Page 18 of Healing Creek
Grace wasn’t going to back out now. She waved a hand past the lift call button. “Well, you won’t want to come with me then.” The lift door opened, and she stepped inside.
“Why not?” Torres stepped in beside her.
“Because I’m going down to play tourist.” Grace gave the elevator the floor number.
Torres’s face froze for only a moment. “Well then, you definitely need a winger.” The friendly tone had leached from her voice but the moment they reached the correct floor, she took Grace’s arm and strode out. She led her with sure steps until they turned a corner and could see the hold. They could smell and hear it, too.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Torres quietly questioned.
“Yes, but don’t feel you have to come. I can do it on my own.” Grace moved closer and Torres matched her pace. Most of the people Grace could see were sitting quietly, one woman with hands over her ears as if pained by the noise. Grace searched the faces for Ghost as she tapped her thigh with nervous fingers. From somewhere, loud voices called out mocking and jeering.
Torres pulled her to a stop. “Oh geez, sounds like they just brought down the guards from the auction room. We shouldn’t be here.”
A familiar voice called out, “Close cells thirty-four through thirty-nine.”
Creek.
Grace froze. He’d avoided her all day. Even when he’d stopped by the auditorium to see Mercury, he hadn’t taken even a moment to speak to her. But she had a feeling he would have a few words to say about her presence in the hold. She wasn’t stopping now. She’d made it this far.
Grace turned the next corner, and he stood in the center of the corridor. Cells divided by shimmering pulse fields lined both sides. He looked up, but there was no surprise on his face, only the stern mask he sometimes wore. “Grace. Torres.” He nodded at them, and Grace realized Torres had again remained at her side like a good winger. Maybe she wasn’t just her guard.
Torres lifted her hand in a wave. “Hey, boss.”
“Boss?” Grace met Creek’s gaze.
“Creek is in charge of security on the ship,” Torres explained.
“That’s a big job.” Grace fought the urge to tap her fingers.
Creek shrugged. He looked large and strong and unconcerned by the weight of the responsibility. Still, she could see the pain and fatigue of his day in the way he held his body. That shoulder was bothering him again. She took a little satisfaction in his stance that told her the kidney was healing well.
A sudden wave of sadness made her heart flutter. She hated everything about this. Her sister’s situation, the possibility of an armed bad guy aboard, and somehow, the one person she’d felt safe with was now her adversary. There was no warmth in his eyes, only suspicion. And how could she blame him?
Creek moved closer. “Why are you here, Grace?”
She hadn’t let her gaze leave his, despite her fear that he’d see something there she didn’t want to—no, couldn’t afford to—reveal. “I—I need to see the prisoners, the ones who weren’t allowed into the auditorium today.”
He didn’t react and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. “Why?”
Finally, she looked away. She knew it might give her away, but she couldn’t meet his eyes and lie about this. “The guards. The ones who kidnapped me. I need to face them. To put my nightmares to rest.”
He huffed and his breath caressed her. He’d moved closer and Torres had slipped away. The rough scars on his fingertips slipped across her hands. The warmth of his palm met hers as he wove his fingers with hers and moved to stand beside her.
“I’m here. They can’t hurt you now. Go ahead and look.”
Her heart squeezed with guilt at his comforting words. She didn’t know why he’d avoided her today. Maybe he was truly just too busy to make time. Whatever the reason, he didn’t see them as adversaries. A tear threatened to spill onto her cheek, and she kept her gaze on the prisoners so Creek wouldn’t see it. Together they walked past the row of cells. The men inside were tired, defeated and unfamiliar. She didn’t see a single one of the men she remembered clearly from the attack weeks ago. She didn’t see Ghost either.
She blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes then looked up at Creek. “I don’t see them. Is this everyone?”
Creek cupped her cheek and brushed away the moisture with his rough thumb. “We just brought the last of them down from the auction room.”
“There is no one left up there?”
“Only a few of St. Germain’s guests remain there. This is all of the guards that survived the takeover. If they’re not here, they’re dead. You’re safe.”
Grace nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. If there was even a chance Ghost still lived, she couldn’t tell them about Jenny. He might have eluded the searches and be in hiding. He could be hiding among the guests. It was the most logical group. Either the crew or the guards would have known he wasn’t one of them. Ghost might be dead. If so, did that mean Jenny was lost to her? And if he was alive, she still had no way to connect with him. Anxiety knotted in her belly like a parasite.
Chapter Seven
