by Black, Regan
With the closed shower door separating them again, she breathed a bit easier, though the quiver in her thighs begged her to reconsider. She toweled off and dressed quickly to put more space between them.
Micky's accommodations were beyond compare, considering they were officially in a condemned neighborhood long forgotten by any city council. Still, Mira wanted her own clothes and her own life. It was weird to look around the apartment and feel no attachment to anything.
Not that she'd ever really had roots beyond the earliest years when she and her parents had been a complete family unit. Of course, it had been fun at the time and she treasured the memories of everywhere they'd traveled. A family of three, then just a mother and daughter. Returning to the order for her formal education wasn't awful, it was expected. More importantly, it was what she'd wanted.
To help others. To ease pain and relieve suffering. She'd gone out into the world and focused on giving everything she had to each assignment, each patient she met.
Had she lost herself in the process?
Jameson had been right – hard to believe it had only been a few days ago – in that apartment. She didn't really have a life, or a time in her life, when she was just a woman.
She walked into the front room and stared at the couch.
Well. Right there was something far more intimate and personal than a medical encounter. Just the memory had all her systems feeling healthy.
She heard the water running and forced her feet to move toward the kitchen for food rather than back to the bathroom to feed a different urge.
Slick Micky's state of the art security and communications system beeped at her. She leaned over and tapped it on, smiling when Petra's face filled the screen. "Hi."
"Are you feeling any better?"
Mira didn't see the sense in lying to such a perceptive woman. "Yes, thank you."
"Would you mind coming by to check on Gideon? I hate to trouble you –"
"Is this a test?" But she knew it wasn't. The worry on Petra's face was sincere. "Forget that. Sorry. I'll be right there."
She rushed down the hall to their room, and knocked on the open door as she walked in.
"Thank you," Petra said, inviting her in as she handed an ice pack to her husband.
Mira frowned at Callahan. "What hurts?"
"What doesn't?"
Fair answer. He was rubbing the ice pack over his shoulder, had a bruise blooming on his jaw and that hitch in his breathing was a likely sign of a cracked rib. "What happened?"
"Just a little too much sparring practice."
Jameson had said they'd worked off some steam, but he apparently knew when to quit. "With a truck?"
"Sorta."
She didn't like the look that passed from husband to wife. It was a shushing look. A shushing look usually meant trouble for the healer. It helped to have a complete, accurate picture no matter how embarrassing it might be for the patient.
"His shoulder bugs him when it rains," Petra announced, rolling right over his protests, "but it's the knee that has me worried." She moved the ice pack aside and even Mira, with all her experience, gasped at the swelling.
If Callahan had gotten himself trounced just to test her post 'blue bubble' skills, he was certainly dedicated to his cause.
Mira let Petra take away the ice as she stepped closer and gathered herself for the exam. They were patient and healer now, no troubling professional history mattered. She felt the light build inside her, imagined it in her hand as she brushed his forehead. No fever, very mild concussion. Good. She cupped her hands, and thought of her light as a cushion between her and the patient. Just a thin, soft layer of energy illuminating the problem.
His shoulder was simple, and she drew out the inflammation in the joint as if she was unraveling a loose thread. The cracked rib, no two cracked ribs accepted her boost and the swelling melted away.
Her mind continued to catalog the little aches along the way, but his internal systems were strong and well. A bit of bursitis just starting in the hip. Knowing he'd hate it and yet never say a word, she took care of that too.
She reached the knee and paused as her gift pushed through the mess of fluid and damaged ligaments and tendons. How had he even walked off the mat? She knew the answer was pride and determination.
Concentrating on one damaged spot at a time, she knitted torn tissue back together. In her mind, she saw his knee as it should be and she set things to rights, willing the joint into a fully functional, strong and stable state once more.
When the illumination faded, she moved on. Only the bruises remained, but she took care of those as she finished.
She looked at her patient and smiled. He looked good. "Feel better?"
He nodded, eyes wide. She glanced over and saw a nearly identical expression on Petra's face.
What had they expected when they'd called? She was a healer, she healed. "Take it easy the next few days, okay?" She helped him sit up.
"Sure."
Feeling terribly awkward, she cautiously got to her feet. An extensive effort like Callahan's knee often left her dizzy, but this time she realized she felt great. If this kind of high was a side effect of the blue bubble thing, she could get used to being a rarity among 'superfreaks'. She sure wasn't about to complain.
"Well, then. I'll be going. Try to take it easy next time."
"What's wrong? Is it the baby?" Jameson hovered in the doorway.
Mira stifled a sigh. Is this what sex did to him? He already had an overdose of the protector gene and she didn't want him thinking of her as needy or fragile. Her earlier tantrum aside, she didn't want a babysitter either. So maybe she'd collapsed after healing his brother. That was then. At the moment she felt damn near invincible.
"No, I'm fine," Petra spoke up while Mira struggled with her new emotions. "It was Gideon."
Jameson relaxed, stepping inside and shadowboxing his way across the room. "What? Things got a little achy old man?"
Mira moved between them.
