“Whether he’s male or female hasn’t got a thing to do with it.”
“Say it often enough, you might start believing it.”
“It’s not like that.” Although when she looked at him she did feel something, but it was confused—a raw pull….
“Yeah, right. Besides, he’s old enough to be your father.” He rolled his eyes, this time with a trace of humor. “And you’re the virgin from hell.”
“Bet on it.”
Luis’s expression was chagrined. Occasionally he’d made a move, but Quin had always been quick to discourage him. Luis had been in and out of relationships since he was fourteen, but Quin had never wanted anything to do with the kind of serial monogamy he practiced. The way she saw it, the occasional gleam in his eye had gotten to be a habit, an obligatory part of his easy charm.
With a sharp motion, Luis pulled on the rope, snapping the final corner of the tarp into place and plunging her into darkness. Suppressing a grin, Quin eased into a cross-legged position, her spine pressed flat against the large wooden toolbox that butted up against the battered steel of the cab.
She heard Luis mutter another curse; then the vehicle rocked on its rusted springs as he swung behind the wheel and slammed the door.
The Bedford’s engine rumbled to life, setting up an instant vibration that shook the length of the vehicle, and a corresponding shiver coursed the length of her spine at the strangeness of everything that had happened.
She had given medical attention to the most-wanted outlaw in the country, then picked up an illegal immigrant who was suffering from gunshot wounds.
Despite Luis’s reluctance, there was no way she could have taken the neater, simpler option of walking away from the stranger and informing the authorities. He had been lying in that warehouse for the best part of a day, and Quin would lay odds that if she left him, Lopez wouldn’t risk coming near him for fear of running into Ramirez. There was the added complication that, if he had survived at all, with no papers, he would very likely end up in jail.
She felt odd and unsettled and fiercely proprietorial. In a strange way she couldn’t begin to fathom, she had been linked to this stranger for years, and now that she’d found him, had him practically delivered to her doorstep, she wasn’t backing away from the responsibility.
Pulling a sack of flour from the stacked supplies, she arranged it so that her back was more comfortably supported. The road up through the mountains was narrow and bumpy—in some places little more than a goat track. She was going to be black and blue before they got to the other side. And when they got to Valle del Sol…
Gingerly, she eased the stranger’s bandaged head onto her lap, cradling him against the small jolt as Luis hit the first pothole.
When they got to Valle del Sol, Olivia and Hannah would hit the roof.
Fourteen
Hannah’s surgery had originally been one of the two accommodation blocks built by The Sisters Of Mercy. The small uniform rooms had since been converted into a large, airy waiting room, a surgery, and two small private rooms with beds for those patients who needed to stay over. The unconscious stranger was presently in one of those rooms.
Luis appeared at the open door, his jacket collar pulled up around his neck to ward off the night chill. His gaze touched meaningfully on Quin’s. “I don’t like leaving you ladies alone with him. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s big.”
Hannah didn’t bother looking up from the sheaf of notes she’d made in her neat, slanting hand. “I don’t think you have to worry.”
Luis looked at her skeptically. “Why? What’s wrong with him? He can’t walk?”
She pointed to the right side of his face. “See how the muscles drag down slightly? He’s had a cerebral bleed. His entire right side is paralyzed.” She lifted the unconscious man’s lids and flicked on a small penlight. The right pupil contracted, the left didn’t respond. “He’s also got a cranial nerve injury affecting his left eye. When the bullet hit, it put a hairline fracture in his skull and traumatized the orbit. The paralysis aside, he’ll have trouble with his vision—maybe even blindness in that eye—and if he isn’t speech impaired, I’ll eat my stethoscope.”
A small shock went through Quin. She had helped Hannah remove the bandages and apply fresh ones. She’d seen the ugly entry and exit wounds in his thigh and shoulder, and the graze on the side of his head. Her mystery man had been shot three times. She had known that at the very least he was suffering from a severe concussion.
