She held her hand out and smiled as he fitted his arm to it. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
“For…for breakfast. For wanting to take me for a walk and to a concert. For being here.” She leaned forward, hoping she was hitting his face, and planted a soft kiss on his jaw, right on his scar. “For being you.”
He cleared his throat. “My pleasure, honey, believe me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and sighed. “I have to go now, if I want to get—oh!”
“What?”
“Almost forgot.” He left her and came back immediately. He slipped something over her head, lifting her hair so it could rest around her neck. She touched it. A necklace with a long, cylindrical pendant, only it felt somehow different from most necklaces.
“What’s this?”
“I got it yesterday. It’s a signaling device. Look.” Douglas fitted her hand to the tip of the pendant. It was concave, warm to the touch. “It’s connected to a receiving device. If you press this,” he pressed down lightly on her finger and placed her other hand on something that felt like a cell phone or a remote control, “this vibrates. Or emits a whistle, depending on the setting. This is what receives the signal. It’s got a display connected to a GPS unit, so I always know where the signal comes from.”
He sounded excited, and Allegra realized one more thing about her Douglas. He loved gadgets. He was such a…a guy.
Allegra fingered it, wondering what it looked like. “It’s…nice. Thank you.”
Douglas chuckled. “Well, it’s not a gold necklace or a piece of jewelry. I’ll get you something like that some other time. This is something different. It’s to call me if you need help. Here, I’ll show you. Press this—” He took her hand, fitting her fingertip against the tip of the pendant. He pressed hard on her finger until she felt a click and Allegra jumped as a sharp whistling sound filled the air. “That’s for when I’m in the car. If I’m at work or in a meeting, it does this,” the device that felt like a remote control hummed and vibrated. “If you need anything, anything at all, if you hear something that scares you, if you need me in any way, I want you to press this pendant and call me.”
Allegra fingered the necklace, touched that he’d thought of this.
“Honey?” She turned to him. “Do you understand me? I want you to use this if you need me in any way at all. Will you promise me that?”
Tears rose to her eyes and she bit her lip.
“Talk to me.” He shook her shoulders gently. “I’m not leaving unless you promise me that you will press that button if you need me. I’ll come as quickly as I can. Now promise me.”
She swallowed. “I promise.”
“Good girl.” He kissed her swiftly, a warm peck on the cheek. “I gotta run now. So what do you do?”
Allegra smiled. “I walk you to the door and say have a nice day, come home soon.”
“That’s my girl. And what do you do if you need me?”
“Press the button.”
“Very good.”
They were at the door. She heard the rustle of clothing as he put on his coat. Instinctively, she reached out to him and he folded her hands in his, lifting her fingers to his lips.
She hated to have him leave. But he’d be back this evening. She knew this like she knew the sun would rise in the east tomorrow morning.
“Have a nice day,” she said softly.
“Better believe it,” Douglas said cheerfully. “I’ll come home as soon as I can and we’ll go for that walk if the weather holds, okay?”
Allegra smiled. “Okay.”
Another kiss and he was gone, whistling off-tune.
Allegra closed the door behind him, smiling.
Douglas left a presence behind in the house. It didn’t feel as empty or as cold as it usually did in the mornings. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she knew he’d be coming back in the evening. And the evening after that. And the evening after that…
There’d be long walks, and dinners together, and concerts and…well, fantastic sex.
Oh, yeah.
Humming, she moved toward Dagda.
What a wonderful thing a new love was, she reflected. This secret excitement, this bright anticipation. That was what was missing from her new song. That sense of excitement and brightness. “New Love” was too slow. She’d speed up the beat, add a few riffs to the refrain, maybe the notes at the end could simulate a heartbeat…
What was that?
It sounded like the kitchen door closing. But she hadn’t opened it. Had Douglas left the door open? It wasn’t like him. She turned to the kitchen and froze when she heard a man’s voice.
“A bitch like you needs to be punished. I’ll see to that.”
