“Did you hear the plan, Jesse?” She stopped about a foot away from him.
He glanced up at her, a dead look in his crystal blue eyes. “Not sure I can move.”
At least he seemed aware and in control. She took a step closer, dropped his sweats by his body, and knelt beside him. She handed him a towel, which he grasped in one unsteady hand. She kept another and tenderly ran it down his arm.
“There’s no rush, Jesse. When you feel strong enough,” she said and continued her ministrations, drying his body little by little.
Her touch was torture, Jesse thought. Each slight pass of the towel roused emotions more painful than the physical exertions that had taxed his body. It had been too long since someone had cared for him like this. Since someone had worried about him.
He dried his face and then somehow mustered the strength to reach up and swipe the towel along the back of his neck. His muscles were stiffening. He worried that he had overdone it, only the pain of the procedure had been so great that if he hadn’t tired himself, the rage might have overpowered him.
That he had acted selflessly didn’t make the ache any less painful, he thought as he reached up and attempted to work out the kinks by rubbing his arm.
He groaned at the discomfort, and a second later, she brushed away his hand and commenced a gentler massage. As their gazes connected, she asked, “Can you tolerate any NSAIDS?”
Morales had occasionally given him painkillers, so he nodded. She was suddenly in action, returning to her medical bag, grabbing a bottle, and then pouring a glass of water from the cooler. She returned and gave him the medication, then resumed the massage, extending it to other parts of his body as she dried him.
Whether it was the medication or her touch, in a few short minutes he was better and stronger. She must have sensed it, since she paused and handed him his sweats.
“I’ll help you get dressed.”
She assisted him, although he would have preferred her help in undressing much, much more, he thought.
Luckily she missed the wayward turn of his attention and eased beneath his arm without hesitation to help him up onto his feet. He wavered for a moment, physically depleted, but her presence steadied him.
Together they did the short walk to the garage, where Bruno waited in a large Suburban with windows tinted so black, only his silhouette was visible behind the wheel. By the door, Jesse paused at a hanging organizer where assorted keys dangled along with a pair of Oakley sunglasses and a Mauraders hat.
He slipped on the hat and glasses.
No one would know who he was, she thought. The glasses hid his eyes and wrapped around to hide a goodly portion of his face. The hat and shaggy hair added to the disguise, leaving few recognizable features. Just the small cleft in his chin and his firm masculine lips.
Beautiful lips, she thought, and a second later a dimple erupted beside that luscious mouth, as if Jesse had guessed at the nature of her thoughts and approved.
“In your dreams,” she goaded.
“It would be a shame to limit it just to dreams,” he immediately retorted.
She jerked her finger in the direction of the car. “Get in the back. I’ll ride shotgun with our friend Bruno.”
Jesse opened the door and she discovered another of Whittaker’s goons—Howard—was in the back seat. The heavy tinted glass had hidden his presence. Jesse slipped into the back seat, and she climbed into the SUV for the short ride to the lab.
Bruno locked the doors with a loud kathunk and peered into the rearview mirror. “No funny business, Bradford.”
Jesse tossed his hands up into the air. “Does it look like I can do much of anything?”
Neither Bruno nor his partner said anything else as Bruno pulled out of the garage, shut it with a remote, and then eased onto Ocean Avenue before heading westward toward the FBI laboratory and the hospital. The proximity to the hospital brought her some relief. If anything went wrong with any of the medications she gave Jesse, or the plasmapheresis, being nearby was good in case of an emergency.
She only hoped that wouldn’t be necessary and glanced at her watch. It had taken them more than half an hour to cool down and dry Jesse. He seemed more relaxed, less uncomfortable than he had earlier, she thought as she peered over her shoulder at him. His head was resting against the back of the seat, and his long legs were stretched out as far as possible. His hands were propped on his thighs, but loosely and absent any signs of pain.
Blessfully peaceful, she thought, recalling the earlier violence he had directed against the body bag.
Violence to be feared, she reminded herself, driving away the empathy she was feeling for him. One of her teachers in medical school had warned her that she sometimes got too emotionally involved with her patients. She was on the brink of it this time and forced herself to recall the risks involved with Jesse.
His violent strength.
The possibility that he might die if they couldn’t stop the bone production.
His immense size, daunting for anyone, but in particular for her, since he topped her by at least a foot.
His physical presence nearly overwhelmed her when she was beside him, and yet there was something about that difference that also pulled at her. She could imagine the peace of being surrounded in those strong arms, or the way he might lift her as if she weighed nearly nothing.
Not that she did, she thought, shooting a glance down at her ample curves before driving such thoughts from her mind.
Jesse Bradford might be attractive, but his many faults and issues outweighed that masculine beauty.
The car stopped. She had been so lost in her contemplation that she hadn’t realized they had reached the facility. Withdrawing a key card from her purse, she walked to the door, Jesse following behind her. He was flanked on either side by Whittaker’s men.
She swiped the card and they entered the laboratory.