Hannah set her pen down. “It might not be as bad as it sounds. He’s survived this long, and as the clot in his brain reabsorbs, the various dysfunctions will drop away. With therapy, he can make at least a partial recovery—but it’ll take months, maybe even years.”
Luis lifted his shoulders. “Guess he’s safe enough, then.”
Hannah shot him a reproving glance. “For the moment.” Leaning forward, she picked up first one hand, then the other, and examined the calluses there. “Hmmm…that’s unusual. He’s ambidextrous. Perhaps that’ll help.”
Quin studied the odd calluses on the edge of each palm. “How?”
“The left side of the brain controls speech, and that’s where the bleed has occurred, but if he’s ambidextrous, that means his brain works differently from that of most people. He would have developed pathways and functions on the right hemisphere that will still be intact.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “It’s a slim chance, but at least it’s a chance.”
She indicated the plastic bag that had held the saline solution and the tubing that went with it. “Do you have any idea who did the initial care?”
Quin’s gaze was wary. Compared to Olivia, Hannah appeared to be laid-back, even relaxed, but that impression was deceptive. Hannah might move at her own pace through the day, methodically attacking one task at a time, but she always achieved an immense amount of work. In her own quiet way she was as intimidating as Olivia. “Apart from the Volodya’s medic, no.”
Hannah studied the small ECG monitor she’d hooked the patient up to, checked the time on her wristwatch and made a further note. “Whoever did the work on his shoulder wasn’t a surgeon. It’s not textbook, but it’ll do. At least he’ll have the use of that arm if he recovers.”
If.
Hannah moved to the foot of the bed and lifted the blankets, exposing his feet. “It would be interesting to know exactly what happened on the Volodya. Aside from the bullet wounds, he’s got lacerations on his wrists and ankles that are consistent with being tied up.” Shaking her head, she let the blanket drop.
Luis sent Quin a hard look, and jerked his head at the door, silently asking her to go with him. “Maybe he was a stowaway.”
Olivia appeared in the doorway, her gaze sharp. “Stowaways don’t usually have bullet wounds. The only thing that makes sense is that they dropped him in Vacaro. The place is practically deserted.” She stared at the new arrival in the clinic, her expression impassive. “I’ve checked with Diego. Sounds like the only people who know anything about him are the crew of the Volodya, and if they dumped him and left in a hurry, they’re not going to admit to a thing. If we want the facts, we’ll have to wait for him to wake up.”
Hannah smothered a yawn as she adjusted the bottle of IV fluid feeding into the man’s wrist. “Don’t hold your breath. If he regains consciousness, I doubt he’ll be able to tell anyone anything in a hurry.”
Quin followed Luis out into the night, shivering as the cool, moisture-laden air penetrated her flannel shirt. “Are you going to get the passport?”
Luis lifted his shoulders, the gesture dismissive. “What’s the point? He still might die.”
“The point is, Diego will suspect we picked him up, and he’s likely to say something to someone. It might take a while, but when the police start investigating, they’ll eventually decide to look us up. It’s even possible that one of Ramirez’s men might talk about what happened. The one thing we can count on is that word will get around that we went
to that warehouse.”
Luis’s gaze snapped to hers. “And now Olivia and Hannah are involved. This is turning into an even bigger mess than I thought it would be. How do I arrange for a passport when we don’t even have a name?”
Quin reached into her pocket. Silver glinted beneath the porch light as she turned a watch over in her palm. “I’ve got some initials. J.T.L.”
Luis made a dismissive sound. “Let’s hope he didn’t steal the watch before he got shot.”
Quin’s head snapped up. “He’s not a thief.”
“And he’s not a murderer or a drug runner, even though Mr. Popularity has three bullet holes in him.” Luis shoved his hands on his hips. “Okay, genius, what do we call him? Juan, Joachim, Jorge?”
Quin slipped the watch back into her pocket. “I’ve decided to keep it simple and just call him by his first initial, Jay. Jay Lomax.”