It was Corey Sanderson’s voice. But Corey was in prison. She needed to get a grip.
“You’re not real, Corey.” Allegra whispered, as she turned in a circle, heart pounding. “You’re not here. You’re nothing. You’re a figment of my imagination.”
She gasped then screamed as a hand fisted in her hair and pulled so hard tears sprang in her eyes.
“You’re right, pretty girl, Corey’s not here,” a male voice she’d never heard before growled, “but I am. And I’m going to kill you.”
Kowalski was arranging his day in his head as he drove to the office. If he skipped lunch and got his paperwork out of the way by 2:00, he could spend a couple of hours on the McBain contract and then get home by maybe 4:30. Plenty of time to—
Kowalski’s heart nearly stopped at the sharp noise coming from his coat pocket. Not the cell phone. It was a shrill whistle, coming from Allegra’s signaling device, and it could only mean one thing—Allegra was in trouble.
Kowalski had bought the system in a medical supplies shop and it was intended for invalids and the elderly. It was designed so it couldn’t go off by mistake. If it went off, Allegra was calling him for help. And if she wasn’t phoning him, but pressing the signaling device, it meant she had an emergency.
There were lots of emergencies for a blind woman. Horrible ones. She could be burning, bleeding, dying…
Kowalski lost it, totally.
He was a hard man trained to deal with hard situations. He never panicked and he always thought situations through. But now he simply lost it. All his training, all his experience was totally forgotten as he rammed his way through an illegal U-turn in the middle of a busy highway and broke speed records racing back toward Allegra’s house.
He could barely see to drive. Visions of Allegra catching fire, of Allegra pouring boiling water over herself, of Allegra falling onto the glass coffee table, a sharp shard cutting an artery, bleeding out…these images and others even more gruesome filled his head, lit it up with panic, so that at the end he was driving hunched over the steering wheel, as if he could actually will his vehicle to go faster. He was topping a hundred as it was, leaving behind a wake of angry, honking vehicles.
He didn’t even notice.
He didn’t pay attention to anyone else on the road, to the traffic lights or to the ice-slicked streets. He used every ounce of driving knowledge he possessed to keep the heavy vehicle steady, playing the brakes and the accelerator, going at maximum speed.
And when he braked in front of Allegra’s house, Kowalski forgot twenty years of training in his terror and panic. He’d drilled into his men’s heads over and over that you scout out terrain before moving, and he forgot his own training.
Running up the little sidewalk, he jumped the porch steps in one leap and made a dynamic entry, going in blind. He’d have had the ass of the lowliest recruit who did something boneheaded like that, but Kowalski wasn’t thinking—he was running on pure, wrenching terror.
Allegra burning, Allegra bleeding, Allegra dying…he couldn’t think past those images and when he burst through the front door without even bothering to use the keys and saw Allegra in the brutal grasp of a tall, redheaded man with a gun to her head, he had a su
dden sunburst of clarity lighting his own head, and realized he’d just sacrificed his own life and Allegra’s in his panic.
A thousand thoughts ran through him, in the freaky timeless zone of a man about to die.
He thought—
Fuck! Allegra was right, she was being stalked, only not by Corey Sanderson, but by this guy.
That’s the guy I saw in Lawrence Square. If only I’d believed her…
Fucker’s holding a .38. He can’t miss at short range. He’ll take me down and then kill Allegra. She can’t defend herself.
This is a stupid way to die.
I didn’t keep Allegra safe.
He watched as the man brought the short snub nose of the revolver up, tracking him, and had time for one last burst of regret that he’d been so panicked over Allegra that he’d forgotten his own weapon, a Beretta that would trump the revolver any day. Shit, if he had his weapon, he could take the guy out easy, oh yeah, in a single three-shot burst. But no, the Beretta was back in the SUV, snugly and uselessly fitted into its holster, tossed onto the backseat of his vehicle.
So much regret.
