Free Rest For The Wicked by Cate Dean Page B

the side of the bed when the room took a slow, sickening turn. Strong hands caught her, lowered her to the bed. “Hand me that blanket, Marcus, then go get some water. Stop fighting me, honey. It’s time to let someone else take care of you for a change.”
    Claire nodded, immediately regretting it.
    “Annie,” she whispered. Her friend leaned over. “Can that be tea instead of water? I’m—cold.”
    One hand covered her forehead.
    “God, you’re like ice. Why didn’t you say anything?”
    “You were busy scolding me.”
    “Funny to the bitter end.” She tucked the thick, soft crocheted blanket around Claire. “Stay put—I’ll have your new best friend start the hot water.”
    “Annie.” She paused in the doorway. “Marcus—”
    “Is a necessary evil for the moment. I get it. I won’t kill him in his sleep—not until we get this sorted out.”
    “Appreciate that.”
    Annie moved back to the bed, bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.
    “Please get some rest. I can’t lose you, Claire.” The tears she fought thickened Annie’s voice. “I’ll be back in a few.”
    “Thank you.”
    She watched Annie leave, then waited an agonizing minute before she sat, shedding the blanket. It took another minute for her head to stop spinning. She stood, using the wall to help her over to the closet, and almost went headfirst into her dresser when she reached for the closest pair of shoes. She managed to slip into them without further incident, and used the triumph to propel her to the other end of the closet for her coat.
    “Planning a trip, sweet?”
    Jaw clenched, she turned around. Marcus stood in the doorway, a mug in his left hand. She could smell the sweetness of her herbal and fruit blend across the room.
    “I have to stop her, Marcus.”
    “Agreed.” He set the mug on her bedside table, strode across the bedroom. Claire backed away, moving toward the back door that led to the alley, and the freedom of her car. Marcus got there first—and once he took her arm, she knew she was going nowhere. “We make a plan that does not end in your violent death, then you go stop her.”
    “Why does everyone keep assuming I’ll die? I can take her—”
    “Of course you can.” Marcus guided her to the bed, then sat her down and handed her the mug. “Drink. Annie’s orders,” he said when she hesitated.
    She sipped the tea. The honey-sweetened liquid hit her tongue, its warmth seeping through her.
    “How is your hand?”
    Marcus had bandaged his right hand at some point. Now it rested against his leg, long fingers curled over his palm. He managed to block his pain from her, but she knew how much it must be hurting him.
    “It will heal. Drink your tea.”
    She obeyed, every taste spreading the heat. It felt so good to be warm again—she’d all but forgotten how good—
    Marcus caught the mug when it slipped out of her hand.
    “You—drugged me.”
    “ She drugged you. With something she called Vicodin.” Gently, Marcus lowered her to the bed, tucked the blanket around her. “To keep you from doing just what you were doing when I came in. Going after this cousin half-cocked.”
    She had no ready lie. And lying had always been one of her lesser talents. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the call of sleep, the blessed warmth.
    “Marcus.”
    “Right here, Claire.”
    “Tell Annie—we’re having words.”
    She heard the smile in his voice.
    “I will warn her. Rest now, Claire.”
    His low voice followed her into the darkness.

 
NINE
    C laire slapped the bag on the shop counter, needing to take her temper out on something.
    Annie snuck out during the night, leaving Claire with a sleeping draught hangover and a serious case of mad. Now another day was almost gone, and she was still here. Natasha was still free.
    She gathered everything she thought she might need. Talking never worked with her cousin.
    Pounding on the door whirled her around. Marcus