by JG Faherty
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure her symptoms are more from exhaustion and dehydration, not to mention the blast, rather than from a concussion. No signs of trauma to the head. Now, do you want to tell me how you ended up caught in a warehouse explosion, and why this has to stay a secret?”
John shook his head. “Wish I could. But it’s part of an undercover operation and Leah got caught up in it accidentally. She wasn’t supposed to be there. I promise, once I can tell you, I will.”
“Fine.” Jim closed his black satchel. “Just do me a favor. Don’t tell Carrie about this. She would absolutely freak.”
“Promise.” John held up his hand. The last thing he intended to do was tell his sister anything.
After walking Jim to his car, John returned to the house and stood at the end of the sofa, watching Leah sleep.
Two weeks. Less than two weeks since the day she cured me, and look at us now. Running like fugitives. A price on our heads from at least three different criminal gangs, and probably the police want us for questioning. We’ve saved each other’s lives how many times over the past few days?
And none of it would have happened if she hadn’t cured him that day in McDonald’s. He wondered if their meeting was a blessing or a curse for her—after all, if she’d decided on pizza instead of a hamburger, he’d be dead but she’d be living a perfectly normal life, her secret still safe.
Would she be happy? That was hard to say. He was pretty sure she liked him, maybe was even falling in love with him. She’d talked about how lonely she’d been before meeting him.
Was that enough to counterbalance the sorrow and guilt she was feeling for everything that had happened? Or the terrors she’d gone through?
Could it ever be enough?
John hoped so. Because there were two things he was certain of.
He was definitely in love with Leah DeGarmo.
And he was never going to let anything get in the way of that love.
Part Two
Season of Change
The best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing.
—Theodore Roosevelt
Chapter One
Leah had the cab drive around the block three times before she paid and got out. As far as she could tell, no one was watching her house. Not that she was an expert on surveillance, but she’d seen no trucks or vans parked anywhere, which was what they always used in movies. In fact, there’d been no vehicles of any kind parked on the street, typical for a weekday in a middle-class neighborhood.
She let herself in through the back door, using the key she kept in a fake rock near the door. Ten minutes, she reminded herself. That’s how long she’d told the cabbie she would be. More than enough time to pack a bag and get out.
But that was before she’d walked in and realized this was the last time she’d ever see her house. The house she’d worked her ass off to buy, to decorate, to make her own. Everything in it reminded her of something in her life, something that had made her life hers.
The silver candleholders on the dining-room table. A housewarming gift from her parents, with the added comment that someday she might want to entertain a young man. The journals and medical books on the shelves, souvenirs of the many hours she’d spent perfecting her craft, even though she held the gift of magic in her hands. Photo albums from her younger days, back when she’d taken vacations and done things with friends.
Stop it. She wiped a hand roughly across her face, erasing the tears running down her cheeks. It’s for the best. Now get your ass in gear.
It wouldn’t take John long to discover she’d left the motel room where they’d been staying the past two days. He’d gone out for food. She’d told him she was going to take a long, hot shower. As soon as she was sure he was really walking to the corner market, she’d turned the shower on, shut the bathroom door and run out. Two blocks in the opposite direction from the minimart, she’d stopped at a gas station and had them call a cab for her.
She figured she had maybe an hour’s head start. Ten minutes before he realized she wasn’t in the bathroom. Ten for a cab to arrive. And then it was a fifty-fifty chance of whether he’d go to her house first, or to the clinic. She had to assume the worst, that he was already on his way to the house.
So pack!
She did, thankful that when Nova dragged her out of the house he’d left her purse behind. Her license, which she’d need at the bank to close out her account. Cell phone, although she had to figure it was tapped. But she could use it in an emergency. Toothbrush. Makeup. Her iPod. A photo album she couldn’t live without.
She felt tears threatening again and forced them down. Time for that later, when she was on a cross-country bus or train. A quick stop in the kitchen to grab some snacks and a few bottles of water, and she was back at the cab with two minutes to spare.
Tal Nova would be so proud. The sarcastic thought brought on another round of sobs, which the cabdriver judiciously ignored.
“Provident Bank,” she told him, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
John watched Leah’s house come into view and prayed he’d made the right choice. He’d had no idea Leah would take off; his first thought was she’d been kidnapped again, until the motel clerk mentioned he’d seen her walk past the office.
Damn her! What could possibly be the reason for ditching him? Did she still think he’d be safer if she was gone?
“Wait here,” he told the driver. “I’ll be right back.”
