Natalya had fallen victim to their abuse more than once. He and Scott had made it their mission to protect her, especially as she grew older and the attention turned sexual in nature. Scott swore if anyone ever touched his little sister he’d kill them. Guess he didn’t need to worry on that score any more.
Frustrated, Lucas drove his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The car screeched around the corner. A homeless man scurried out of the way, the headlights reflecting the whites of his eyes. The burn in Lucas’ stomach turned into a raging inferno that rose up his esophagus and choked his breath. He slammed on the brakes, his heart triple-timing in his chest. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and turned his skin clammy.
“What the fuck, man?” The monk slammed his hand against the back of the seat, rattling Lucas’s already jangled nerves.
Hadn’t he learned anything from the accident? He could have killed that guy. His head fell forward and rested on top of the steering wheel, his breathing harsh in the strained silence.
Forgive me. Please—forgive me.
A soft breeze flowed through the open window, its warmth a blessing. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He sniffed them back and sat up, his gaze meeting the accusing glare in the mirror.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” His voice was little more than a croak.
“Hmpf,” the monk snorted. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” He shook his head in disgust. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re stuck with one another. Let’s just make it work, okay? Preferably without you killing us a second time around.”
Lucas swiped the moisture from his cheeks, and nodded. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“Mike,” the monk said. “The name is Mike.”
Chapter 7
Scott couldn’t believe he’d escaped from a hospital just a few hours before and now here he was, riding in the back of an ambulance. He was pretty sure it wasn’t SOP to transport a canine, even if it was extenuating circumstances. But the moment the paramedics had shown up, his companion had run roughshod over their objections. It was sort of sexy.
Tracy York.
He had a difficult time equating her as a medical examiner. She seemed too… young. Naïve. Cute.
That is until a person got close enough to read the deep green pools of her gaze. They spoke of suffering, those eyes. They made him ache inside. He wanted to hold her. Offer to help, even though his world was a screwed up mess.
Her thigh rubbed against his every time the ambulance changed lanes and was slowly driving him crazy. Every nerve strained closer, waiting for the next teasing friction of silk and jean meshing together and then apart.
The vehicle took a corner and she lost balance, threw out a hand to steady herself, and came dangerously close to finding out exactly what she was doing to him.
Scott grasped her forearm in his good hand and stopped her forward momentum. He froze, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. Her eyes grew large and he felt like the wolf at Red Riding Hood’s door. His heart skidded along his windpipe like it was an Olympic medal winning luge run. How had he thought her merely cute? She was gorgeous, with hair like the finest brandy and skin that rivalled any fairy tale heroine he’d ever read about. He leaned toward her, solely focused on tasting that lush, honey-sweet mouth.
And she frowned at him.
Just like that the noise came rushing back in, the creak of the van, the beep of machines, and the stifled snort of the paramedic who suddenly pretended to act busy. Tracy pulled her arm free. She ignored him to reach out and pet the mutt’s gnarled coat, and move a careful few inches down the bench.
Scott glared at the grinning paramedic and sat back, his head resting against the cool metal wall behind him. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time a woman turned him down. He was disappointed, but there was no denying the fact that the doc intrigued him. If she were anyone else he’d be tempted to pursue the matter. But she held his and Lucas’ reputation in her dainty little hands. He couldn’t afford to alienate her.
* * *
Tracy worked to slow her chaotic breathing, but her pulse was ping-ponging around her chest as though involved in a championship match. She threaded her fingers through the sleeping dog’s thick coat and massaged, as much for her benefit as his, and tried to ignore Jenny smirking from her spot on the opposite seat. But then she’d seen Tracy shut down men’s pick up lines before. The two women were part of an eclectic group who had first met at a book club and carried it over to Friday night bar hops. Not that any of them were drinkers—well, most of them weren’t drinkers—they just enjoyed each other’s company.
Tracy had the childish urge to stick her tongue out at her friend. She satisfied herself with a crinkled nose before lowering her gaze to the injured dog. She hoped Ken, the only male in their crowd, would be able to help the poor guy.
He’d almost kissed her.
Scott Anderson had almost laid those sexy movie star lips on her mouth. She was crazy to have turned him away. How many people could say they’d been kissed by Scott-freaking-Anderson?
Too many, and that was the problem. Tracy had no interest in seeing her name in the next gossip magazine—Anderson’s bro-mance ends in affair with M.E. -wonder what she’s been inspecting? After her sister’s death, she’d developed an aversion to anything media related. The reporters made a gong show out of her family’s distress. Nowadays, she seldom watched the news or read a paper, not that she was missing much—it was usually bad news anyway.
“So this is what you do in your off-time?” Jenny asked, her gaze mischievous as she eyed Scott over Tracy’s shoulder.
Tracy glanced back, and was relieved to see his lids closed and his face slackening with sleep. He looked like he needed it too. Dark rings had made half-moon shadows under his eyes. His skin was pale and highlighted a string of fading bruises from his right cheek down to the edge of his collar. Sympathy that she knew he wouldn’t appreciate, moved her to lift a blanket from the shelf and lay it over his lap. He shifted and she froze, her arms practically wrapped around him, her cheek inches from his chest. Then he settled and she sighed her relief.
