agent?”
“Logan and I aren’t exactly speaking right now,” I confessed. “Plus, I didn’t want to put him in danger.”
“You moved out and now he’s not speaking to you?” Devon asked, his eyebrows climbing.
“Pretty much.”
“What an arse,” he groused. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“I would’ve told you sooner, had you asked,” I said.
Devon silently studied me and I wished more than anything that I could see inside his head, but his thoughts and emotions were an indiscernible puzzle to me.
“Then what happened?” he asked, drawing me back to my story.
I told him about returning to his apartment and finding it trashed, how Scott had taken me with him, and how I’d picked Clive from their photographs.
“But Clive found us,” I said. “He caused Scott to wreck the car, then . . . he shot me.”
Devon took a few steps toward where I sat on the bed until he stood in front of me. I tipped my head back to look at him. Reaching out, he gently brushed the back of his knuckles along my cheek.
“What’s going to happen, Devon?” I asked. “I have nowhere to go and . . . I’m afraid.”
A pained expression crossed his face before he replied. “You’ll stay with me for now,” he said. “Until I sort it.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to mine. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me.”
His touch was comforting, easing my tense muscles and relaxing my stiff posture. Devon would keep me safe, and I’d get to be with him. I shouldn’t want to, not after realizing that this relationship with him wasn’t good for me the way a normal, healthy relationship should be. But I couldn’t help it. I was an addict and he was my drug of choice.
To my dismay, there was a knock on the door and Devon pulled away.
“Who could that be?” I asked.
“The good doctor, of course,” he said, pulling open the door.
Doctor?
A man walked in who looked vaguely familiar. He was carrying a leather satchel.
“Ivy, this is Jensen,” Devon said. The man nodded politely to me. “He’s a doctor and I’d like him to take a look at your injury.”
Jensen was about a foot shorter than Devon and older, perhaps mid-fifties. He had dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. He was dressed in slacks and a plain white shirt.
“Um, okay,” I said, unsure as to what else I could do.
“We’re just going to take a look at this then,” Jensen said, motioning for me to sit on the couch. He took the seat next to me and carefully rolled up my sleeve before removing the bandage.
It took me a few minutes before I realized where I’d seen him.
“I know you,” I said suddenly. “You were there when I was sick. At Devon’s.” I remembered he’d had needles and had injected me with something.
Although I’d addressed Jensen, it was Devon who answered. “He gave you steroids and stimulants to try and help your body fight off the virus.”
“How do you know each other?” I asked, turning back to Jensen. “Do you work for—”
“We met a while back,” Devon interrupted. “Jensen helped me out and I did him a favor in return.”
I’d been about to ask if Jensen worked for the Shadow, too, but caught the warning look Devon shot me, so I just nodded.
“The stitches look good,” Jensen said, placing a new bandage on me. He dug in his bag and then gave me two bottles of pills. “This is for pain and discomfort, but you can switch to ibuprofen if the pain isn’t too bad. This bottle is an antibiotic to ward off infection. Take it for ten days.”
He smiled again before closing up his bag and retreating for the door. Devon followed him and they had a low conversation that I couldn’t make out, then Jensen left.
Getting up from the couch, I went to the bed as Devon closed and locked the door.
“You need to get some rest,” he said, turning away and unknotting his tie.
“Are you going to sleep, too?” I asked, scooting back on the
“Logan and I aren’t exactly speaking right now,” I confessed. “Plus, I didn’t want to put him in danger.”
“You moved out and now he’s not speaking to you?” Devon asked, his eyebrows climbing.
“Pretty much.”
“What an arse,” he groused. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“I would’ve told you sooner, had you asked,” I said.
Devon silently studied me and I wished more than anything that I could see inside his head, but his thoughts and emotions were an indiscernible puzzle to me.
“Then what happened?” he asked, drawing me back to my story.
I told him about returning to his apartment and finding it trashed, how Scott had taken me with him, and how I’d picked Clive from their photographs.
“But Clive found us,” I said. “He caused Scott to wreck the car, then . . . he shot me.”
Devon took a few steps toward where I sat on the bed until he stood in front of me. I tipped my head back to look at him. Reaching out, he gently brushed the back of his knuckles along my cheek.
“What’s going to happen, Devon?” I asked. “I have nowhere to go and . . . I’m afraid.”
A pained expression crossed his face before he replied. “You’ll stay with me for now,” he said. “Until I sort it.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to mine. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me.”
His touch was comforting, easing my tense muscles and relaxing my stiff posture. Devon would keep me safe, and I’d get to be with him. I shouldn’t want to, not after realizing that this relationship with him wasn’t good for me the way a normal, healthy relationship should be. But I couldn’t help it. I was an addict and he was my drug of choice.
To my dismay, there was a knock on the door and Devon pulled away.
“Who could that be?” I asked.
“The good doctor, of course,” he said, pulling open the door.
Doctor?
A man walked in who looked vaguely familiar. He was carrying a leather satchel.
“Ivy, this is Jensen,” Devon said. The man nodded politely to me. “He’s a doctor and I’d like him to take a look at your injury.”
Jensen was about a foot shorter than Devon and older, perhaps mid-fifties. He had dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. He was dressed in slacks and a plain white shirt.
“Um, okay,” I said, unsure as to what else I could do.
“We’re just going to take a look at this then,” Jensen said, motioning for me to sit on the couch. He took the seat next to me and carefully rolled up my sleeve before removing the bandage.
It took me a few minutes before I realized where I’d seen him.
“I know you,” I said suddenly. “You were there when I was sick. At Devon’s.” I remembered he’d had needles and had injected me with something.
Although I’d addressed Jensen, it was Devon who answered. “He gave you steroids and stimulants to try and help your body fight off the virus.”
“How do you know each other?” I asked, turning back to Jensen. “Do you work for—”
“We met a while back,” Devon interrupted. “Jensen helped me out and I did him a favor in return.”
I’d been about to ask if Jensen worked for the Shadow, too, but caught the warning look Devon shot me, so I just nodded.
“The stitches look good,” Jensen said, placing a new bandage on me. He dug in his bag and then gave me two bottles of pills. “This is for pain and discomfort, but you can switch to ibuprofen if the pain isn’t too bad. This bottle is an antibiotic to ward off infection. Take it for ten days.”
He smiled again before closing up his bag and retreating for the door. Devon followed him and they had a low conversation that I couldn’t make out, then Jensen left.
Getting up from the couch, I went to the bed as Devon closed and locked the door.
“You need to get some rest,” he said, turning away and unknotting his tie.
“Are you going to sleep, too?” I asked, scooting back on the
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