Carmen was at her workstation, bent over the microscope. She rose and faced them as they entered. A smile erupted on her friend’s face as she glanced beyond Liliana to Jesse.
“Is the treatment ready?” Liliana walked up to Carmen and gently nudged her to get her attention.
Carmen motioned to the treatment room. “Almost. You can get set up in there. I shouldn’t be much longer.”
Liliana turned, but Jesse and his two guards were already in motion. Liliana joined them, but between the equipment in the room and all the bodies, it was a tight fit.
“Could the two of you wait outside?” she said to Bruno and Howard.
They shared an uneasy glance, obviously hesitant until Liliana said, “He can’t go anywhere. You can wait by the door.”
Reluctantly they took up spots on either side of the entrance, earning another dimpled smile from Jesse. “Doc, you sure know how to get your way.”
Too bad she didn’t know how to get her way with him.
She pointed to the borrowed hospital bed, and Jesse eased onto the edge of it while peeling off the sunglasses and hat. His bright blue gaze glittered intensely as his smile widened and he patted the bed beside him in invitation.
This was the Jesse the media loved, she realized. The one with a string of female conquests that meant nothing. Another negative to add to her list.
“Not on a bet, Jesse.” She walked over and asserted gentle pressure on his shoulder to get him to lie down.
All business, she wheeled over a table with a pulse oximeter to track his pulse and oxygen levels as she said, “You may want to take off your sneakers and get comfortable. This could take a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours with you sounds like heaven, Doc,” he replied with a wink but did as she asked.
Liliana shifted the plasmapheresis machine to reach all the wires and tubes she would need to connect to Jesse. With them in hand, she sat on the edge of the bed and he sighed dramatically.
“Finally got you where I want you,” he teased and his smile broadened.
There was something about
his humor that was hard to resist, even though it was sexist and disrespectful. Maybe it was that she sensed he was doing it just to push her buttons. So she decided to push back.
“So why don’t you do something about it? Like take your shirt off for me?” She pitched the tones of her voice low, hoping for sexy.
He chuckled, aware of her ploy, but played along. Humming a tune suitable for a striptease, he pulled one arm out of his sweatshirt and then another, leaving the shirt over his body until with a triumphant, “Ta-da,” he ripped it off.
“Dios mio.”
Carmen froze in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of Jesse’s body.
Jesse glared at her, arching an eyebrow, and Carmen immediately snapped out of her daze. She approached the bed and grabbed some of the wires from Liliana.
“Let me help get you the anticoagulant and IV drip ready,” Carmen said.
“What are they for?” Jesse asked as Liliana wrapped a rubber hose around his bicep and tapped his arm to expose a vein.
“We need to keep your blood from clotting as it flows through the machine. The IV drip will stabilize any drop in blood volume and pressure,” she said, all traces of the earlier playfulness gone.
Jesse quietly watched as the two women efficiently got him hooked up to the plasmapheresis unit, inserting needles as well as the IV drip into his two arms. Liliana clipped the pulse oximeter on his index finger and then kicked on the unit.
He was fine for a few minutes, but soon light-headedness set in. Liliana seemed to notice his discomfort and covered his hand with hers.
“It’ll pass in a bit. Close your eyes and try to rest, since this will take some time.”
He did as she said, but the whirling sensation continued, reminding him of the beginning stages of the mind control drugs Whittaker had used on him. Hating that sensation, he opened his eyes and realized the two women had left the room.
From his position in the bed, he could observe them at a workstation, examining something with a microscope.
His marrow sample? he wondered. A moment later, Liliana’s colleague waved a blue light over something and a slight yellow-green became visible near the bottom of the microscope. As she passed it over a nearby test tube, the color became a bright phosphorescent neon green.
Liliana patted her friend on the back. They discussed something, but it was impossible for him to hear what it was.
The light-headedness intensified, creating a disturbing whirl that had him wanting to vomit. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to combat the nausea.
Whittaker listened to the message Bruno had left him.
Fate was working in his favor for a change.
If Carrera had taken Bradford to the lab, it was possible she was administering the inhibitor, and none too soon. He might be able to save at least a few of the subjects they had so diligently engineered for sale if he could get his hands on her inhibitor.
He parked his Suburban in front of the building, walked to the secured door, and swiped his key to enter.
Inside, Bruno and Howard were at a far door, guarding what looked to be a sleeping Bradford. He paused briefly for their report, but they advised that nothing unusual had happened.
Whittaker continued into the lab. Carrera and her colleague Dr. Rojas were examining a vial of something that was glowing brightly under a black light.
“Is that Bradford’s blood?” he asked, pointing to the test tube.
“A bone marrow sample. That seems to be the place where the Wardwell genes have been incorporated,” Dr. Rojas advised.
“And where they’re producing the proteins that are creating the ossification in Jesse’s body,” Liliana tacked on.
“What about the glow in the blood?” he questioned, recalling the bits of light in the earlier samples Carrera had drawn.
“Free-floating marrow and osteoblasts. Both were likely produced by the hybrid genes in Jesse’s system,” Liliana answered and motioned to the door to the treatment room. “We’re filtering his blood to attempt to cut down on the number of bone-producing proteins. That should help control the damage to his body.”