Callahan glared at Jameson over her shoulder. "Not that much older than you."
"Ri-ight."
"Hold on. You did this?" Mira stared at Jameson. He'd come back from the gym looking just fine.
"Did what?"
"I'm fine, Mira," Callahan insisted. "He didn't do anything wrong. I just stayed in too long."
But Mira was ticking off Callahan's injuries on her fingers, her temper rising as the list grew.
"He wasn't that bad when I left the mat," Jameson protested, trying to stay out of her reach. "We weren't going all out."
Behind them, Callahan snorted and Petra shushed him.
Mira found a new target and wheeled around to the couple sitting on the couch. "Stop that right now. Like any medical professional, I can't do my job without all the information. What aren't you telling me?"
"I'm better now, it doesn't matter."
She pinned him with a dark look.
Callahan sighed and dropped his gaze, but Petra nudged him. "Fine. I wasn't pulling my punches." The aggravation was clear in his voice. "God help me if Jameson had decided to go all out."
"What the hell do you mean? I barely felt a thing."
"Yeah, we noticed that."
"He was perfect – in perfect health," Mira clarified, feeling a telltale blush heating her cheeks, "when he came to check on me." Avoiding the smug grin on his face, she studied her hands as she carefully laced her fingers.
"Is it possible," Petra began gently, "that something happened to Jameson by being near you when you changed?"
Mira considered that, taking a rather dark delight in the way Jameson shuffled his feet. He was nervous about her answer. Delight faded to something closer to worry. Who could blame him for wondering about the implications if her blue bubble had changed him too?
"I suppose it's possible. Though I haven't read anything to confirm that kind of theory," she rushed to add. She didn't find the blank expression on his face any more appealing than the smug loo
k.
"I've sparred with him before. He's different now." Callahan muttered.
Great. Mira didn't have a great track record with 'different'. Being different had become her identity of sorts. She wasn't a normal nurse, had been a bit too outstanding as in the field as a medic. 'Different' wrecked relationships – her own parents were evidence of that.
Apparently healing Callahan had finally caught up with her, as she felt the weariness pressing in on her. "I'll just go." Go and do what, she wasn't sure. "I'll go and see what I can find to help you."
"Mira, hang on." Jameson reached out, but she sidestepped. "I don't need any help."
The phrase followed her out the door and down the hall as she bolted for the privacy of her own guest room.
She'd been through most of the material Cali provided, but not all, thanks to Jameson's interruption. The couch taunted her with recent memories, so she turned her back on it and moved everything to the table.
With such a small database, it didn't take long to come up empty on her searches about the blue light infecting others. Even when she changed the terms to something more positive.
Could it really be that somehow her father's enemies had been trying to make this happen to him? Failing that, they tried to cause this change in her? His enemies couldn't be hoping for a lingering benefit like Jameson seemed to have absorbed. As far as she could tell nothing like that had ever happened before.
She scrubbed at her face. The 'why' was the key, she knew it. Why would her father's enemies want to make him stronger when all his life they'd done their best to subdue him?
The Five didn't want her around, didn't want her to heal normal people anymore. After the inquiry experience, she believed them. Pushing her to the limit to release some previously unknown talent didn't sound like something they would even be interested in discovering. They weren't so receptive to new ideas, too mired in the old ways.
She didn't know the first thing about tracking down an enemy. Hell, she'd pretty much screwed up every aspect of tracking down her own father.
She pulled herself out of her pity party when the monitor chimed again. This time it was Slick Micky.
"Yes?"
"Wanted you to know your mother enjoyed the chocolate."
She nodded. "Good." He was about to call in the favor, she could feel it.
"I put someone in place nearby, in case she needs help."
Mira didn't dare ask about the going rate for that level of personal service. "Thank you."
"I also wanted tell you there's been no sign of anyone in my neighborhood who shouldn't be here."
She nodded again. It was hard to know just where she stood with the smuggler, surely a trait that kept him on top in his chosen profession.
"You have allies, Mira. Trust them."
Before she could question his repetition of Cleveland's assurance, the man was gone. She supposed he meant Jameson and the team Callahan had pulled together. Slick Micky might even count himself as her ally. He was letting her stay in his private little corner of the city after all.
But both he and Cleveland had put a certain weight on the word that added meaning and intention.
She searched the translations for the word, but didn't come up with anything in the healer records that fit. Did she really believe either man would know to reference an obscure text written in a dead language?
Of course not. But she didn't really believe either man spoke for the sheer joy of hearing the sound of his own voice.
Allies. She hadn't thought in terms of enemies and allies since her days with the Army. She'd met people, made a couple friends in those days, but none of them were in Chicago. None of them knew enough about her order or her father to help her if they had been.
Maybe it was just coincidence and all this covert crap had warped her reasoning skills.
Allies. Who talked like that?
Her father.
That was it! Jumping up, she ignored Jameson's return to study the footage Callahan had pulled from the lab. She slid the viewing bar back several minutes, before she even entered the lab. Her father, limping around, working through the pain. In a rush to meet Montalbano's deadline, no doubt.
