for her to wake up.
    But all she did was turn toward him as much as the seat belt would allow, her lips parting on a sigh, her breasts rising and falling under the battered leather jacket she wore. He closed his eyes and focused on the ground, told himself to get a grip.
    Then he set his jaw and looked back up. “Come on, Dez. You need to wake up now,” he said, louder this time, keeping his voice flat and cold despite the fact that he was more than a little worried. Should she be this hard to wake up? Trying not to panic when she didn’t stir, he reached out and closed his fingers around her wrist, holding it lightly.
    Her pulse beat against his fingers, strong and steady. Her skin was warm against his. Under most circumstances, Taylor knew he wouldn’t want to have some of the so-called gifts his psychics had—he doubted he was strong enough to carry the burdens they did. But in that moment, he wished he had something that would let him connect with Dez, just long enough to make sure she was okay. He knew he could take her to the hospital, but wouldn’t he look like a fucking fool when it turned out she was just sleeping the sleep of the exhausted? Not that he really gave a damn if he looked like a fool, not for her. He was a fool when it came to her.
    But he couldn’t logically take her to the hospital when he suspected she was just exhausted. She’d just told him it had been months since she’d slept well. Months…
    Sighing, he eased closer and slid a hand into her pockets, checking for her keys. She couldn’t be a woman who carried a purse, couldn’t make it easy on him that way. And she couldn’t be easy enough to even have the keys in her coat pocket, either.
    Gritting his teeth, he freed her from the seat belt and rested a hand on her thigh, gingerly checking her right hip pocket. No. Not there. He felt the bulge of them in her left hip pocket and he mentally started to count as he eased in, twisting his body a bit so he could get to them without touching her any more than he had to.
    But then she turned in to him, tumbling against him, her face pressed to his neck, her body a warm, soft weight against his own.
    Aw, hell.
    He eased her back, keeping his hands on her arms even as she made a protest and tried to burrow back against him. “Shhh. It’s okay, baby. Just go back to sleep.” Because she was asleep, because he could, he pressed his lips to her brow before he pulled away, keys in hand. He shut the door and closed his fist around the keys, the jagged edges biting