Deadly Curses

by Donna Shields

  Ciarra’s muscles tightened around his fingers as he moved quicker. Her legs trembled as she clung to the edge of sanity. His tongue found her spot. He licked in time with his buried fingers. She grabbed his head and pushed him closer still until she saw bursts of flashes behind her eyelids. Her insides squeezed around him as the orgasm took her blissfully over the edge. “Trent!”

  He slowed down the rhythm until the last quivers left. He moved himself upward leaving a trail of kisses along her body. When he reached her breasts, he took a nipple between his lips and swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip. He stopped as she opened her eyes.

  Trent ran his finger along her lips. “You are beautiful.” He replaced his finger with his lips. He kissed her gentle now, a teasing swirl of their tongues. She ran her fingers along his muscular back and around to his chest. Her nails lightly trailed down his stomach and reached for his shaft. She wrapped her hand around him. He moved against her and groaned. She found the glistened tip and ran her hand around it. He grabbed a hold of her hand and in one swift movement had both arms pinned above her head. He pushed her legs open with his knee and settled between them. With his other hand, he guided himself to her entrance and hovered for a few seconds.

  “Trent, please.” Her hips arched meeting him. She needed him inside her, filling her completely. When he didn’t move and just smiled down at her with the taunting look in his eyes, she wiggled her wrists free from his grasp and gripped his back cheeks pulling him to her. “Now.”

  He crushed her lips as he entered. He pulled himself back and then slammed back into her. She let out a moan of pleasure and said, “Yes.” He gripped her hips wanting to take control, but she wasn’t having it. She wanted him to launch over the edge with her. And she was close to it. She was taking him with her as she ground her hips and picked up the speed. She kept her eyes focused on his, desperate to see the control leave him, to see that same passion she was feeling herself in his eyes. And it was there. He was about to lose the battle he was trying so hard to maintain. His fingers dug into her hips in an attempt to hold her back. She rolled him onto his back and mounted him. He attempted to grab her hips once again, but she wrapped her fingers around his wrists and pinned him down. “No way, doc. My turn now.”

  She rode him teasingly slow at first, and then picked up the pace. She had a hard time controlling herself. But as his moans grew louder and he repeated her name over and over, she knew he was as ready as she. She let go of his arms. He gripped her hips and picked up the rhythm. And together they sailed over the edge in ecstasy.

  When their breathing was under control, she lifted her head off his chest and gazed down at him. He pushed her hair away from her face and smiled. “I’m liking you a lot. Maybe even more than that.”

  Her heart skipped a beat looking down at him. “Trent—”

  He placed a finger over her lips. “You don’t need to say anything.”

  She moved his hand away. “But, I do. I don’t know where this is going to lead. I’m scared of what I am feeling for you. I’m scared if I get too close to you, I will lose you like I lost Jack. I don’t think I can handle another loss.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

  She sat up. “The one thing you cannot do is promise anything. Can’t you understand by the end of this entire situation, this woman may win? That your life will end? Didn’t you hear Lolita?”

  “I heard her.”

  “How close was she to the truth about your parents? She knew things and I didn’t speak to her. I didn’t set this up.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I have to agree. Look, I don’t want anything to happen to me believe it or not. I’m liking my life right now. In particular, this here with you. So, I guess I have to believe her when she tells me I need to find the mother.”

  He believed? Whatever the woman had said made some kind of impact, whether about his parents or her. And maybe their lovemaking. “Then let’s get some clothes on and head down to the station to find out where this woman is.” They dressed quickly and walked back to her car. “One more thing. What about your girlfriend?”

  “My what? Oh, you mean Miranda? She’s not my girlfriend.” He chuckled and grabbed hold of her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “She’s nothing to me. She was there when I needed . . . well you know.”

  “Did she know that?”

  Trent laughed. “Yes, she did. As a matter of fact, she told me I needed to chase after you because love like ours was rare.”

  Ciarra’s heart skipped. He had chased her. He’d met her on the steps outside his building after Miranda had left and planted that kiss. She raised her fingers to her lips and smiled. “Love like ours? Ciarra’s phone rang. “Detective Pacelli.”

  “It’s Rick. I’m at Acadia Memorial with Solicitor Baker. We’re up in ICU. To say the least, it’s not looking good.”

  Ciarra glanced at Trent as her smile faded. Oh God, it was happening too fast. After a mental calculation, she realized at this rate Trent would be dead in a matter of days. Maybe only two. How would she find Kiyana before his time came? “What do the doctors say?”

  “They’re stumped at the moment. Initial blood tests are normal. He’s on a respirator.”

  “Conscious?”

  “No.”

  Ciarra extended her hand touching Trent’s arm. Clearing her throat, she said, “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” She closed the phone and stuck it in her pocket.

  “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Who was it?”

  “Solicitor James Baker’s in the hospital on a respirator.”

  “Now that doesn’t mean—”

  “Let’s get going. Move over to the driver’s seat. While we’re heading to Acadia Memorial, I’ll use the laptop here to see if I can track down Kiyana Montreuil once and for all.”

