Page 35 of Laura's Truth

“Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “here goes.”

“What are you doing?”

He countered her frown with a grin. “Helping.”

“What about the ice?”

“Give this a chance first.”

“Hmm.”

Her skepticism didn’t surprise him. He hadn’t believed when he’d first been introduced to old Eastern healing wisdom either. Thank God you didn’t have to believe to reap the benefits.

“Do you have some secret desire to be cold?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. This is better than ice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll see. It’s energy and physics,” he said, knowing a bigger explanation would only raise more doubt.

“What do I have to do?”

“Sit there and be beautiful.”

“Right.” Two little lines appeared between her eyebrows as she scowled at his efforts.

“You want something to do?” She nodded. “Close your eyes and listen to the ocean. Can you do that?”

She shifted that scowl to him for a moment, then gave his hands resting on her ankle another long assessment. Finally, she dropped her head back onto the cushion, watching him from under her lashes.

As compromises went, he’d been involved with worse. Slowly, patiently, with the ocean as powerful and calming background music, he drew the pain out of her body with his hands.

“That does feel better.”

A good start, he thought. After a few minutes, he changed tactics and technique, giving her body the signals to follow so healing could begin. It felt good to him as well, not the process or practice of his hands, but having something different to think about.

For so many years his every thought had been focused on surviving. Staying alive for one more day, getting through one more job, and tracking one more lead until he’d reached the place where he could see an opportunity for true justice at last.

Hunting down Hackett had consumed him, been his primary motivation for taking the next step, the next breath. He hadn’t anticipated the rush of pure relief filling him now. Hadn’t dared to imagine life after meeting his goal. This respite was rare, sitting here tending to something utterly different, something of value and restoration rather than destruction. He felt it unlocking something long dead inside him.

“I can hear you thinking,” she said, her voice soft under the steady sound of the ocean.

He didn’t dare meet her gaze, though he knew she watched him. Closely.

“Are you done?”

“Not yet,” he replied. “Be patient.”

“At this rate, you can hold my ankle all night long.”

“That’s a good endorsement.” He risked meeting her gaze, pleased by the absence of pain in her features. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Then I’ll keep going.”