He ruffled my hair, his hand lingering on top of my head. I leaned into it, tucking my face against his chest. He wrapped the other arm around me and secured me there.
“I’m sorry I raised my voice,” he said. “I should have known better. You showed all those skittish signs. I knew you wouldn’t tolerate that.”
“So I’m a walking advertisement for post-traumatic stress. Awesome,” I muttered.
“No, the signs are pretty subtle, but I watch you closely.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Sorry.”
I looked up at him. “Can we just go to bed and pretend you’re not still crazy angry with me?”
“I’m not ‘crazy’ angry with you. I’m ‘sane person’ angry with you. And we’re going to have to talk about your bleeding-heart tendencies at some point,” he told me.
“I know.” I sighed, flopping down on the threadbare pillows. “But not tonight.”
He scooted up on the bed, under the blankets, and curled his body around mine. He rested his chin on my shoulder and draped an arm around my middle. I closed my eyes and sighed as the heat from his skin seeped into mine.>“Wh-who the hell are you, lady?” he spluttered, batting my hands away.
“Look, I know this is going to sound weird and suspicious. But I happen to be traveling with someone who was sent by your brother—”
Mort actually shoved me away from him, paling even more under his decidedly wintry skin tone. “Merl’s still after my damn kidney?”
I nodded. “It would seem so.”
“And you’re with that big guy who’s been sniffing around town for me?”
I blanched at the use of the word sniffing. But I continued, using my firm bedside-manner voice. “I don’t want to tell you your business, but your brother is sick. Really sick. I understand that can make people desperate, but I still don’t think that’s an excuse to shanghai somebody into nonconsensual surgery.”
“What’s your point?” Mort huffed.
I snagged a Sharpie out of my jacket pocket and grabbed the first item I saw from the shelves, which happened to be a bag of peanut butter Combos. I scribbled the name of the airfield where Merl had kept a private jet waiting for the last week, just in case we tracked Mort down. “There is a plane waiting for you here. They can be ready to take off within an hour if you show up.”
“You have to buy those,” he told me, nodding toward the Combos.
“I will, I will.” I shook my head at him.
“It’s just that I own the station, and every little bit counts.”
“OK, I will throw in the jerky and one of those little car air-freshener trees if you will pay attention to what I’m saying.” I put the bag in his hand and placed my palms on either side of his face so I knew he was looking me right in the eye. “Merl needs your help. The chances of him lasting more than a few months without a transplant aren’t good. You need to decide whether you can live with that or if you can find it in your heart to forgive your brother and give him what he needs to survive. Personally, I think you should be given the chance to make that decision on your own terms. So what I’m telling you is that you need to haul ass out of that back door and run for it, so you have time to make that decision on your own terms before my friend sees you and makes this whole situation a lot more . . . intense. Now, do you have your car keys on you?”
“He’s really sick?” Mort asked.
I nodded. “He’s got very little time left.”
Mort’s watery blue eyes narrowed at me. “Is this a trick?”
“Yes, I’m trying to trick you into escaping,” I deadpanned.
“I need some time to think this over.”
“Which is what I’m trying to give you!” I threw my hands up. “It’s like we’re not even having the same conversation.”
Behind me, I heard the station’s front door swing open. Mort’s eyes went wide, and I turned to see Caleb walking in with an anxious expression. That expression shifted from anxious to shocked and then even more confused in just a few seconds.
Shit.
“Go!” I grunted, shoving Mort toward the back door. Of course, Mort left his Combos bag behind, so I had to chase after him and throw the marked snack bag at his head while he ducked out the door. Caleb charged after him. Against all bounds of logic, I hooked my arm through his and dug my heels into the slick tile floor. This, of course, did not work, because he had about seventy pounds and a whole lot of werewolf strength on his side.