The man let Allegra go. He was bringing the revolver up in a two-handed grip, dropping into a professional gunman’s crouch, trigger finger tightening. The only thing Kowalski could do was feint to the right at the last split second, so the bullet took him high in the chest instead of in the heart.
He was so hyped on adrenalin he didn’t hear the shot, but he felt it, a massive punch that slammed him against the wall. He slid down, legs no longer capable of holding him, his shoulder a fiery mass of pain. He breathed in deeply, his lungs filling with air. The bullet hadn’t penetrated the lung, which was the good news. The bad news was he was losing blood fast and his vision was blurring.
The man took a step forward, gun still aimed at his chest. He was looking for a place to finish him off. Kowalski knew he’d go for a head shot now. Head shots in battle were hard and you always aimed for the torso. But Kowalski was a sitting duck at short range and if the guy was smart and knew what he was doing, he’d go for the killer shot—aiming for the bridge of the nose and taking out the cortex.
Kowalski scrabbled uselessly for purchase, his numb legs slipping in his own blood. He pushed his back against the wall, trying to brace himself…
Jesus—what was Allegra doing?
Kowalski met the guy’s eyes, staring hard, willing the fucker to look at him. He didn’t dare glance away, even by an inch.
Allegra felt around until her hand had encountered the wrought iron lamp next to the couch. She silently pulled the plug and hefted it, waiting for the man to make a noise. She was going to try to take the man down with a lamp base! Kowalski groaned at her courage. If she missed, the guy would simply turn around, nail her, then turn back to Kowalski.
Kowalski realized that they had this one chance at taking the intruder down. Kowalski might not survive his wound, but Allegra would. She had to.
Kowalski would do whatever it took to help her. He glared at the man, holding his gaze, watching Allegra with his peripheral vision. She hefted the lamp, gliding forward. There was utter silence as the man lifted his gun. Allegra couldn’t hear where he was, she was going to swing the lamp and miss him. She drew her arms back…
Kowalski stared down the barrel of the revolver as the man’s trigger finger tightened…
“Charlie, green, three o’clock!” Kowalski shouted.
Allegra swiveled, swung and connected, catching the guy full in the head. He went down like a rock, spouting blood.
“Douglas!” Allegra slid on her knees to him, crying and shaking. “Douglas, oh my God. Oh my darling, tell me you’re alive.” Her hands reached out to him, crying even harder when her right hand touched blood.
Kowalski touched her face, leaving bloody prints, memorizing those lovely features. He was fading fast. He wanted her face to be the last thing he saw in this life.
“Allegra,” he rasped, then coughed. “God, I—I love you.”
“Yes, me darlin’,” she whispered back, Ireland in her voice. “I love you, too. So don’t you dare die on me, Douglas Kowalski, or I swear I will haunt your grave! Do you hear me, man? You live, you hear? Live for me!”
He smiled and coughed. How could he deny her anything?
“Yes, ma’am. Do my best.”
Epilogue
Six months later
Boston Eye Clinic
She was so still, her face as white as the hospital sheets, her bald skull wrapped in bandages, a plastic oxygen mask over mouth and nose.
Breathing. Alive.
Allegra was alive, and that was what mattered to Kowalski. She’d survived the operation. Now he hoped, desperately, for her sake, that it had been successful. Allegra so wanted to see again.
Allegra couldn’t get it into her head that Kowalski didn’t mind her being blind, didn’t mind caring for her. How could he? He loved her. Caring for her, making sure she had what she needed, was a privilege.
He gently smoothed a finger down her soft cheek, watching her eyelids flutter. Soon she’d be coming out of the anesthesia.
His heavy, broad wedding band caught and reflected the harsh neon hospital light. He pulled Allegra’s wedding band out of his pocket and slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand.
She hadn’t said a word when they’d cut all her glorious hair off and shaved her head, but she’d balked at taking her wedding band off. All her Irish temper had come to the fore as Allegra and the doctors butted heads. No jewelry was allowed in an operating theater. And Allegra had taken a solemn vow never to remove her ring.
