Already his fingers were delving into her hair and she tensed, expecting him to be rough. But he was extremely gentle as he felt along her scalp.

“I didn’t know,” she managed to slur out. “How could I have known? I was in shock after the attack and then desperate to form a plan to escape—and survive. The only injury that registered was to my knee. It made walking . . . difficult.”

“I can imagine,” Hancock said dryly. “It’s still very swollen, aggravated, no doubt, by all that walking.”

His fingers glanced over a spot and she immediately cried out, blackness and nausea engulfing her.

“There it is,” he said in his calm, unaffected tone. “You have quite a bump there. A concussion, likely.”

“I haven’t died yet,” she said in a sour tone. “If it were that serious, I would have keeled over by now.”

She heard a noise that sounded like a laugh, but Hancock neither smiled nor laughed, so it was obviously her delirium making its presence known.

“No, you aren’t going to die, but you do need to rest so you can properly recover.”

She started to snort but realized that would just hurt too much. “Kind of hard to rest and relax when you’re running for your life.”

The man holding her feet in his lap handed Hancock something that looked suspiciously like a syringe. Three of them. When had he gotten them and where? She hadn’t detected movement, but then she wasn’t all that coherent at the moment.

Fear gripped her and she reached up to stay the man’s hand just as Hancock’s hand closed around the syringes.

“What are those and what are you planning to do?” she asked fearfully.

“You need to calm yourself, Honor. You have enough stress without adding to it with unnecessary worry. I’m merely giving you an injection of antibiotics and pain medicine so it will take the edge off your pain and allow you to rest properly.”

“I gave myself an injection of antibiotics before I escaped the clinic,” she said. “And I took pills with me and I’ve been taking them three times a day ever since.”

“Smart girl. You think well on your feet.”

Was that a compliment? From Hancock the unfeeling, arrogant asshole? Maybe she was more screwed up than she initially thought, because now she was imagining things that simply weren’t there.

“However, you have cuts and scrapes in dozens of places that are all susceptible to crippling infection—a complication we certainly don’t need right now. And that knee is still pretty nasty-looking and is still swollen to twice its normal size. So in addition to the antibiotics and pain medicine, I’m also giving you a shot of steroids to help with the inflammation. I have a Medrol dose pack that you’ll start taking tonight and continue for the next five days. You should start feeling relief as soon as tomorrow.”

“We won’t be to where we’re going for five days?” she asked in alarm.

Panic skittered its way up her spine. Five days seemed an eternity. The days spent evading the murderers stalking her every move had been endless. She’d hoped . . . She’d assumed that now that she had help that they would be to safety in a short time. The idea of being exposed for so long scared her. They were a group of seven including herself, and she’d be of no help to Hancock and his men in a firefight. And they were up against an untold number of crazed militants who would never stand down until their objective was achieved. Capturing her.

She could practically see him shrug, though her eyes were closed. As if it weren’t a source of concern to him at all. Was he really that confident in his abilities? In his men’s abilities? She should take comfort in that kind of arrogance and self-assurance. But she couldn’t quite quell the desperate fear that took over all else.

“I won’t know until we get there,” he said vaguely. “Now be still so I can administer the injections. It might burn, but it will go away quickly.”

“It can’t hurt more than it already does,” she said through tight lips.

He obviously injected the pain medication first, a fact she was grateful for, because now acknowledged, pain was screaming through her body in unrelenting waves. She could feel the glimmer of relief as he pulled the layers of her garment up so her hip was exposed. She didn’t protest with false modesty. At this point anything that gave her relief was more important than the fact he was exposing far more of her than she would have liked.

The man at her feet rotated her just enough so Hancock could access the back of her hip and then Hancock carefully swabbed the area, cleaning it with alcohol before efficiently administering both injections.

In a few seconds it was over and she sagged as Hancock readjusted her clothing. Already her surroundings were a warm, hazy glow and a wonderful leaden feeling had stolen over her body, chasing away the ever-present pain.

Still, she struggled against the heavy layers of unconsciousness and roused herself enough to open her eyes and direct her worried question up at Hancock.

“What if we run into trouble? I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag right now,” she admitted.

There was a hint of amusement in Hancock’s tone. “Leave the fighting to us. I don’t anticipate trouble—yet. So take this opportunity to rest up and heal.”

Maybe he was human after all. Or perhaps she’d misjudged him. He was, after all, carrying out a mission. Just like any other soldier or special ops force or whatever the hell he was. Black ops maybe? He was certainly secretive enough, and he hadn’t identified the branch of the military he served. Perhaps he was one of those who didn’t officially exist and he gave her no information that she could inadvertently leak at a later date.

She didn’t care. She would claim fairies rescued her just as long as she got back home. Safe. Alive.

“Thank you,” she whispered, still holding on to the last bit of awareness she possessed.

This time there was genuine puzzlement in Hancock’s voice.

“For what?”

“For saving me,” she said, her words nearly unintelligible. “For helping me. And for promising you’d get me back home.”

He stiffened beneath her. She could feel the muscles of his legs go rigid, and the hand that had been absently stroking her hand stilled and then withdrew.

“I made no such promise, Honor,” he said in a tight voice.

Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with people thanking him. If he was off the books and didn’t exist, then he wasn’t used to being thanked for anything. He and his men were ghosts. What a terrible way to live. Risking your lives for others and never being thanked.

“You trying is enough,” she murmured. “You’re my last and only hope. So thank you.”

“Go to sleep, Honor,” he said, his tone suggesting he had no liking for her words. “You need to rest while you can.”

It was a command she had no difficulty obeying. She was more than halfway there already. All it took was letting her eyelids falls heavily so that her lashes rested on her cheeks and succumbing to the sweet call of oblivion.

CHAPTER 9

IT was many hours later when the group pulled to a stop at an underground compound where they would seek refuge for the night. Dark had long since descended, making the way slower going as they drove a path through the desert where no road existed.