  Ciarra silently prayed they would beat the ticking clock.

  Trent fought against the foot traffic around the hospital campus, the exact reason why he walked to work and back home every day instead of driving in. It wouldn’t be so bad if people used the crosswalks intended for them instead of crossing wherever they felt like it.

  Just as he let off the brake and accelerated some, a teenaged kid hopped right out in front of Ciarra’s car on his bike. Trent slammed on the brakes and instinctively shot out his arm in front of Ciarra, managing to stop with a two-foot gap between the front bumper and the kid’s damned near splattered-over-the-road body.

  Ciarra braced, holding the laptop firm.

  “Damn it!” This must have been how the taxi driver felt. Except the poor man had hit the little boy. .

  The accidental death of Liam Montreuil unfortunately was just a tragic accident. The taxi driver hadn’t meant to hit him. The boy had slipped out of his mother’s grip and darted out into the road. Trent had tried to save him, but the boy had hit his head just right causing massive hemorrhaging in his brain.

  No one deserved to die over this tragedy.

  “Breathe, Doc. We’re almost there.” Ciarra pointed up the avenue toward the large illuminated Emergency Room sign. “The kid’s fine. See?”

  Trent watched in the rearview mirror as the kid jumped the sidewalk with the bike and weaved around people.

  Trent let out the breath he’d been holding in. “What about our woman?”

  “Kiyana’s Haitian. Her husband, Eduardo, is African. They moved here before Liam was born. They have three other children, all older. Unfortunately, the family no longer lives at their last known address. However, it turns out Kiyana’s mother lives somewhere up on the North end. So while we’re here, I’ll give Rick a break. He can go check it out.”

  As far as he was concerned, the grandmother would be a dead end. Especially if the old woman believed even a quarter of what the mother believed about the four men who had played roles in her grandson’s death.

  Trent found a parking spot on the second level of the hospital’s parking garage. Ciarra closed the laptop and
both of them sprinted across the garage and to the elevator. Trent meshed the sixth floor button, and then turned toward Ciarra. “See? I can still run.” His smile turned to a frown as Ciarra’s lips puckered up signaling she wasn’t impressed. “Sorry. No more jokes about my soon-to-be possible Voodoo death.”

  “You won’t believe until it’s too late.”

  “I’m sorry. Wrong time for a little humor. Seriously, I think I’m starting to get it.”

  The elevator pinged at the third floor. The doors opened, and an elderly couple holding hands stepped inside. The man whispered something in her ear, and she responded with a giggle. “Oh, Howard. Hush now. We aren’t alone.”

  Trent and Ciarra smiled at each other. The few remaining seconds before the elevator reached the sixth floor proceeded in silence.

  The elevator came to its stop, and the doors opened. The couple stepped off continuing to hold hands as they headed down the left hallway toward the Cardiovascular Center. Ciarra and Trent headed down the right hallway to the Intensive Care Unit.

  Trent reached out and took Ciarra’s hand into his. She glanced down at their entwined grasp and then up to Trent’s face. She smiled once again and tugged for him to follow her.

  Ciarra opened the first set of doors, and they walked up to the glass window. Trent had been up here lots of times and knew the protocol. Picking up the phone receiver from the wall, he waited for the nurse to answer on her side of the glass. The petite blonde glanced up and upon seeing Trent smiled. “Hello, Doctor. What brings you up to our little world?”

  Trent pulled Ciarra to his side and replied, “We’re here to see Solicitor Baker.”

  The nurse’s warm smile turned to cold hard stare as she glared at Ciarra.

  Trent had casually dated the nurse a couple of times. But after the last encounter with her inside a well-known restaurant, Trent vowed never to take her out anywhere again. What was her name? He refused to look at the nametag pinned to her chest for fear she’d take him looking at her in the wrong way.

  The woman had set the ‘date’ at the seafood restaurant knowing full well her ex-husband, a not-so-stable lawyer, would be there with their teenaged son.

  Was it Susan? Ah, hell. Who cared? He had Ciarra at his side, his arm wrapped around the small of her back. And according to the psychic, Ciarra loved him.

  “Let me call my supervisor,” the nurse replied through clenched teeth.

  Ciarra stepped out of Trent’s grasp, shoving her hands in her pockets. “We are here on official business. Can we keep it that way?”

  “Look, the nurse—”

  Ciarra lowered her voice. “I don’t care. We need to be professional.”

  “She is—”

  “A jilted lover. I can tell. Just like with the blond bombshell at your condo. We can talk about this later.”

  Jilted lover? Trent suppressed a laugh. Jilted my ass. He attempted to respond when Ciarra pointed to the nurse tapping on the glass. He picked up the phone again.

  “Why do you need to see him, Doctor Moore?”

  “It’s official business, Susan.”

  “It’s Nurse Fowler.”

  Ciarra held up her badge.

  “Mr. Baker’s unresponsive.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Trent shrugged.

  The male nursing supervisor walked over to the desk and glanced in their direction. Trent heard, “Let them in.”

