Tears flowed freely down her face. Torrents. Rivers.
“Roslyn,” a voice said. “What the f**k … the place are you?”
Her vision was too blurred to see. The room regarded a mass of murky shadows.
“Ros!”
“Nick?” she hiccupped.
“s**t,” he muttered and crouched before her, a huge black-jeaned, black-shirted, black-clad determine of a man. The heel of his hand smoothed over her face, thumb gently wiping away her tears. “What happened?”
She simply stared at him, dazed.
“Was there an infected?” he asked.
“No,” she sniffed. Then she sniffled. Then she gave in and wiped her nostril on the lower back of her hand.
With a scowl he grabbed her, arms underneath her arms, towing her out of the pile of blankets she’d bundled round herself. He dragged her onto his lap and held her close. A palm settl
