by Lexy Timms
“Are you asking if you’re safe?”
She nodded meekly. It couldn’t have been easy to ask that. He understood her question, though. He wrapped his arms around her, legs too, until they couldn’t be any closer unless she crawled into his skin.
“My family, my extended family, that little community we created over the years, has had a lot of experience with this. We raise our children to have a strong set of values. We’re taught that life is sacred and that everyone is important and special. It’s drilled into our heads. The ones who can actually make a choice to take a life are rare. Most of my people usually just hide in the woods, farming and pretending that none of this exists.”
“But not you.”
He put a finger under her chin, so that he could look into her eyes. “Never doubt that it’s hard. You’ve seen me kill, but I never take a life easily. In any form. I chose this path when a creature so depraved came and took someone very valuable to me and I realized the true cost of hiding. Some of us are needed to watch over our kind, to keep them safe. I’ve perhaps ventured farther than some, but my ideals are still the same.”
She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder again, but he could still feel the tension in the way she held herself against him. She was quiet while she digested all this. A moment later she shot up to stare at him.
“Are all Amish shapeshifters?”
Taylor threw his head back and laughed. The water bubbled and splashed over the sides of the tub. He hadn’t laughed that hard in longer than he could remember, and finally had to stop because he couldn’t breathe anymore.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” Angelica held her hands up in surrender, her eyes playful, full of mischief. “You just looked so sad and so serious, I had to do something to hear you laugh again. I’m sorry.”
Taylor wrapped one arm around her and held her tight against him while he dropped the other to her side, fingers outstretched and wiggling.
“NO!” she shrieked, and kicked out, struggling to get away. “DON’T TICKLE IN THE TUB! NO TICKLING IN THE TUB!” She whipped around in his grasp, wet and slippery. He couldn’t keep hold of her, so when she brought her down sharply in the water it sprayed him royally. And soaked whatever in the was still dry.
“Oh, it’s on, little girl!” he cried, and grabbed at her again. She retaliated with bath oil and the resulting entanglement of limbs had the tub nearly empty by the time they stopped and ended with him on top of her and her legs wrapped securely around his waist.
Damn, but it was a good thing this freaking bathtub was huge.
“Say uncle,” he teased, wiggling his fingers in the air just above her.
She grabbed his wrist hard. “No. I have a better way to surrender.” She pulled his arm down, guiding his hand to the warmest part of herself. She bit her lower lip and looked up at him, questioning, playfulness fading to something more intimate. Her eyes were dark, limpid pools that he could lose himself in.
As it turned out the tub really wasn’t that big after all, but it was enough. He slipped into her, letting the remaining water splash wildly up the sides of the tub to mark their tempo. Their little bathtub oasis had its own tsunamis and rogue waves, and when she cried out and bit his shoulder the water sprayed from the side of the tub in celebration like the Bellagio fountains at the famous casino in Las Vegas.
He shifted her around so that he was the one on the bottom, and she lay draped across his body.
“We dumped half the tub out on the floor,” she noted with a wry glance at the bathroom floor.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah.” There were likely other, better words to say, but right now they certainly escaped him. For that matter he was getting cold, and by the way her nipples stood, proud sentinels crowning each perfect breast, she was, too. He turned on the hot water with his foot, filling the tub again until their skin pinked and she begged him to stop before they had to report to the clinic with second-degree burns.
It was nearly an hour before they rose and dressed again. The water had leached into the main room, vast puddles that spread in little tendrils.
“I’ll try to find a mop,” she said, staring at the mess in dismay.
Taylor took the towel he’d used to dry off and nodded. His eyes had gone watery, his nose ran slightly. He dropped the towel into the pooling water and froze. He looked at her in panic and ran from the room.
He made it out into the hallway before he doubled over, breathing heavily. He grabbed his knees and took one deep breath after another. The pain was excruciating.
Angelica was right behind him. Whatever she said he couldn’t make it out. Everything was noise and bright lights.
Suddenly suspicious... no, paranoid, he grabbed her shirt and brought it to his nose.
The other memory was with the mate. The mate was saying something. It was bright here and small and the other memory was troubled, ill. The other memory was fragile and always ill or weak. The mate seemed troubled.
The other memory seemed to think that changing was the problem. That being stuck halfway between himself and other was causing them both pain. The cat withdrew. But he looked once more at the mate before leaving and snarled a warning.
Let nothing happen to the mate.
Ever.
IT WAS ANGELICA WHO’D figured it out first, lifting the hem of her shirt and smelling it, then offering it to him. There was no doubt about it. The odor was faint, very faint, but it was there, sweet and with a hint of bleach. He snarled, actually snarled when he smelled it. Horrified, she stripped off the shirt right there in the hall.
The shirt was white. The towel was white. The bleach had been a clue. Fortunately, the bra was one she hand-washed she said, babbling as she threw the shirt away from him—no bleach or strange chemicals. When she approached him again he was able to tolerate it. Had felt the tiger recede. Only then was he able to nod that he was safe, that he could stand to be in her presence.