Whittaker nodded and glanced toward the door. Bradford had not moved since he had entered a few minutes earlier. Playing possum? he thought but then returned his attention to the physicians.
“You’ll also be using the inhibitor to control the genes?” And when they did, he would snag a sample somehow.
“Not yet.” Liliana held up a test tube with glittering bits floating in it. “We don’t know if the inhibitor will contain the replication in his marrow because of the difference with what’s happening with Caterina.”
“Different? How?” he asked and jammed his hands in his pockets, playing with his change as he waited for an answer.
“With Caterina we needed to control the replication of the hybrid genes, but the cells being produced were not essential for life-sustaining functions,” Dr. Rojas began.
“In Jesse’s case, we can’t inhibit bone marrow formation. The marrow produces too many necessary cells. So for now, no inhibitor. We’ll just eliminate the excess proteins from his blood,” Liliana finished.
Fuck, Whittaker thought and rubbed his hand across his buzz cut. “When will you know?”
“When we’ve done enough testing,” Liliana advised in the tone he recognized as her don’t-mess-with-me stand. Grudgingly he admired her tenacity, but he had to find a way to get the inhibitor.
“Since Bradford’s down for the count, I’m going to grab a dinner break. Howard, come with me so you can take over for Bruno later.”
Liliana stood silent until the two men had left. Then she faced her friend and the tube that she held. “Can you set up some kind of test of what the inhibitor will do to the marrow?”
Carmen brought Jesse’s marrow sample up to the room light. Even without the black light, the glow was bright. “I can clone it. Analyze how it reacts.”
She hated sounding like Whittaker, but she had to know. “How long will that take?”
Carmen shrugged. “Can’t say. In the meantime, maybe you should assess just where these genes are at work besides the marrow. Give us an idea how serious his condition is.”
She thought of her visual exam and the bony parts it had revealed. Wondered how she would expand on that assessment when Carmen handed her a handheld black light.
“Run it over his body. Whatever glows—”
“We’ll know where something is up.”
With a nod, Liliana grabbed the portable unit and headed into the treatment room to examine Jesse.
CHAPTER 11
Jesse’s eyes were shut tight, and his breathing had the slow, measured cadence of sleep.
The clink of glass and metal, Carmen stirring something probably, filtered into the room. Liliana shut the door to block out any sound.
Jesse was lying on top of the covers, his upper body exposed and connected to the cell separator by the tubes carrying his blood into the machine. Within the unit were a series of filters specifically chosen to remove the dangerous proteins from Jesse’s blood. Liliana hoped that would contain the bone formation.
She approached cautiously, anxious about disturbing his rest. At his side, she flipped on the black light, and immediately parts of his body began to gleam with a paler, less dense version of the yellow-green of his marrow.
The hardened knuckles and back of his hand.
The injury along his left side where he had been recently Tasered, now nearly healed with a coating of something other than skin.
She walked to his other side, and the larger batch along his ribs phosphoresced. More pronounced and shining brightly beneath the black light.
As she moved, the light played across the IV tubes and bits of yellow-green shone back in his blood.
So much contamination, she thought, and when she turned back, the black light skimmed along his skin and her breath whistled out in surprise. She leaned close to his arm and focused the beam on his bicep.
<
br /> Was she imagining the glow lying just beneath the surface of his skin?
She snapped off the light and laid her hand on his arm, gently palpated the muscle beneath. Harder than just muscle. Rock hard, but with Jesse that expression had an entirely new meaning.
He was turning to bone, and she had little idea on how to stop it. And if she didn’t…
She looked up at his face—that movie star face. Tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined that visage hard and still in a death mask of bone. Imagined that playful dimple gone forever.
She laid her hand on the strong line of his jaw, traced the spot where that dimple would come out and play.
Jesse opened his eyes slowly, but as he saw who it was, he fixed his gaze on her face and smiled until he realized she was crying.
He awkwardly took hold of her hand but grimaced, probably as the needles in his arm pinched with the motion.
“You’re not crying for me, are you, Liliana?”
She liked the sound of her name on his lips. The way his eyes had darkened to the gray of storm clouds as he noted her upset.
“What if I was?” she said defensively, although it seemed to be a losing battle to guard her heart.
He smiled again and shifted his hand to bring hers to his lips. A whisper of a kiss across her knuckles created a flutter in her midsection as he said, “You have the hands of a healer.”
When he opened her hand and dropped another kiss in the center of her palm, her stomach did a somersault that kick-started a more dangerous response farther down.
“Don’t care about me,” he whispered against her palm.
“Why not?” She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning toward him.
The smile on his lips faded, and he released her hand as he said, “Because I’m not worth the pain I’ll bring into your life.”
It was crazy. Madly and certifiably crazy, she thought only a second before she said, “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
And then she was closing the distance between them until her lips hovered close to his and their gazes locked.
Stronger than Sin (Sin Hunters) Page 10