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Karl hesitated. “Probably not, but I’ll try.”
Gabriel nodded, then, at the sound of another step, glanced across to the bedroom. Sam was definitely moving around. He rose and walked to the door. Grabbing the handle, he turned it quickly and opened the door—only to hit something solid on the other side.
How much had she heard? He had no desire to explain who Stephan was, and what he meant—to both himself and the Federation—to someone like her. Someone who, even if unknowingly, might be involved with the enemy.
She rubbed her nose, but her expression was defiant. Which, oddly enough, he liked. “You should be resting. Finley has lots of tests planned for later this morning.”
She shrugged, her blue eyes wary. “I heard voices.”
“I called a doctor to look at your feet.” Which, he noticed, she seemed to be standing on just fine. Odd, given that only a few hours ago, they’d been burned so deeply he could literally see bone.
“There’s really no need, but thanks, anyway.”
He nodded and stepped to one side, waving her past. Tension ran across her shoulders when she spotted Karl, but it just as quickly fled. He wondered who Karl had briefly reminded her of.
“Karl, Samantha,” he said.
She propped herself on the opposite end of the sofa from Karl, reminding Gabriel of a trapped animal. One wrong move and she’d run, of that he had no doubt.
“May I have a look at your feet?” Karl spoke softly, as if he, too, sensed her desire for flight.
Gabriel caught the wariness in her eyes again. Distrust was part of any good police officer’s makeup, but this seemed to run much deeper. So how had she become involved with someone like Kazdan?
She shifted her feet onto the cushions. Karl studied them silently, then reached forward and lightly ran a finger over both wounds. She winced, but otherwise didn’t object.
“There’s a fair bit of scar tissue, but otherwise, they’re fine.” Karl raised an eyebrow, his gaze meeting Gabriel’s, and Gabriel shrugged at the unspoken question in Karl’s gaze. Four hours ago the wounds had been so bad that she shouldn’t have been able to walk on them—yet walk she had, even though she’d made herself sick doing so. Now they were almost healed. Maybe the answer was tied up in that extra chromosome Finley had found.
“They’ll be a bit tender for a day or so,” Karl continued, his gaze moving back to Sam, “but I can give you some oil to help with that.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Karl reached into his pocket and she tensed, relaxing only when his fingers came free. Again, Gabriel wondered what had happened that made her distrust run so deep.
“Rub a small amount of this oil into your feet morning and night. That should numb the pain and stop the permanent formation of scar tissue.”
She took the small bottle with her fingertips, slowly turning it over in her hand as she examined it. Karl rose, and Gabriel walked him to the door.
“I’ll talk to you tonight about the other matter.”
Karl nodded. “Do. I have some interesting observations to share.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows, but made no comment and opened the door. “Take care, my friend.”
Karl slapped a hand on Gabriel’s arm, grinning lightly as he walked past. Moving with a speed and grace that belied his bulk, he quickly disappeared down the hall. After locking the door, Gabriel turned around and found Sam’s gaze on him. Uncertainty and suspicion clouded her eyes. She wasn’t sure about him, despite the fact that he’d undoubtedly saved her from the kite. Was it the natural suspicion of a cop in trouble, or something more?
“I took the liberty of sending your clothes out to be cleaned,” he said, walking across to the small autocook. “They’re hanging in the closet.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Tell me, is it usual for SIU to provide such lavish surroundings for those they’re trying to protect?”
He smiled. “No. But in your case, I deemed it best.”
She raised a pale gold eyebrow. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s the sort of place we don’t usually choose. And the added security makes it that much harder for would-be killers to find you.”
She glanced away, but not before he’d seen the slight sheen of tears in her eyes. Yet, like last night, she refused to shed them, refused to give in to the shock and pain of the last twenty-four hours. Why?
“I think I’ll go take a shower,” she said, and scrambled off the sofa.
