Read Online Death & the City Book Two by Lisa Scullard - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Scullard
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bit," I admit, and he nods. I stare at the ceiling trying to slow down my heart rate. I risk a glance across at him after a minute or two, and his eyes are closed. But he seems to sense my eyes on him, and heaves a sigh.
"Do you want a cuddle?" he asks quietly, eyes still closed. I realise it means I have the option of not replying, and could pretend to be asleep myself. But as I study his face, considering more honest communication, I catch sight of a tiny pulse in his temple, racing as badly as mine. Self-control on overtime, I think, reaching up with the back of my fingers - and stop short of touching him, wanting to soothe it, but more worried about making things worse.
I start to withdraw my hand, but he catches it in his, on the pillow between us.
He opens his eyes and looks at me.
"Is that a yes?" he asks.
'Yes' I say, but the sound doesn't come out.
It doesn't need to. He turns over to face me, and reaches his arms around, one arm under the covers and one above, scooping me against him gently so that we're tucked together like a cocoon in the duvet, his upper hand brushing my hair aside and settling down to stroking my arm, idly and comfortingly.
"Better?" he asks, and I nod. He kisses me lightly on the ear. "Good. I said the other day in the kitchen, that you owed me a spoon."
It makes me smile, and after a few moments he only moves his arm temporarily, to turn the bedside lamp off.
I drift awake once or twice, aware of unfamiliar proximity to someone keeping me in a state of hyper-sensitivity, but his body heat is soothing, and feels more secure than threatening. So I barely open my eyes each time, and doze off just as quickly.
The third time I'm dreaming, unable to get Terry Dyer into an ambulance in time, and wake with an involuntary small jump. I feel Connor react, and he takes his upper arm off the outside of the covers and slides it underneath, around my waist, locking me against him more securely.
"It's all right," he whispers. "Go back to sleep."
I'm sure there's something sedative about passive human contact, because I don't wake up again until I feel Connor move away from me. Daylight is edging in around the curtains. I turn onto my back carefully in case he's still asleep, but when I look over, he's just resting up on one elbow and starting to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
"I didn't jump you in the night, did I?" he asks.
I do a mental stock-take. The t-shirt and underwear are still on.
"No," I reply.
"Must have dreamt it." He finishes cleaning up around his eyes. "You'd definitely have remembered."
I wonder what I missed out on, while dreaming about ambulances instead.
"You could tell me the P.G. version," I suggest.
"That WAS the P.G. version," he insists, and leans over to kiss me briefly. "That's the P.G. version. If you want to know the rest, I'll have to check your I.D. first. And I'd probably insist on written consent as well."
I like his sense of humour about the situation, and as I smile he strokes my cheek, and I feel his fingertip trace a line where I was crying yesterday. He gives me another quick kiss before he gets up, picks up the empty tea mugs, and heads out of the room.
I stretch and wiggle my fingers and toes, feeling my muscles wake up in my limbs. I notice my pulse feels normal too. That wasn't too scary, then.
"Your car's in the garage." Connor hands me a cup of tea as I enter the kitchen. He's already in jeans and a skull-print t-shirt, and I'm back in last night's uniform. "Turned up on the driveway by itself. Yuri said he GPS'd your phone signal, and they drove it over by remote. He reckons they're going to get a map-reader out of an old Scud missile and install it next."
"Fun," I concede. "Is it true? They only make this stuff to test out and compare theories about what all the criminals and terrorists are making elsewhere, out of scrap and iBay parts and spares? Or is there another legitimate application for it?"
"You'd be surprised what people arm
"Do you want a cuddle?" he asks quietly, eyes still closed. I realise it means I have the option of not replying, and could pretend to be asleep myself. But as I study his face, considering more honest communication, I catch sight of a tiny pulse in his temple, racing as badly as mine. Self-control on overtime, I think, reaching up with the back of my fingers - and stop short of touching him, wanting to soothe it, but more worried about making things worse.
I start to withdraw my hand, but he catches it in his, on the pillow between us.
He opens his eyes and looks at me.
"Is that a yes?" he asks.
'Yes' I say, but the sound doesn't come out.
It doesn't need to. He turns over to face me, and reaches his arms around, one arm under the covers and one above, scooping me against him gently so that we're tucked together like a cocoon in the duvet, his upper hand brushing my hair aside and settling down to stroking my arm, idly and comfortingly.
"Better?" he asks, and I nod. He kisses me lightly on the ear. "Good. I said the other day in the kitchen, that you owed me a spoon."
It makes me smile, and after a few moments he only moves his arm temporarily, to turn the bedside lamp off.
I drift awake once or twice, aware of unfamiliar proximity to someone keeping me in a state of hyper-sensitivity, but his body heat is soothing, and feels more secure than threatening. So I barely open my eyes each time, and doze off just as quickly.
The third time I'm dreaming, unable to get Terry Dyer into an ambulance in time, and wake with an involuntary small jump. I feel Connor react, and he takes his upper arm off the outside of the covers and slides it underneath, around my waist, locking me against him more securely.
"It's all right," he whispers. "Go back to sleep."
I'm sure there's something sedative about passive human contact, because I don't wake up again until I feel Connor move away from me. Daylight is edging in around the curtains. I turn onto my back carefully in case he's still asleep, but when I look over, he's just resting up on one elbow and starting to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
"I didn't jump you in the night, did I?" he asks.
I do a mental stock-take. The t-shirt and underwear are still on.
"No," I reply.
"Must have dreamt it." He finishes cleaning up around his eyes. "You'd definitely have remembered."
I wonder what I missed out on, while dreaming about ambulances instead.
"You could tell me the P.G. version," I suggest.
"That WAS the P.G. version," he insists, and leans over to kiss me briefly. "That's the P.G. version. If you want to know the rest, I'll have to check your I.D. first. And I'd probably insist on written consent as well."
I like his sense of humour about the situation, and as I smile he strokes my cheek, and I feel his fingertip trace a line where I was crying yesterday. He gives me another quick kiss before he gets up, picks up the empty tea mugs, and heads out of the room.
I stretch and wiggle my fingers and toes, feeling my muscles wake up in my limbs. I notice my pulse feels normal too. That wasn't too scary, then.
"Your car's in the garage." Connor hands me a cup of tea as I enter the kitchen. He's already in jeans and a skull-print t-shirt, and I'm back in last night's uniform. "Turned up on the driveway by itself. Yuri said he GPS'd your phone signal, and they drove it over by remote. He reckons they're going to get a map-reader out of an old Scud missile and install it next."
"Fun," I concede. "Is it true? They only make this stuff to test out and compare theories about what all the criminals and terrorists are making elsewhere, out of scrap and iBay parts and spares? Or is there another legitimate application for it?"
"You'd be surprised what people arm
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