“You’ve decided? What about Olivia and Hannah?”
Quin dropped her voice to a whisper. “Keep your voice down. Olivia knows he hasn’t got any ID. I told her I’d see about getting it from Vacaro.”
“Olivia’s not stupid. When she finds out he’s an illegal alien, she’ll go crazy.”
“Don’t worry,” Quin said with more confidence than she felt, because she suspected that Olivia already knew exactly how desperate their patient’s situation was. “She won’t.”
“Then you’re the crazy one. Just as long as you don’t implicate me. This is totally your show.”
“That’s right—it is. How much money will you need to buy a passport?”
“I don’t know. I never bought one before.” He poked her arm, his expression half playful, half serious. “I’m curious about how you’re going to come up with this money. What have you got to sell? You already owe me for the gun.” He rubbed her arm suggestively.
Quin slapped his hand away. “Not that,” she said coldly. “And Ramirez is the one who owes you for the gun, not me.”
His jaw locked into a hard line, “Ramirez… When I catch up with whoever’s got the Browning, I’ll—”
“What? Take out the whole gang just to try and retrieve that old wreck of a gun?” The memory of staring down the twin barrels of the sawed-off shotgun sent a cold shudder up her spine. That was something else she hadn’t told Olivia. She glared at Luis. “Don’t even think about going near Ramirez again.”
Luis shivered, as if the chill night air had finally seeped through his jacket. “Don’t worry, I’m not stupid, but one day…”
“No. Drop it. That kind of thing can be…I don’t know…” She shook her head, unwilling to talk about Ramirez, or even think about him. “Think about him too much, and maybe you’ll turn around one day and he’ll be there.”
Luis shoved his hands deep in his jacket pockets and stepped off the veranda. “Now you’re scaring me. You sound like some creepy old witch.”
“Using common sense doesn’t make me a witch.” She watched his retreating back. “And by the way, Luis, touch me like that again and I’ll slice off your finger.”
“Ouch!” He clutched at his back as if she’d just stuck him with a knife and craned around as he walked. “No wonder you can’t get a man. Your tongue’s as sharp as Hannah’s scalpel.”
Fifteen
Quin woke, lids flipping open, mind oddly clear, as if she hadn’t been sleeping deeply but floating somewhere on the edge of consciousness.
It was two o’clock in the morning, and the moon was full and bright, light spilling around the edges of the thick drapes, but it wasn’t the light that had woken her. The sound came again, a raspy little creak, as if someone had just forced the latch of a door or a window in the kitchen, which was directly below her room. Seconds later, the raspy little sound was followed by a familiar creak. Someone had just walked on the third floorboard out from the kitchen table.
Sliding out of bed, she moved silently across her bedroom and out into the hall. She considered rousing Olivia and Hannah, then dismissed the idea. While neither of the aunts was exactly frail, they didn’t possess either her height or strength; instead, she stopped at Jay’s door.
After four months, the man she’d named Jay Lomax was nowhere close to fully recovered from the brain injury, but physically, he was remarkably able, and had regained the use of his right arm and leg. Part of the reason for his rapid recovery had been the superb physical condition he’d been in before he’d been shot; the rest had been the result of focus. He’d worked every muscle grouping in his body he could, given the restriction of his healing wounds. He’d pushed himself to the limit, and had seemed to know almost as much about the way his body worked and medical matters as Hannah.
Once he’d been able to stand unaided, frustrated by his continued confinement, he’d taken to limping about the compound with the aid of a staff he’d whittled from a tree branch. From there he’d progressed to walking circuits of the orchard, until his muscles and coordination had improved to the point that he could not only walk, but run.
Hesitantly, Quin pushed Jay’s door open, but her tension at invading his privacy faded almost immediately. Moonlight flooded across the floor, more than enough of it for her to see that the bed and the room were empty.
