Jane was the only female who had ever gotten his attention and held it. And yeah, if he had to wax psychological on the situation, it was probably because her single-minded passion for her job, shit, her relentless commitment to excellence, made him feel a little like he was always chasing her just to keep up.
On so many levels he was a typical predator: The chase was more electric than the capture and consumption.
And with Jane, there was always something to pursue.
“Hello? V?”
When their eyes met, he frowned. “Sorry. Distracted.”
“There’s a lot going on.” She smiled again. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve had a consult with Manny and Havers. We’re thinking of maybe opening up his head. I want to watch him for the next twelve hours, but the pressure on his brain is gradually increasing even with the stent I put in this morning.”
“Can you operate here?”
She glanced around. “I don’t think so. Lot of debris in the air. Light is not great. But more to the point, we’re going to need imaging that we just can’t get in a cave.”
“Well, you let me know what you want and we’ll do another transport on him.”
“You’re the best.”
“Yeah, I am. I’d also do anything for you.”
As their eyes met, she put her hands in her pockets and backed up until she was leaning against the shelving.
When she didn’t say anything, he frowned. “What?”
“So do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
V laughed softly, and wasted a little time staring at the end of his hand-rolled. In the silence, he debated brushing the question off, but that was because he hated talking about anything even remotely emotional.
“You know, I’d deny I’ve got a head fuck going on, but—”
“It would be a waste of time.”
“—it would be a waste of time.”
They both smiled as they spoke the same words with the same tone and at the same time. But then he got serious.
Stabbing his cigarette out on the bottom of his shitkicker, he put the deadie into the empty Coke can he’d been using as an ashtray. To give himself a second longer, he looked at the hundreds and hundreds of jars all around them. Then he glanced at Xcor.
This was not exactly a conversation he wanted to have in front of anyone. But the bastard had about as much conscious awareness as one of the Pit’s leather couches. And now and here were better than any other version of later and there that involved the chaotic mansion he and his mate lived in.
“You ever think about having kids?” he said.
THIRTY-NINE
“So will you tell me more about the people you live with?”
As Bitty asked the question from the backseat of the GTO, Mary glanced at Rhage. The three of them were on the way home, all kinds of ice cream in their stomachs, most of the tension gone from the whole “dad” thing. But boy, that had been a difficult moment—well, for everyone but Bitty. She hadn’t seemed to care one way or the other.
The same couldn’t be said of the two adults with her. Nothing like shining a light on the kid-less issue like that. But at least the rest of the outing had been a wild success.
“More on my people, huh.” Rhage looked up into the rearview and smiled. “Lemme see. Who’s next. We’ve covered the King, the animals, and Lassiter. Who actually should be lumped in with the animals, really. So . . . okay, have you ever met a set of twins before?”
“No, never. I wasn’t allowed to leave my house.”
Rhage blinked. “I’m sorry, Bitty. That must have been very hard.”
“My father didn’t want us to see anyone.”
Mary had to catch herself from wincing.
And as Rhage frowned, she felt him take her hand.
“Lemme ask you something, Bitty,” he said.
“Okay.”
“How did you learn to read? And you speak really well.”
“My mahmen was a teacher. Before she mated my father.”
“Ah.”
Mary turned in her seat. “Would you like to be a teacher, too?”
The little girl’s brows lifted. “Yes, I think I would. But I don’t know where to go to school for that. My mahmen went to school in South Carolina.”
Mary tried to show no reaction. “Really? Your mother never said she was from there.”
“That’s where her parents lived. But they died.”
“I’d heard there was a colony down there,” Rhage chimed in.
“My father was a migrant worker. He used to move with the seasons, working for humans, until he met her. Then they came up here and he became an electrician for the species. His drinking got bad and that’s when things changed. I was born after the bad part happened—or maybe I was the reason for it.”
Mary kept quiet, both because she was hoping Bitty would continue, but also because it was really hard to hear any child say something like that. And then she frowned as she recognized that they were getting close to Safe Place.
Glancing at Rhage, she intended to encourage him to keep going—but he subtly nodded, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Maybe if he continued driving, Bitty would keep talking.
Because none of this was in her or her mother’s file.
“Sometimes,” Mary said, “alcohol can really hurt people.”
“My father was the one who hit us. Not the beer he was drinking.”