She straightened on the hard bench and shrugged at Jenny’s knowing smile. “He needs the rest.”
Jenny snorted. “I just bet he does.”
Tracy flushed. “It’s not what you think. He was in an accident a few days ago and lost his sister and best friend.”
Jenny’s pretty face sobered. “Oh, that sucks.” Then, it was like a light bulb came on. “Hey, I know who he is, the guys were talking about going out on that call. Heard it was a bad one. Head-on with a van, right?”
Tracy nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. The driver of the van didn’t make it either. Left behind two kids and a pregnant wife who miscarried a few hours later.”
Jenny swore. Working around a bunch of men every day gave her the vocabulary of a lumberjack. “They said alcohol was a factor. That bites. He deserved what he got then.” Her gaze turned inflammatory on the unsuspecting Scott.
Tracy hurried to defend the sleeping man. “The investigation is ongoing. We don’t know anything for sure yet, so give him the benefit of a doubt, okay?” She didn’t know why she felt this sudden surge of protectiveness. She barely knew the man, but it was undeniable. He’d somehow managed to get under her skin.
The ambulance bounced over a speed bump and came to a stop. They had arrived. Jenny did another check of the pup’s vitals, then prepared for transport.
Scott woke up with a start and groaned at the sudden movement. He gazed down at the blanket sliding off his legs and lifted a bemused stare in Tracy’s direction.
She shrugged, self-conscious. “You looked cold.”
They both reached for the fallen blanket at the same time and ended up bumping heads.
“Ouch.” Tracy sat up and giggled, struck by the silliness of the situation.
Scott rose a bit slower, his hand cradling his chin. The poor man really was a mess.
<
br /> “Are you okay?” he asked, the words a bit garbled.
“Me?” she laughed. “Look at you. There’s not too many more places to get banged, are there?”
Almost before the words left her lips she wished them back. Scott looked surprised, then intrigued. Jenny hooted, and Tracy turned seven shades of red.
She flattened her hands to her overheated cheeks and refused to meet his eyes. “That’s not, uh… yeah. I’ll just stop now.”
“Don’t quit. People pay good money for this sort of entertainment.” Jenny murmured, as she brushed past to open the rear doors.
There was no time to remain embarrassed. The driver met them at the back. They set the wheels down on the gurney and rolled toward the emergency entrance to the vet hospital. Scott climbed out and offered her a hand. Tracy hesitated, then grabbed on and the two of them hurried to catch the paramedics. Ken met them, smiled reassuringly, and began an assessment.
His practiced fingers ran over the animal’s skull, withers, back and abdomen. He turned to them for a report, his gaze contemplating Scott’s firm grip of her hand before he met her worried look with a quirk of his lips.
“When I asked you out on a date this wasn’t what I had in mind,” he teased.
Tracy stiffened, then realized what he was doing and raised her brows. Ken shrugged and turned his gaze to a now silent, Jenny.
“What do you have for me, Jen?”
Jenny thrust the clipboard into his arms. “Patient is stable. You can read the rest in my notes.” She glanced at Tracy. “You okay now?” Tracy nodded, her chest hurting for her friend.
“C’mon, Dev, we better get back on shift.” Jenny started toward the ambulance.
Dev gave Ken a commiserating look before hurrying after his departing partner.
Tracy shivered as she watched the lights fade away. Men. They really could be jerks sometimes.
She followed the gurney into the hospital, aware of Scott dogging her heels. The episode between Jenny and Ken couldn’t have come at a better time. She knew better than to develop feelings for a guy. They couldn’t be trusted. She’d make sure the pup was going to be okay and then she was going to say good-bye to Scott Anderson.
Chapter 8
The shopping cart clattered its way down the sidewalk overloaded with an array of bottles, discarded clothing, scraps of pungent smelling food—and bells. It was those freaking bells that drove him onto the road in the first place. He’d already tried to remove them without success—they were tied with some kind of fisherman’s knot even his knife couldn’t cut—and so he’d been stuffing whatever he could find into them to dull the noise when the cart took off on him as though possessed.
With the cops just moments behind, Ray knew he couldn’t just leave the blasted thing rolling down the street so he’d chased after it and almost ended up a shit-stain on the pavement when that cab rounded the corner.
He’d padded the shirt to increase his bulk, and with the addition of wide frame glasses and some face paint, even Anderson hadn’t recognized him in that cheesy guard’s uniform. But it wouldn’t take long before every cop in the city would have a description and be hot on his trail, so he’d done what he needed to do. It wasn’t that he enjoyed killing. It was simply a means to an end. That old bum looked like he was at death’s door anyway. He’d just given him a push, that’s all.
He grimaced over the odor of cheap wine and urine emanating from the filthy clothes, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Ha. He snickered over his own joke. A few more blocks and he could ditch this flea-infested basket and get back to his own world. A world he’d worked hard to build up, and no one was going to take it away from him.
* * *
Lucas drove down the residential street at a snail’s pace, his hands sweaty on the wheel. One yard had a trampoline sitting empty off to the side while in another a tire swing shaped like a pony swung from a big ol’ willow tree.
