Part 25 (1/2)

”Spare me the fortune cookie plat.i.tudes.” Searching for at least the illusion of fresh air, Claire walked over to the windows. Outside, the wind hurried up the center of the street, dragging a tail of fallen leaves, and directly across the road two fat squirrels argued over a patch of scruffy lawn. It was strange to feel neither summons nor site. Because of the s.h.i.+elds, she had to keep reminding herself that this was real, that she shouldn't be somewhere else, doing something else.

The sound of Dean's work boots approaching turned her around to face the lobby.

”Hey, Boss, find anything?”

”No more than on the last two times you asked.”

”Would lunch help?”

”Helps me,” Austin declared, leaping down off the counter.

Claire's stomach growled an agreement. Out voted, she started toward the door to Smythe's old suite. ”Just let me wash up fir...” The sound of her s.h.i.+n cracking against the bottom drawer of the desk drowned out the last two letters. Grabbing her leg, she bit back her first choice of exclamation, and then her second, and then there really didn't seem to be much point in a third.

”Are you okay, Boss?”

”No, I'm not okay.” Air whistled through clenched teeth. ”I'm probably crippled for life.”

A LIE!.

AN EXAGGERATION.

CAN'T WE USE IT ANYWAY? h.e.l.l asked itself hopefully.

OH, DON'T BE SUCH A GIT.

”And you know what the worst of it is?” The question emerged like ground gla.s.s. Claire tugged her jeans up above the impact point. ”I closed the drawer. I know I closed the drawer.”

Obviously, she hadn't, but Dean knew better than to argue with a person in pain. ”Here, let me look at that, then.” Ducking under the counter, he dropped to one knee and wrapped his hand around the warm curve of Claire's calf.

Her first inclination was to pull free. Her second...

NOW THAT WE CAN USE.

Reminding herself of the age difference, she banished the thought.

d.a.m.n.

”You didn't break the skin, but you'll have some bruise.” Stroking one thumb along the end of the discoloration, he looked up at her and forgot what he was about to say.

”Dean?”

The world s.h.i.+fted most of the way back into focus. ”Liniment!”

”No, thank you. You can let go of me now.”

Feeling his ears begin to burn, he s.n.a.t.c.hed both hands away, then, suddenly unable to cope with six inches of bare skin, lightly stubbled, reached out again and yanked her jeans back down into place.

”Watch it!” One hand clutching her waistband, she grabbed his shoulder with the other to stop herself from falling.

Stammering apologies, Dean stood.