She went back and forth over the time when she'd managed to sneak past the guard.
"What are you doing?"
"He knew I was there. From the moment I walked in, he knew I was there." She pointed to the screen, waited until Jameson politely agreed with her. His doubt was obvious, but irrelevant.
"Here's where I helped him. Just a little pain relief. Against his wishes." She knew Jameson didn't understand. To be fair, she wasn't entirely sure she understood where she was going with this either. "Allies, Jameson. He has allies."
"Okay. Do you know who they are or how that helps us find him?"
She caught her top lip between her teeth while she reviewed the same few seconds over and over. When Jameson put a hand on her shoulder, it was a natural reaction to cover it with her own.
"I'm not sure I'll ever get over that," he murmured.
"What?"
"Thinking you were blown to bits."
"Oh." She turned and smiled up at him. "I'm not sure I ever said thank you for getting us out of there."
"You're welcome."
Turning back to the screen, she paused it once more. "Right here, he told me to go. I think he was expecting Luke."
"You think Luke is an ally?"
"Yes. It's the only thing that fits this situation."
"He was with an enforcer team, Mira."
"Asking about me, right?"
"It could be a trick."
On some level she understood the logic of that, and yet... "If it were a trick or a trap wouldn't he have urged us to follow him? Hear me out," she added, freezing the video at the precise moment when Luke had pulled out the det-cord to start the explosion.
"Is that enough or too much?"
"Too much. Could be a rookie mistake."
"But Luke isn't a rookie. Can't be. He's older than me. I met him when we moved to the dorm across from the old lab. He was my dad's assistant."
"What are you saying?"
"I don't know how he looks our age, but he's not. And my dad said something about the good work they'd done there once. That's not really the point anyway. He destroyed the lab so Montalbano couldn't have all of whatever Dad developed. Montalbano is not an ally."
"No."
"And I believe Luke is." She could practically hear Jameson thinking it through. "Yes, he blew up the lab, but I think he knew what he was doing."
Jameson scowled. "Trying to kill you?"
"No. Not on purpose."
He sighed, a gusty sound that infected all her insecurities. "So you believe your father is safe now?"
She nodded, belatedly realizing that put an end to her necessary association with Jameson. As soon as they proved her father was free of Montalbano they would go their separate ways. Her stomach twisted.
"Assuming you're right, where would Conrad take your father?"
"I-I don't know. Not back to the order." Unless it was a set up. Oh, she hated doubting herself, hated having scads of new information and no way to reconcile it with current circumstance.
"Can a healer in trouble with one order find protection with another?"
"It depends on the trouble, but healers from other orders do visit each other. There are only a few communities left and they're spread all over the world. It's a longstanding habit to have places to hide."
He looked at her with such intensity, she took a step back.
Jameson snapped his finger. "In plain sight. Just like you did."
"Huh?"
He made a circle with his hand, indicating the suite. "This place is perfectly hidden amid the rubble of the neighborhood. You've been perfectly hidden in a variety of health care jobs."
"I got perfectly caught too," she reminded him.
"Not the point. God it's so obvious." He started to the door. "Come on. Let's go tell Ca
llahan."
"Tell him what?" Whatever light bulb had gone off over Jameson's head sure wasn't illuminating anything in her own mind.
"That we can have your dad home safe for Christmas."
Now she was really confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Mira, think about it. Dr. Luther's safe with Conrad. We know what your dad delivered for Montalbano. When we find your dad, we'll get the antidote we both know he must be working on, and Montalbano's bleed-out bullet is null and void. Problem solved, happy holidays."
"Find him where?"
"There can't be that many labs around town with the equipment he needs."
"No."
"And with Conrad's overwhelming success –"
"Now he's a success?" She couldn't keep up with Jameson's thought process.
"He did enough damage at the lab that the investigators will be hard pressed to determine who and what was there. That covers tracks and buys us time."
"But –"
"The enforcers were looking for patient records, a list of names."
"Yes?"
"I saw it, skimmed it before I turned it over. There was one consistent trait." He gripped her shoulders. "All hemophiliacs. I'll bet you ten to one, he's hiding in plain site at a research hospital. Shouldn't be that hard to find him."
"Oh no." She'd gone cold so suddenly, his big palms felt like heat packs. "The enforcers aren't leaders. I'm not saying they're automatons, we look to them for security, but the order isn't big on disobedience. There's no reason to go after my dad or his records unless they were ordered to do so. He isn't on trial, hasn't even been in the community for years. They came after me because of my 'disobedience' as decreed by the Five."
Now he looked as confused as she'd felt moments ago. "Someone in the order, someone running those enforcers knew what Dad was working on and told them to investigate." She watched the blood drain from his face as the implications sunk in, but she forced herself to say it. "Someone in the order is working blatantly against the general directive of the order."
"Who would do that? Why?"
"I don't know. But –" She thought of the damage the enforcers had inflicted to his kidneys. "But knowing how to turn the body against itself has terrifying potential. If they want this anticoagulant on the global military market, this is beyond serious."