He insisted that he was under control again, but deep down he wasn’t altogether sure. He was thankful when she left him propped up against the door frame and bolted inside to collect the bedding off the bed. White sheets. Pillowcases. The towels in the bathroom. All of these would have been washed for her in the main laundry room at the admin office, where they washed the hospital towels and sheets and even the scrubs.
She gathered them all together and dumped them in the hall, opening windows to let fresh air come through the screens before letting him back in. Taylor was wobbly on his feet. Still a little unsure as he sat heavily on the bed, head pounding, heart still racing.
“It was the same smell,” he said when he could finally talk. “Batu reeked of it.”
“He wasn’t wearing white,” she pointed out, rummaging around in the closet until she came up with a scarlet washcloth which she rinsed thoroughly in water before bringing to him to put over his eyes. He lay back on the bed, not liking the weakness but acknowledging he needed a minute. The bare mattress held the faintest of scents from the sheet, made stronger by the pillow itself. He made a face and put the washcloth over his eyes and spoke slowly, thinking things through as he put them into words.
“No, but the clothing is just part of it. That was washed in something besides bleach, and whatever it was washed in he must have had some.”
“White is everywhere in the clinic,” she murmured. He could hear her pacing. “It gets bleached to keep it sanitary, to kill germs and bacteria, so everything is white.”
“But they can’t bleach the entire camp.” Taylor lifted the washcloth to look at her. The room still seemed to want to spin, so he put it back. He took a deep breath, not liking where his thoughts were going. “So, it’s not just to see if the patient heals, but she was also beaten to get her into the clinic to expose her to this... stuff.”
“Stuff?” Angelica echoed, her voice weak, distressed. He was hitting her with too much. “What ‘stuff’?”
“I don’t know,” Taylor admitted, “but it’s irresistible. I...I have nev
er, never shared with the cat like I just did. I didn’t even change physically, but mentally. The cat was at the surface and we... shared... It’s like we melded; nothing, nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”
“You mean the cat was on two legs and...”
“...and understood that it was the sharing that was causing me distress.” He dropped the washcloth and looked her over with a wry smile. “By the way, you’re his mate. Thought you might like to know.”
“His... all righty, then.” Angelica blinked. Her expression might have been hilarious had the whole thing not been so dangerous, so deadly.
He smothered a chuckle and sat up. “We need to get that laundry bleach checked, see what’s in it.”
“How do I do that?”
“Don’t you have a lab here?”
“Are you kidding? We have some kick-ass tech here for x-rays, but the pad keeps going missing.” At his raised eyebrow, she rushed to add, “We assign a pad to a person, make him responsible, and he ‘loans it’ to another employee who has no memory of such an exchange and we’re out another tablet. We had to go back to dumb terminals and chain those down. The last time I saw a tablet was just before you got here when...”
“When what?” he prompted.
“I saw the x-rays of that girl on a tablet. Of Charra,” she said slowly. “Anitah had one. I assumed that he just had more honesty with his; he’s one of the better orderlies but, Taylor, those x-rays came back awfully fast.”
“How fast?”
“Like it was already cued up.”
Interesting. He made a mental note to talk to this Anitah person. “So, you’re saying someone had already taken images before you even saw her? What does that mean in the medical field? Is there any reason that x-rays could have been taken before you got to her?”
“Only if she’d been seen first by a different doctor. There aren’t any PAs...” She saw the expression on his face and explained, “Physician’s Assistants. They’re something between a doctor and nurse. They work under a doctor but can prescribe drugs, order tests...”
“But you don’t have any here?”
“No. We have a half-dozen nurses and a small army of orderlies, but only the four doctors.”
“And would a nurse order x-rays?”
“No. Even if one did, no one would do it on her say-so.”
He thought for a minute. “Then Manchester didn’t steal your patient? Maybe you stole his.”
Angelica frowned. “He didn’t say anything. I would think if he took his patient—no, wait. He said he examined her and didn’t see any issues. If he’d seen her before, wouldn’t the fact that she was instantly healed give it away?”
“Unless that was what he was expecting to see. You tell me.”
Angelica paced the confines of the tiny room. She hadn’t been able to sit still once since she’d gotten him back into the apartment. She shoved a hand through her hair, moving it back off her face. Her eyes were wide and restless. “This whole thing... I don’t even know what to say anymore. Maybe it would be better if we left. I can just leave. I’ll open a small practice in the States. Or figure something out.”
“That’s a good idea,” Taylor admitted, sitting up and setting the washcloth next to him. “But not us. You.”
“Excuse me?”
He sighed and stood carefully, stepping over to her, putting a hand on each shoulder, in part to steady himself, in part to keep her from bolting, but not listening to what she had to say. “Listen, you’re the one Batu tried to kill. You’re the one in immediate danger.”
“Are you forgetting the little moment in the hallway?”
He wasn’t likely to forget. “Look, we’re running in circles here; we just don’t know enough. Regardless, you had the right idea. You need to get out of here. There’s an airport in the city. It’s not a huge one, but it can connect you to...”
“Really? You think I’m just going to run off and leave you here? Seriously?”
“I’m trained for this kind of thing. I’ve had years of experience in espionage and surveillance. I can handle myself in a fight.”