It had taken all Kowalski’s diplomatic skills to head off disaster. He’d promised Allegra that when she woke, her ring would be back on her hand.
Allegra’s eyelids fluttered again and she sighed softly into the mask.
Kowalski had finally broken down and agreed to the operation, not that he had any choice—Allegra was hell-bent on it. She wanted children, and refused to be a blind mother, unable to see her child’s face. That was what secretly tipped Kowalski. A child. His child and Allegra’s. Once he had a vision in his head of a little girl, a tiny redheaded replica of Allegra, it was impossible to shake it. And so he’d reluctantly agreed to accompany her cross-country to the clinic that had pioneered the operation to rid her of the blood clot and restore her sight. It had taken a lot to convince him, but the operation so far had worked in 100 percent of the cases and he’d researched the surgical team thoroughly. They knew what they were doing.
Allegra moaned lightly and her eyes opened for just a moment, then closed again.
Kowalski leaned in toward her, wincing at the sudden stab of pain. His shoulder still wasn’t healed completely. He ignored the pain and watched Allegra’s beloved face.
He’d nearly lost her six months ago and he counted each second with her a little miracle.
It had been easy enough to piece together the story. The redheaded man’s name was Alvin Mitchell, a rock star wannabe who’d fallen under Corey Sanderson’s spell. Sanderson had promised him wealth and fame if he’d drive Allegra crazy and then fake her suicide.
Kowalski had gotten word to Mitchell in prison that if he so much as ever came within ten miles of Allegra again, he would regret it. The warning had teeth, too. Corey Sanderson hadn’t lived long enough for another trial for conspiracy to murder. He’d been shuttled right back into the prison system and two days later, a felon stabbed him to death with a shiv made from a sharpened spoon.
Kowalski smiled coldly. It was the best fifty thousand he’d ever spent. No one would ever threaten Allegra again.
She stirred again, moving her legs restlessly, coming up from the anesthesia.
Kowalski bent over her, holding the hand that wasn’t connected to the IV tube.
The next few moments were crucial. If the operation wasn’t successful, if she couldn’t see, she’d be grief-stricken. No matter what, Kowalski would be there to comfort her.
If it was successful, then she’d see…him.
What would she see?
He’d taken a good look at himself in the shaving mirror this morning and had groaned. He was even uglier than before. His wound and worry for Allegra had carved deeper lines in his face then ever. Nothing had changed, except for the worse. He still looked like a thug—an ugly thug with misshapen features.
“Doug…” Allegra’s voice was a croak, muffled by the sheer plastic oxygen mask. She licked her dry lips, breathing rapidly.
“I’m here, honey.” He leaned closer.
“Douglas.” The word came out more clearly.
“Yeah.”
Her breathing calmed. He was wondering how long it would take her to become fully conscious, when suddenly her eyes opened wide.
She had such beautiful eyes. Luminous, long-lashed. Beautiful, green Irish eyes.
Focused eyes.
She could see.
Oh, God.
Kowalski didn’t even have time to panic. Allegra reached out and cupped his face lovingly. Her fingers touched his weather-beaten skin, ran over the scar, traced his lips, touched his battered nose. Her eyes examined every inch of his face, her expressions solemn.
Suddenly, she smiled.
“Oh Douglas,” she murmured. “I knew it. I just knew you’d be a beautiful man.”
The End
About the Author
Lisa Marie Rice is eternally 30 years old and will never age. She is tall and willowy and beautiful. Men drop at her feet like ripe pears. She has won every major book prize in the world. She is a black belt with advanced degrees in archaeology, nuclear physics, and Tibetan literature. She is a concert pianist. Did I mention the Nobel?
Of course, Lisa Marie Rice is a virtual woman and exists only at the keyboard when writing erotic romance. She disappears when the monitor winks off.
Lisa Marie welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310.
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