Page 39 of Hotter than Wildfire

So this shower was pure luxury.

Harry Bolt seemed to have no-frills tastes in décor, but that seemed to be more a reflection of his taste rather than his pocketbook. He sure hadn’t stinted on the bathroom. The shower stall was ten times larger than her last shower in her rented studio apartment and had six shower heads. She stood under the pounding hot water and let herself go.

In one of her under the table waitressing jobs she took for a few days in a small town near Denver, another waitress had taken a shine to her. The waitress was flaky New Ager, but had been kind and warm-hearted. She had a bunch of theories about water—that flowing water takes trouble and bad karma away.

Maybe. Maybe not. But she was sure feeling better.

Ellen hummed. She always sang in the shower. She sang when she was happy, to celebrate. When she was sad, to cheer herself up. When she was frightened, for bravery.

Such a mixed blessing her voice and music had been to her, all her life. Her mother had been a lost soul, living on the fringes of the music world, dreaming of making it big while drinking too much and smoking too much and failing at holding down jobs.

The irony was that her mom hadn’t had much of a voice. There might have been something there when she was young but by the time Ellen was ten, it had long gone. Cindy hadn’t taken care of herself, in any way. What little voice she had had succumbed to the cigarettes and the liquor and the unhappiness. First her voice had gone and then her life, when Ellen was seventeen.

And her mother had been so angry that Ellen had been given all the talent in the family. When she was little, her mom dragged her around fairs and open mike bars. Ellen could sing harmony with a wild boar. Her voice held her mother’s voice up. But then, as she got older, the owners of the bars started wanting just Ellen. But by that time, Ellen had seen enough of the underside of the music world and had discovered math.

Cool, rational math. So perfect. So shiny and sublime. Always dependable, always. Two plus two always made four. Everything else in her life was unstable, transient, unpredictable. But once she discovered math, there was no going back. She finished high school a year early and in college simply dove into her studies.

Music was no longer necessary to eat. It became her private joy. In the shower, driving, on walks. A private joy and solace.

Like now. Stressed and uncertain, scared and without a future, the music poured out of her like the water from the showerheads and both cleansed her.

Out of the shower, it took her only a few minutes to be ready. She couldn’t find a hair dryer, so she simply towelled her hair as hard as she could and combed it. No moisturizer so once she was dry, she put the nightgown back on, and that was it.

She placed her hand on the door and hesitated. The shower and the singing had taken her out of herself for a little while, but behind that door was reality, waiting to take a big bite out of her.

A man who’d saved her life, a man she found almost insanely attractive, was waiting there. For the moment, he’d spread a mantle of protection over her but she couldn’t huddle there forever.

Apparently, what RBK did was place women under threat in a new life. Harry Bolt hadn’t managed so far because she’d been wounded. But Ellen could only imagine that he was hoping she’d hurry up and get better so he could get back to his life.

In a day, two, three maybe, she’d be on her way. Maybe he’d wait till the stitches were completely absorbed. So maybe she could have as much as a week, feeling the lack of fear like a gentle, warm wind on her face.

But sooner or later, she’d be out in the cold. Relocated to somewhere improbable, like North Dakota or Wyoming, though if they gave her a choice, she’d choose mild winters and sunshine over snow any time. But still. This, as in so many things over this past year, was out of her control.

So she’d find herself in some strange town, with a new identity and a new name to get used to. Scared of making friends, working low-level jobs. Keeping her head down. And now, never singing, ever again.

Her heart beat painfully at the thought.

This moment, this precise moment, she thought. Remember it. Feeling warm and unrushed, with a paladin behind the door, safe.

Remember because it won’t last.

She pushed the door open.

There she was!

Harry nearly dropped to his knees. The sounds coming from his bathroom had been so heavenly, he had to pinch himself to make sure they were real.

The music coming out of her mouth had been amazing. If a Martian had to find out what humans were like, all he had to do was listen to Eve. Ellen.

And on top of it, she was herself a beauty, a sort of extravagance of talent. You’d think that having that voice, that ability, would be enough, but no. Who could possibly imagine that a voice like that came out of the luscious mouth of a beauty like Eve? Ellen.

It was hard to think of her as Ellen. Though maybe not, now that he thought of it. If Eve was going to be a beauty, then you’d think she’d be this big in-your-face beauty.

Instead Ellen had a fresh, quiet loveliness. Unobtrusive and hidden. You had to look twice to see it, though after you did, you couldn’t look away, ever again. Clear, pale poreless skin, large, uptilted green eyes with heavy lashes, small straight nose, slightly oversized mouth that made you think of music and, well, sex.

She was small, slender, with a narrow ribcage, which was strange because when she sang jazz, she could belt it out like a smokin’ mamma.

She came out of the bathroom hesitantly, first sticking her head out, as if waiting to see if danger lurked, then pushing the door wide open. The movements of a woman who was still afraid, who’d been on the run for a year.