Page 46 of Warrior's Cross

She left the bottle and went off to another table after casting another curious glance Julian’s way.

“You think he’s not sick?” Blake asked.

“I think I need to go,” Julian answered as he stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer.

Blake stayed seated casually, but he watched Julian with a sincere worry in his eyes. “Call me,” he requested simply.

But Julian was already moving calmly toward the door. He kept his head down, but stayed alert to his surroundings as he went. If anyone followed him, he would know it. He waited until he was outside the building before he broke into a run.

Even as fit as he was, he found himself out of breath when he reached Cameron’s building, darting in through the entryway as a woman exited. Sprinting up the stairs didn’t help, and by the time he found himself at Cameron’s door he was fighting back the very real urge to panic. He banged on the door as calmly as he was able.

There was no answer.

Julian waited three breaths and then banged again, looking up and down the hallway carefully.

Still no answer.

He dug in his pocket for the small leather case he always kept with him. He opened it hastily and extracted two small utensils from the lock-pick set before remembering he actually had a key. He shoved the set back in his pocket and searched for the key with a quiet curse. After a brief moment of fumbling, he had the door unlocked, and he pushed it open carefully, practically vibrating with the urge to throw caution out the window and storm into the apartment.

But Julian was nothing if not cautious. He drew his gun.

He carefully surveyed the interior before entering. The main room was lit with only one lamp, and the kitchen was dark. The large space was very obviously empty. It was odd walking intoCameron’s apartment without being barraged by little white fluffy things. And it was cold. Very cold.

A survey of the room showed that all the windows were shut. But the window near the fire escape in the bedroom wasn’t. It was open a few inches, letting in the frigid winter air. Julian’s blood ran just as cold, and he moved through the apartment with even more care, searching the shadows for anything untoward before he closed and locked the window.

The bedroom was dark and empty except for a little spill of light coming from the bathroom door in the corner. The room behind the screens was heavily shadowed, what with the blinds drawn and the fireplace cold. Clothes lay scattered messily across the floor rather than neatly tucked away as usual, and pillows and quilts sagged off the end and sides of the mussed, empty bed. All that was very unlike the normally tidy Cameron. Julian headed for the light, investigating quickly as he moved toward the bathroom.

“Cameron!” Julian finally called out as he pushed open the bathroom door.

His lover sat on the floor, crumpled against the wall, a fever-flushed cheek pressed against the decorative tile. Each breath rattled as he pulled in air and caught on a thick rasp as he exhaled. There were several prescription bottles on the counter, a couple knocked over into the sink, along with an open bottle of codeine cough syrup and a sticky spoon.

“Jesus,” Julian breathed as he lunged toward the man and took his face in his hands. An odd mixture of intense relief and increased worry struck Julian hard. “Cameron?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?” he asked as his cold hands burned where they met Cameron’s skin.

Cameron gave a weak whimper and blindly leaned against the cool skin that touched his cheeks.

“Did you take all this medicine?” Julian asked as he set his gun on the tile floor and reached into his jacket to grab his phone.

Dragging his bloodshot eyes open, Cameron looked around dazedly, drawn from his fevered sleep by the voice. “Julian?” His voice was mangled and hoarse, and the words came out broken. “You’re here?”

“I was worried,” Julian answered as he dialed the phone. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he told Cameron firmly.

“Doctor said I’m sick,” Cameron rasped weakly, slumping against the wall. “Gave me medicine.”

“Your doctor should be shot,” Julian spat angrily. He held the phone to his ear and spoke Cameron’s address curtly before hanging up. “Come on,” he urged as he tried to help Cameron to his feet.

“Where’re we going? I’m too tired,” Cameron protested helplessly. “Can’t breathe.”

“Hospital,” Julian murmured.

Cameron wavered for a moment before he moved. He was part-way up when his breath caught, starting a terrible coughing fit, and his legs gave out under him as he tried to clear his lungs and throat. Julian caught him and held him as the coughs wracked his body. Once the fit ebbed, Julian hefted him up into his arms, carrying him out of the bathroom.

Although Cameron was smaller, it still wasn’t easy for Julian to carry him out of the apartment and down the stairs. Julian was certain it was adrenaline that made it possible; he could feel it coursing through him as he moved. While it would have been easier, a fireman’s carry would surely have made Cameron’s condition worse, and Julian couldn’t bear the thought of tossing Cameron over his shoulder like that.

When the sharp cold outside struck them, Cameron flinched in his arms and tried to suck in a breath, moaning aloud. Thechill against his hot skin must have been painful, because he started shivering violently, and Julian wanted nothing more than to hold him close and keep him warm.

A sleek black Lexus pulled up in front of the building just as they exited, and Julian carried Cameron to it. A thin, light-haired man jumped out of the driver’s door and hurried to help him.

“Closest hospital, Preston,” Julian ordered quietly as they struggled to get Cameron into the back-seat quickly. The driver nodded and hurried back to slip behind the steering wheel. Julian shut the back door and pulled Cameron to him, cradling his head in his lap and struggling to get out of his heavy coat so he could cover Cameron with it.

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