“And without me, what the hell excuse do you have for being around? ‘Oh, I came to visit my fiancée, but she’s run off and I’m just going to hang around a refugee camp for a while.’ Without me, there’s no you here.” Taylor glowered at her. Angelica grinned. She had him and they both knew it. “You’re just upset because you know it’s true.”
“No,” he said, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “I’m upset because nothing is worth risking you.”
Angelica placed a hand on his chest. He could feel his heart change its rhythm. Speed up. Damn, she was beautiful. She stood up on her toes and kissed him passionately. “Then don’t expect me to risk you.”
There was nothing he could say to that. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss a thousand-fold.
When finally they parted, Taylor grabbed the bag he’d gone to such lengths to get. He’d debated about bringing it back to the camp. This bag held everything that would prove to the powers that be that he wasn’t who he said he was. Just opening it meant he was committed to action, to seeing this through regardless of the danger to himself. Or to her.
He pulled out the two pistols and the satellite phone and lay them on the table.
“Take one,” he said, indicating the guns and hating this step, hating that he was going to ask this of her, but knowing she could handle it. She couldn’t have survived South America unless she was made of strong stuff. He’d seen that strength before. He was asking her to find it now. “I have a holster that will fit in the small of your back. If you’re staying, you’re armed.”
Angelica hesitated before finally nodding. “Fine.” She glanced around the room. He followed her gaze to the disheveled bed, to the lack of towels in the bathroom. The room looked trashed. Yeah, nothing suspicious going on here. He remembered the bedding, the towels in the hallway. They would need to clean that up.
“Before you show me how to use it, there’s work to do,” she said, smiling a little sadly. “I need to get rid of the laundry. And then we both need to eat. It’s been a busy night and we need to keep up our strength.”
Good girl. Never had he been prouder of her than he was right now. None of this was easy for her. “Is the cafeteria serving this late?”
“They serve 24/7,” Angelica said and smiled a little, a ghost of her former grin, but there all the same. “It was the one administrative idea Manchester had that I agree with. We work odd hours.”
“All right,” Taylor said, taking the gun from her and setting it back on the table. “Eat first, kill people later.”
“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way.”
He took her in his arms and held her so tight that she could barely breathe. Maybe breathing was overrated. “I...” He swallowed hard and couldn’t continue. He buried his face in her hair, memorizing her scent all over again.
“What?”
“I said—” He pulled her away to look her in the eyes. “I love you. I am in love with you. And I am very, very proud of you.”
She melted into his embrace and lay her head on his chest.
“Just don’t get killed.”
“You’re kind of a buzz kill.” She swatted his arm. “But I love you.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “Unless you get yourself killed. Then I hate you. Remember that.”
Arm in arm they left for the cafeteria, both pistols gleaming on the table as they turned off the lights.
Chapter 13
Dr. Melinda Johns was still sitting at the same table, sipping black coffee and ignoring her food. It didn’t look all that appetizing. There was a limit to the amount of instant mashed potatoes one person could be expected to eat. Still, her expression was very distant, and her expression was one of a tragic nature. Never had Taylor seen eyes so sad on another human being.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Taylor said as he set his plate on the table across from he
r. “Are these seats taken?”
“Hm? Oh! Mr. Mann. Still with us, I see. By all means, sit. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come in. Hello, Angelica.”
“Are you all right?” Angelica asked, frowning a little as she took the place to Taylor’s left.
Melinda gave a short laugh and caught herself, biting her lower lip to silence the sound. She looked at the plate of food in front of her as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Yes... well, no, but thank you for your concern. I’m just not feeling my best...”
“What’s wrong, Doctor?” Taylor asked, exchanging glances with Angelica, who shrugged.
“Wrong? My goodness. I suppose the question is more what’s not wrong. I must sound like an awful complainer, but I find things distressing sometimes, rather unpalatable.” She took off her glasses and placed her knuckle over her lips, letting the lenses dangle dangerously close to the plate. “Please, you mustn’t mind me; I just... it was a bad time, you see, in surgery I mean. I... the subject did not survive.”
The subject? You mean patient, right?
“I’m so sorry,” Angelica said, reaching across the table to lay her hand on Melinda’s arm.
“I... thank you, my dear. It’s so wonderful to have someone to say things to, isn’t it? You have your very handsome man here to lean on and I assume that you have her, Mr. Mann, or are you one of those men who do not need anyone to lean on in troubled times?”
Taylor shook his head. “No, I rely on Angelica for support quite often.”
“That’s good. Nothing worse than someone who won’t admit they hurt. Sometimes it shows, sometimes it’s plain and obvious and...” She looked up. “And sometimes, my dears, the pain is so obvious that you hurt with them.” She sighed and straightened up. “But I suppose it’s all the nature of the challenge. If we had wanted to be sure none of our patients ever came to harm, we’d be doing plastic surgery and earning a great deal more money than this.” She grinned at them, but the edge of her pain still shone in her eyes. “As I said, please disregard my demeanor; I have always been a tender-hearted soul. Oddly enough, that was what drove me into medicine and nearly caused me to forsake my calling.”