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A few days ago, Echo started opening the window on the far side of the room. Beyond lay blue sky with a few palm fronds hanging that blew in the wind. They must have been on a tropical island, but he was almost afraid to ask.
They didn’t talk much, but that was mainly because he didn’t say much.
What could he really say at this point?
They’d been set up, but Echo had still shot him. The assassin had no problem that night trying to take his life.
Which brought up the question—why had Echo saved him instead of finishing him off? A true killer wouldn’t have thought twice about killing someone who threatened their identity. Had Echo hesitated because it was him? Was that the reason? Ice wanted to ask, but he stayed silent.
In the beginning of the following week, Ice felt well enough to sit up in bed and even made it by himself to a chair by the window.
Echo walked in with a bowl of soup and fed him with a large spoon. A napkin was dabbed at his mouth and chin. Ice ignored Echo until the man stayed squatting next to his chair.
Finally, he turned to meet the other man’s gaze. Something painful and weary swirled in the tormented depths of Echo’s eyes and Ice wanted to take the pain away, he just didn’t know how. Reaching out, he cupped the man’s cheek, and Echo sucked in a swift breath of air.
“You shot me,” he said gruffly.
Echo’s tongue darted out and licked at his bottom lip. The man’s lips parted and a sigh escaped.
“I’m sorry.”
Ice thought for a second that he was imagining things. Had he heard correctly? Echo had apologized.
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
“I couldn’t.”
Searching Echo’s gaze, Ice suspected the reason Echo hadn’t shot him…
“You like me,” he said.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” came the tart response and Ice smiled and then winced.
His smile grew when Echo pulled the blanket further up his legs and leaned closer to lift the colorful tourist shirt he wore. Echo placed one palm on the bandage beneath, probably testing for heat.
“Are you in pain? Do you feel hot?” Echo dropped his shirt back in place and leaned over to place a hand on his forehead before he could even respond.
He didn’t mind Echo’s touch at all.
Finally, Echo was acting like a human being instead of a cold, methodical killer. Oh, he knew without a doubt the man could and would kill, but he also knew Echo wouldn’t kill him. And right then, that was all that mattered.
That and Echo’s touch.
He felt irritated when Echo dropped his hand and stepped back.
“Are you still hungry?”
“I am,” Ice said, but food wasn’t what he was after.
“Okay, let’s get you back in bed and I’ll bring you some rolls I just made.”
Ice stayed quiet and let Echo get him back in bed. He wanted the man to stay and talk, but sleep was dragging him down and for the first time in his life, he cursed his damned body.
He needed to recover, and fast. He wanted Echo in his bed. They had a lot of catching up to do.
They also had a killer to catch.
It wasn’t until the end of the next week when Ice woke up feeling like he’d turned a corner.