Minutes later, she reached the bottom of the stairs and flattened herself against the wall. A movement to her left snapped her head around. Simultaneously, a large hand clamped over her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath, and an arm snaked around her waist, hauling her back into an alcove. For frantic seconds she fought back, until she felt the uncanny touch of a mind. Jay. His hand loosened, allowing her enough leeway that she could take a breath, then once again locked tight over her mouth and nostrils.
Long seconds passed as he continued to hold her, and disbelief and fury combined as she reached out with her mind and connected with…nothing. For a wild moment she wondered if she’d imagined that brief connection; then she realized that the blankness was Jay’s doing. He didn’t want the communication.
Her head spun, and her chest burned with the need to breathe, and the warnings that Luis had given her played through her mind. Jay had been dumped and left for dead with three gunshot wounds—the chance that he wasn’t a killer himself was practically nonexistent. She swallowed, becoming frantic, and he allowed her a small amount of air just as two dark figures walked silently by.
The hand still clamped over her mouth and nose relaxed, allowing her to breathe; then, as abruptly as he’d grabbed her, Jay let her go. He put a finger to his lips, reinforcing the need for silence, but Quin didn’t need the sign language. They had intruders in the house—even she could understand that one.
Why didn’t you let me breathe?
She didn’t realize she’d spoken with her mind until the answer came the same way.
Because you could have made a noise.
With a gesture telling her to stay put, Jay disappeared in the direction the two figures had gone, and for dizzying moments Quin stayed in the alcove, waiting for the pounding in her chest to subside. If she’d ever needed proof that Jay had lost none of his mental faculties, she’d just had it. He might have lost all memory of his past, and he still had difficulty with speech, but no part of his intellect had been impaired. His mind had been coldly controlled, the message curt and clear. She had come downstairs to do what she could about the break-in, but she’d been too late: Jay already had the situation under control.
When she was calm, Quin peered down the corridor. When she saw that it was clear, she followed in Jay’s wake, picking up a heavy brass candlestick from a side table on the way. She could understand why Jay had grabbed her and shoved her against the wall—in her white nightdress she stood out like a beacon, while he was dressed in dark pants and a dark T-shirt, and was much less visible. If she’d continued walking along the corridor, the two men who had broken into the house would have seen her. She even understood why he’d had to clamp his hand over her mouth, because she would have made a startled noise, then demanded to know what
was going on, but the way he’d pinched her nostrils, stopping her breath and only allowing her to breathe when she absolutely had to, had been nothing short of ruthless.
Hugging the wall, she inched along the hallway, bare feet silent on the boards. A cool draft drifted around her ankles as she tested the weight of the candlestick in her hand. The metal felt cold and hard and satisfyingly heavy.
The faint tinkling of broken glass halted her in her tracks. For long seconds she listened, ears straining; then she began her slow progress again, inching forward until she reached the entrance to the library.
Holding her nightgown so that none of the cloth would swing forward and become visible, she peered into the room.
Moonlight flowed in through the tall mullioned windows, bleaching the floorboards silver and outlining the two intruders, one squatting by a glassed cabinet that housed Olivia’s antiquities, the other moving around the large walnut desk that resided in one corner of the room.
The man searching the desk opened a drawer, rummaging quickly, the narrow beam of light from a penlight glowing. He worked his way down one set of drawers, then switched to the other side of the desk. As he bent to slide the last drawer open, a shadow detached itself from the wall and merged with that of the intruder. Moments later, Jay lowered the intruder soundlessly to the floor and switched off the torch. He stayed crouching over the man, a hand at his throat, as if measuring his pulse, then moved across the room and chopped down with his hand once, the movement measured and precise. The second intruder slumped to the ground.
Moments later a golden glow suffused the room as Jay flicked on a lamp and the extent of the damage was revealed. Glass littered the floor, along with papers from the desk and books from the shelves, where the intruders had randomly pulled whole sections down, searching for a hidden wall safe.
Jay didn’t look surprised when he saw her in the doorway. As she moved into the room and set the candlestick down on the desk, she had the odd notion that he’d known she was there all along.
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