The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland

face, dark circles under your eyes,” she answered, digging a dollar from her pocket.

      “Just tired.” She accepted the money and turned away before the inevitable “what’s wrong” question was asked. How the hell would she answer? My life’s falling apart, I’m disappearing in my own mind while I run around doing God knows what—and I’m scared I’m going to end up dead while my mind’s on autopilot.

      Irritation rode her hard as she stormed into the employee breakroom. Her hands shook. Trying to force-feed the rumpled dollar bill into the recalcitrant vending machine made her long for a cutting torch. She’d take her time. Liberate bottles one at a time. Make the machine bleed quart after quart of whatever ran through its insides if the inanimate son of a bitch didn’t give her caffeine now.

      A large hand settled on her shoulder and she whipped around, fist connecting with ribs before she could stop herself.

      “Ow!” Her best friend, Ethan, jumped back, clutching his side while eyeing her carefully.

      “Sorry.” The apology nearly stuck in her throat as she shook out her fist. The idea of hitting again was more gratifying than making sure she hadn’t hurt him with her first swing. That’s not me. Opening her mouth to ask if he was okay, the words turned to ash on her tongue. No matter how hard she tried, they wouldn’t come.

      Stumbling back in a rush to put distance between them, she tripped over a chair and did an ungraceful ass plant before sliding across the hard tile floor. “Damn maintenance! Is this the only place they get the wax and polish right?”

      Ethan’s gaze narrowed.

      Kennedy could almost hear him ticking off marks on his checklist for mental instability, and the implication there was something wrong with her chafed. Even if it was accurate. It gave her fear a tangible foothold. Made it all too real.

      Still sprawled on the floor, she glared up at him. “Stop looking at me like that.” The unguarded hostility in the command forced her to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Undiluted anger simmered in her blood. Not me, not me, not me, she silently chanted.

      A whir followed by the thunk of a plastic soda bottle being dispensed made her shoulders sag even as she opened her eyes.

      Ethan extended a broad hand and hauled her to her feet, still eyeing her silently.

      “You should’ve left me there and run for your life.” Goose bumps decorated her arms, and she rubbed them briskly.

      “I thought about it, but we both know you’re only director of nurses until you can take over the world and make me your consort.” He waggled his brows and offered a lopsided grin. “And everyone who’s anyone knows you can’t rule the world from the floor.” He held out the bottle of Coke. “Caffeine.”

      Kennedy clenched her jaw shut and forced a close-lipped smile. “I suppose.” What in the world is wrong with me?

      Holding the soda as a bribe, Ethan pulled out a chair and sat. He toed a second chair away from the table and tilted the bottle toward it in invitation. “Scared me, disappearing like you did.”

      The urge to run kicked her adrenaline into overdrive. Fighting it, she sank into the proffered seat hard enough it slid back a few inches. “Caffeine first. Logical word exchange second.”

      “Caffeine while you explain.” He handed over the bottle.

      “If it helps, it scared me, too.” The soft admission hung between them, the impetus to a conversation long overdue. Toying with the lid, she finally spun it off and took a deep pull. Ethan’s silence made her shake her head as she picked at the bottle label. “Any other day you’d score me on depth and clarity.”

      “There’s not a damn thing about this that I find funny.”

      His sharp tone made her look up. “That makes two of us.” She took a second sip before setting the bottle on the table.

      Raking a hand through his dark blond hair, he snagged the soda and took a sip. “Where’ve you been?”

      “I can honestly say I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s been a bad eighty-four hours.”

      He considered her, eyes guarded. “That’s a long run of bad.”

      “Yeah.” Adrenaline mixed with anxiety to form a wicked cocktail that spread through her with immediate effect. Breaths came faster. Heart pounded. Sweat prickled her nape. “I haven’t been this screwed up since losing my dad and finding myself both devastated that he was gone but also horrifyingly relieved I could stop trying to please him while forever failing.”

      Ethan stood and moved behind her, laying a palm between her shoulders and rubbing tiny, soothing circles. “Slow down.”

      Panic folded in on itself and left her hollow, her skin too loose, her clothes too tight.

      He gradually widened the circle. Heat emanated from his hand and spread through her at a lethargic pace.

      Pervasive calm soothed the raw edges of her psyche. Her chin dipped forward. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but don’t stop.”

      “It’s nothing, really. Just touch.”

      “Whatever. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”

      His touch slowed further then stilled. “Tell me what’s going on. You fell off the face of the earth. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer your cell. Scared me bad.” Tense silence stretched between them, fragile as spun sugar.

      If my life had a soundtrack, this moment would cue the dramatic orchestra piece.

      Ethan pulled his hand away. “Something bad happened.”

      “What are you, psychic?” She twisted to look at him. “Because if you are, you should give all this up for the glamour of your own nine-hundred number.”

      He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll cut you a good deal on my by-the-minute plan. Now stop trying to redirect the conversation and answer me. Where’ve you been?”

      It was impossible to meet his open stare. “I don’t know.”

      Fingers tightened against her jaw. “Come again?”

      “I’m having blackouts.” The words, nothing more than a whisper, yowled through her mind in desperation.

      “You mean blackouts as in passing out and waking up, or episodes of fugue?”

      “It’s worse than fugue. I... I lose time, but always in short periods. Hours at most. Until last Friday anyway.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, she gripped her elbows and pulled tight. “I’m having violent thoughts, might even be getting violent while I’m out of it. I don’t know.” She forced herself to look at him.

      His mouth worked wordlessly. He grabbed the soda and took a huge swallow. And choked. Waving her off, he wiped at his streaming eyes. “Violent how? Like temper tantrum violent, or I’ll cut you seventy-three different ways before I castrate you with a spork violent?”

      The hiss of the door’s hydraulics saved her having to answer.

      Kennedy shoved out of her seat and faced the nurse who hovered half in, half out of the break room. “You need me?”

      “No. I mean, yes,” he stammered. “A guy’s out here asking for you.”

      “Asking for me?” Her stomach plummeted, hitting bottom hard enough to bounce.

      Ethan cleared his throat. “Is he a cop?”

      Glaring at him, she fought against the invisible vise tightening around her chest. “Why would you think he’s a cop?”

      “I, uh, sort of filed a missing person report.”

      “Oh, man. Okay.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll be right out.”