“There.” The newly named Mike pointed, his voice vibrating with suppressed emotion. “The one with the picket fence.”
Of course it was.
Lucas guided the taxi into a parking space and killed the engine.
“I’ll just wait here.” He stared straight ahead and swallowed hard. “Take your time.”
Silence descended like a dark shroud.
He slid the windows down and inhaled the sharp tang of night air along with the sweet, perfumed smell of Rugosa roses. His grandma had grown a set of matching bushes by her front door. One of few childhood memories he cared to remember.
The house was a perfect two-story white gingerbread with a wraparound porch and big bay windows for the parents to watch their children at play.
Except, now there was only one parent.
Two kids’ bikes lay discarded in the driveway and the grass was in need of a mow. A single light shone from inside, as if the rest of the home lay steeped in sorrow and sadness.
A figure appeared on the doorstep and Lucas tensed. “Who’s…?” He glanced in the rear of the car, the words dying off when he realized he was alone. That was going to take some getting used to. He turned back in time to see Mike just sort of glide through the closed door. Lucas blinked hard and shook his head, stunned.
“Don’t be so surprised. We angels have many gifts in our arsenal.” The rich baritone of the Lord’s voice resonated throughout the car. Lucas froze, his gaze going to the radio softly glowing even though the vehicle was still turned off.
“You trying to give me a heart attack?” he demanded.
“It’s a bit late for you to worry about your human body, I’d think,” the voice replied.
Great, now he had a smart-assed car to deal with.
You know better than that.
Chastised, Lucas dropped his head. His attitude always managed to get him in trouble, especially in times of stress, and this whole situation definitely qualified in his top ten.
“I meant no disrespect.”
The lights flickered from the radio. “I understand, my son. It takes time to get a handle on this new world you inhabit. Just remember, we are not the enemy.”
No, that honor was reserved for himself. He’d always been his own worst enemy.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your focus should be on helping others, not on needless self-pity.”
Lucas’ cheeks heated. He opened his mouth to deny the condemnation, then let it slide shut. The man was right. It was too late to change what he’d done. All he could do was try and help those he’d hurt.
The second story window slid open. A head peeked out before disappearing from view to be replaced by a set of pajama-clad legs. The child sat on the sill, then suddenly without warning lunged, stopping Lucas’ heart until the small arms grasped the nearby branch of an old oak tree.
Without conscious thought, he flew to the base of the tree and prepared to catch the slight body if he should fall, but the boy was a monkey. He swung from branch to branch as if he’d been doing so all his life. When he got close to the ground, he let himself just hang there until his hands couldn’t take the weight any longer. He dropped to the grass with a soft grunt and sat there for a moment, then he stood, dusted the butt of his dinosaur pj’s, and searched until he found the pack he’d let go of in his descent. He shouldered it and turned to head down the driveway and that’s when Lucas saw the tears.
Aw, shit.
The kid was running away.
Lucas needed to do something, like now.
He picked up a fallen acorn, threw it toward the rose bushes he’d been admiring earlier and hoped it would freak the child out and send him back inside where he’d be safe. Instead the boy turned white, jumped like he’d been struck by lightning, and bolted down the street.
Good job, moron.
He ran, but the kid was fast, especially now with Lucas’ new, less than healthy body, and it wasn’t long before he lost sight of him. He slowed down for a minute, straining to catch the sound of retreating steps over his
sawing breaths, but there was nothing. He swore and glanced back, but the car was silent. Obviously this was up to him to handle.
He bundled his jacket around a sagging middle and continued down the road, stopping every so often to listen. Where did the kid go? There were numerous hiding spots; hedges, garbage cans, sheds, cars. It was the latter that kept Lucas searching. The kid was wearing dark clothing, he wouldn’t have a chance if a car came along at the wrong moment.
Please. Show me a sign.
The silent plea paid off. A faint crash and cry of pain gave him an answer. Lucas broke into a running walk, all the while praying for the child’s safety.
Agony unlike anything he’d ever endured ripped through his body, driving him onto his hands and knees. The pain was so intense he barely felt the pebbles gouging his skin. The next wave when it came left him weak and shaking, on the edge of passing out. He breathed through the ache and fought to rise, worry for the child driving him forward. There was a sudden shift of air and he was on his feet and rocking, counterbalanced by a huge weight on his back. Stunned, Lucas twisted and his eyes went wide.
A magnificent set of swan-like wings rose from his shoulder blades. Their span had to be nearly eight feet in width, each feather snowy white. His pulse jumping crazily he tried an experimental flap. His feet lifted off the ground, then dropped him none too gently back to earth.
Holy shit.
He’d been kidding the other day when he asked for wings. This was nuts. Talk about your roller coaster rides. His gut hadn’t caught up to the last changes, now these… wings. He had freaking wings.
Another cry from the next street over and with the slightest direction his wings unfurled and guided him over the rooftops to a view that froze his blood.
The kid lay trapped on his side against an old wooden shed while a bunch of teens took turns kicking him as though he were a soccer ball and they were looking to make a goal.
The Guardian (Mended Souls Book 1) Page 4