He finally pulled away and folded his hands into his lap. Romare stared at his palm as if he missed the sensation of me holding him already. A strange feeling stirred in my belly. I closed his door and turned away.
As I walked around the car, I stared at my hand. How long had it been since someone had touched me? Even in passing, people avoided me. And I liked it that way.
Get your head on straight.
I shook myself back into reality and kept moving. Romare needed to be taken to my house where he could be kept safe. The Russians were probably looking for him now. Amadeo was right about one thing: he needed to be protected. Either they would want him back or they would want him dead.
And I had to stop either scenario.
I slipped into the car and pulled off. The silence grew until it was so thick I nearly choked on it. Something heavy touched my thigh and I jerked before I glared at my leg.
Romare. He held me tightly and stared through the windshield. Slowly, his gaze shifted over to me, but when he saw I was looking, he hunkered down in his seat, clutched his cat to his chest, and held on even more.
You are something else.
I'd told him that if he didn't cry he could hold my hand, and since his eyes were dry, I didn't push him off. As long as he was quiet, I could think. I turned on the radio. Soft music filled the car and the tension eased. I heard a sigh. When I looked over Romare had settled back into the seat and he didn't look so on edge.
There were a thousand questions I had for him. But they would all have to wait until I got him home.