  Nurse Fowler huffed into the phone soft enough her supervisor hadn’t heard her as he walked away. Or maybe he hadn’t cared.

  “Come in. He’s in room three.” She’d set the phone down a little hard, catching the other two nurses’ attention. Their heads snapped up from their paperwork in her direction.

  The door buzzed. Ciarra pulled on it and walked ahead of Trent as they made their way past the nurses’ station.

  How the hell would he keep their ‘relationship’ professional when he was convinced she loved him?

  And he was dying.

  It was hard admitting to himself he possibly wouldn’t live out the remainder of the week. But, it was high time he got serious about his dilemma. Figuring out what the progression of the solicitor’s sickness would at least keep him informed of his own. If he got his hands on Baker’s chart, maybe he’d notice something one of the other doctors may have missed. Trent still held out hope for some medical cure before it spun out of control.

  Acadia’s solicitor lay helpless in the sterile room. Trent’s nose filled with the antiseptic odor. He walked over to the ventilation machine and glanced up to the vitals monitor seeing what he feared. Mr. Baker’s blood pressure was well below normal along with his heart rate.

  Trent swallowed hard. He reached for the chart and glanced through it. The solicitor’s condition appeared grave. The once vibrant well-built man was wasting away. He had dark circles around his eyes. Mr. Baker had been weighed that morning at one hundred and sixty-four pounds. The six foot two frame had begun at one hundred seventy-eight. How could it be possible? Someone couldn’t have recorded that correctly.

  Yet, he knew better than that.

  Trent moved to the IV pole holding two bags of saline solution and one bag of Penicillin.

  He turned to Ciarra, walked over to the chair nearby, and plopped down. “This guy looks like he is wasting away to nothing . . . just wasting. What kind of curse can do something like this in so short of a time frame?” Trent looked up at Ciarra, the first hints of fear seeping into his soul. “If this curse is true, then that means I have two days, and only two days, before I will be the one laying here hooked up to a bunch of machines, wasting away and dying.” Trent spotted the terror in her eyes.

  She swallowed hard and sighed heavily. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I need to check in with the station and see if there are any updates or leads. Then, maybe we can go grab something to eat.” She held out her hand to him.

  “But, aren’t we supposed to stay here since your partner is out checking for the Voodoo lady?”

  An older nurse walked in and spoke, “Dr. Moore, what brings you here?” Betty was usually down in the ER department.

  “Just checking up on the solicitor. What about you?”

  “I’m here filling in as usual.” She was always helping out whenever a department was short staffed.

  “Hello. I’m Detective Pacelli. I need to leave for a while. My partner, Rick Simmons, should be back soon. If his condition changes, could you contact either one of us?” She scribbled her and Rick’s numbers on the back of a card and handed to Betty.

  “You know, with HIPPA and all . . .”

  “I know. However, this may be a case of attempted murder and we need to stay informed if his condition deteriorates further.”

  Betty looked to Trent and then back to Ciarra. “Sure.”

  Trent rose, and they walked out into the hallway closing the door behind them. He entwined his fingers with hers. He looked toward the solicitor’s door and turned back to Ciarra. “I’m screwed, huh?”

  Chapter 12

  The temperature outside had dropped another ten degrees with the setting of the sun as Ciarra and Trent made their way into the police station. Parish

  Ciarra led the way past the front desk and through the secured door. She closed the door once Trent followed through and moved down the aisle between the rows of desks to her own at the far back right. Sitting down, she waved her hand toward the chair to her left. She smelled the familiar cologne before her Captain came over and leaned over her shoulder. “A woman stopped by looking for you a little while ago.”

  “Any reason why?” She glanced at Trent. “Excuse my manners. Doctor Trent Moore, meet my boss, Captain James Turner. Cap, the doctor is from the desecrated graves case.”

  “Sorry about you parents’ grave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Who was the woman?”

  The captain leaned a hip against her desk. “She certainly seemed out of place here. Said she needed to see you. That it’s important.”


  “What do you mean by out of place?”

  “Upper class, designer clothing, immaculate manicure.”

  James enjoyed making a mystery out of nearly everything. The longer he could hold one in suspense, the more fun he had. “Did she leave her name?”

  “Yes. The princess was Bianca Rutherford.”

  She felt the blood leave her face, and with dread in her heart, Ciarra waited for the inevitable question that would come out of her boss’s mouth.

  “Isn’t that your mother’s name, Pacelli?”

  Ciarra struggled to catch her breath, wondering why on Earth that despicable woman would be here now of all times? It couldn’t be. What the hell did she want? She practically inherited the damn world. She looked over at Trent.

  “Ciarra?” He placed his face in her line of vision and grasped her shoulders. “For Pete’s sake, breathe.”

  A whoosh of air rushed out of her mouth. The blood flow rushed back as quick as it had left. “Just so we’re sure, what was that name again?”

  “Bianca Rutherford.”

  She laid her forehead on the desk. “I was afraid that’s what you said.” Ciarra wanted to crawl underneath and disappear. Knowing that would never work, she lifted her head. “I need a favor, Cap. If she comes back around again, tell her to scram.”