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“Would you have taken the job if you knew you were bringing me back to be executed? The punishment for disobeying the Grand Master, for breaking the rules, is death.”
“Fair point, I would not have, but if all she wanted was you dead, there are people who specialize in that sort of work.”
Rose frowned, looking away.
“May I wash your hands?”
The frown smoothed off her face and she held out both hands, wincing as she took her arm away from her midsection.
Marek cupped her right hand in his left, turning it palm up before pouring cool, clean water over it. “You may have a broken rib or two.”
“I’ve broken ribs. It doesn’t feel that bad. Maybe they’re just cracked.”
“You must have broken and cracked ribs quite a few times to tell the difference.”
“I lead a dangerous life.”
“What do you do?”
“My broken ribs have had nothing to do with my job.”
“Hobby?”
“No.”
The way she said that single short word—wearily and bitterly—made him back off the subject. He dried the first hand.
“Your friend was killed while trying to steal something for these purists. Was your friend an active member of this group or coerced?”
“Coerced. Same hostage as me.”
“I will admit to being a bit confused as to how this relates to your current situation.” He glanced around. “Why were you kidnapped?”
“I followed the man who killed my…friend—the one who actually fired the gun—down into some tunnels. I had a gun. I shot at him, but the tunnels started to cave in. I didn’t know it, but Wes was following me. He grabbed me out from under the cave-in.”
Marek was starting to realize that this situation was far more complicated than he’d assumed.
“Why was Wes following you?” He used the same shortened name she had.
“Probably to stop me from killing someone.” She shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes.
Marek frowned. “You know him?”
“Yes and no. I knew him a long time ago. He died when I was seventeen.”
“He…died?” Marek glanced at the door at the top of the stairs.
“He looks good for a dead man, doesn’t he?” Rose asked conversationally.
Marek finished cleaning and drying her other hand. He refolded his shirt, finding a clean section and dribbling some water onto it, then handing it to her.
Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the shirt, and Marek drew in a deep breath. He’d been ignoring the way her bare skin felt against his hands, ignoring the tingle of awareness that would only be described as chemistry. Pure chemistry.
Rose wiped her face and neck with the wet cloth. When she was done, she handed him back his shirt. “It’s pretty ruined.”
“It’s just a shirt.” Marek hung it over the corner of the shelves, then he walked to the foot of the steps. “May I sit with you?”
Rose scooted over to the side of the step. Marek carefully sat, trying to keep a bit of distance between them.
