“Do you want us to call someone and tell them where you are? What about your father?”
Her eyes shot open. “No!”
“Why not? You don’t think he’d want to know that his only daughter was found nearly dead in an alley. That she’s alive and being cared for. I just saw him give a press conference, asking that they leave you alone to mourn. Why isn’t he setting every cop in the city out to find you?”
“I . . . I . . .” She winced.
Fuck.
He settled himself on the bed next to her head.
“What are you doing?” she asked, stiffening.
“I’m going to massage your head.” He started rubbing her scalp.
“How can you touch me when you hate me?”
He paused. “It’s best not to ask that question.” Mainly because he didn’t know the answer.
“How can you go from threatening me to helping me?” she asked.
“Was I threatening you?”
“You said you’d call my father.”
“And that’s a threat? What’s going on, Genevieve?”
She stiffened, remaining silent.
He sighed. “We’re doing this the hard way, then?”
They were both silent as he massaged her scalp. She started relaxing into his touch.
“I left him to keep him safe. All of you safe.”
“What does that mean? What was threatening us?”
“I can’t tell you anything more. But you all need to leave. Get well away from me. I’m a disease that will consume you, rot you from the inside out. So please. Just take them and go.”
He sat in silence for a moment.
“Wolfe?”
“Hush. I’m thinking. You need to sleep. Do you need the pig?” he asked.
She tensed. “What?”
“To sleep. Do you need your stuffed pig?”
“How do you know about that?” she asked.
“You were clutching it when we found you. Told me not to touch it or you’d rip my balls off.”
“I did not!”
“Most fierce you were. And over a toy.”
Jesus. Was he jealous of a toy? Not possible.