Page 8 of The Care of Broken Things
“Don’t touch that.”
Eli lifted his hand away from the typewriter. He didn’t seem at all surprised to be caught. “Why is it transparent?”
“Because prisoners can’t be trusted not to shove contraband into their devices or MacGyver the innards into some kind of weapon.”
“Isn’t that reference a little before your time?”
He wasn’t interested in banter. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted a book.” At his look, the man amended his statement. “Okay, I was searching for you.”
“A little obsessed, aren’t you?”
“Maybe, but there’s also the part where you keep running away.”
He went over to the shelf and pulled his copy ofThe Strangerfree. “Here. A book. Now get out.”
“I’d rather stay here,” Eli said, but he took the book, their fingers brushing as they made the exchange.
Samuel snatched his hand back. The jolt gave him a moment of clarity, and he remembered why he’d come. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Eli’s lips quirked upward, and he wanted to smack the smirk off his face. How dare he smile when he was trying to focus?
“Concerned?”
He turned his face back to the books. They didn’t reallyneed straightening, but he needed a break from that face. “It’s just a question.”
“I’ve also got questions. You like to write?”
“The hell do you care?”
A hand reached around him and touched one of the books he was straightening. It took all his self-control not to flinch. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who keeps rescuing me.”
Samuel didn’t think he turned around. He could swear he hadn’t moved. And yet his back was to the shelf, and he was staring up into Eli’s face.Up.It had been years since he’d looked up at anyone.
“You’re even younger than I thought.”
Eli had lowered his voice. With the two of them so close, there wasn’t a need for volume, but Samuel wished he’d speak up. This low, that voice was the rustle of silk sheets. Still, he wouldn’t be cowed. More than that, he refused the fluttering of arousal that tugged at the edges of his fear. “I’m old enough to be here, aren’t I?”
Eli frowned. “They told me you’ve got a fifteen-year sentence, but you’re still a kid.”
So Rat hadn’t lied. Eli really had been asking around about him. He shoved at his chest. “They tell you why I’m in here?”
“You killed a man.”
A wave of dizziness passed through him and for a moment his hands were covered in slick red. When he blinked, the image vanished. “I don’t think your husband would like you fraternizing with a murderer.”
“You’re not a murderer.”
That startled him. He almost nodded, convinced by the sudden weight of the man’s words. Eli seemed to exude a shamanistic energy, even more dangerous than he’d suspected—and he already thought he wasplenty dangerous. He stepped out, away from Eli. “Are you even listening to yourself? You just said I killed a man.”
“I know what I said.”
His heart was racing again, and now the nausea was back. He swallowed it down. “You should leave.”
Eli was standing exactly where he’d been pushed,The Strangerhanging loosely in his grip. “You don’t think I’m like the others, right? The ones who hurt you. Like Racer.”
He took another step back and bumped into the desk. Just how much had Eli learned? “No one can hurt me.”