He went around to the back door and cursed when he saw it hanging open. Leah, in and out in a hurry? Or one of the men looking for her? He cursed a second time and drew his gun, the short-barreled backup piece he’d picked up at his house before they checked into the motel. Only six shots, but if he needed more than that he was a dead man anyhow.
And this time Leah won’t be there to save me.
He peeked around the corner of the door, presenting as small a target as possible. The kitchen looked the same as the last time he’d seen it. Past the small space, the dining room and living room seemed clear. Of course, there could be someone hiding behind a couch or chair, but he doubted it. The men they’d dealt with so far were more the stand-in-the-open-and-shoot-rather-than-hide type. Stepping into the kitchen, he crept forward to the base of the stairs, listening for any sounds from the second floor.
A floorboard squeaked behind him and he spun around, his heart thumping into overdrive, adrenaline surging through his body. Everything seemed to happen at hyperspeed—turning, bringing the gun up, tensing muscles—all faster than he’d ever moved before.
It wasn’t fast enough.
Something hard and heavy struck him on the temple and lights exploded inside his head.
Then the fireworks disappeared, taking everything with them.
“There must be some kind of mistake.” Leah leaned forward. “I had more than twenty thousand dollars in that account last week.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. DeGarmo. But according to the computer, you transferred that money to another bank yesterday.”
“Another bank? Why would I do that?” Even as she asked the question, a cold, nasty sensation filled Leah’s chest. She had a feeling she knew what had happened to her money. Who would have access to her accounts besides her?
A man with the power of a multinational conglomerate behind him, that’s who. Tal Nova.
“—want to speak with our manager? If this is a case of fraud, he has to call—”
“No.” Leah shut her purse. “I mean, I’ll be back. With my attorney,” she added, knowing how lame it sounded but not having any other explanation for not wanting to find out where her money had gone.
Before the teller could say anything else, Leah turned and hurried away.
Damn him! He got to my money. And he’s probably closed my cred
it cards as well; no sense even trying those.
She stormed out the bank doors and paused. Now what?
She had exactly sixty-three dollars to her name, no credit, and she probably couldn’t even show her license anywhere. A bus ticket would most likely eat all her money and still not get her more than a couple of states away, leaving her alone, penniless and basically lost. Trains were more expensive than buses. She could steal a car, if she knew how. But she didn’t.
Suddenly her plan of escaping and disappearing didn’t seem as ingenious as it had when she’d thought she’d be leaving with twenty grand or so in her pocket.
The important thing is to get away. Worry about the rest later. She could always spend a few nights in a women’s shelter if she had to; every city had at least one. They’d probably help her find a job that paid cash, too, if she lied and said she was hiding from an abusive husband. Any job would do, as long as it didn’t involve the veterinary field. That would be too dangerous.
Her resolve strengthened again, she headed for the bus station.
Chapter Two
After three hours of watching an endless procession of malls, billboards and roadside diners go by—the monotony broken only by equally dull tracts of farmland—Leah was relieved when the bus pulled into the station at Elmira. The driver announced there’d be a thirty-minute layover before the next leg of the trip, which would take them to Jamestown. There she’d catch a different bus to Cleveland.
Faced with the option of sitting on the bus for the next half hour or spending the time in the station, Leah paused, unsure of what would be safer. Remaining on the bus meant fewer people would have the opportunity to see her. On the other hand, if someone wanted to kidnap her—or worse—then an empty bus was the perfect location.
In the end, it was her bladder that made the decision for her. Bus station restrooms were notoriously filthy, but even they were better than the cramped, foul-smelling toilet cubicle at the back of the bus.
Besides, her stomach was growling and there’d be snack machines in the lobby.
Keeping her eyes alert for any suspicious characters, she took care of business and then made her way to the vending machines, where she grudgingly parted with two dollars for a candy bar and a diet soda.
Leah frowned as she counted her remaining cash. Enough for three, maybe four meals at McDonald’s if she stuck to the dollar menu. The ticket to Cleveland had eaten most of her money.
Taking a seat near the departure doors, Leah wondered again if she was being followed. She’d done her best to examine the faces of the people around her, but she had to admit her skills as a spy—or fugitive, depending on how you looked at it—weren’t the best. Every gaze in her direction, every stranger who walked past, set her adrenaline pumping.
Finally, she forced herself to sit back and relax. After all, it wasn’t as if Tal Nova or that other man, Del, could bring their thugs into a public place and just take her away against her will. No, if they were after her, they’d have made their move in Rocky Point, before she boarded the bus or when she’d been at her house.
Thinking of her house brought her mind back to John. He’d surely be frantic about finding her by now. She hoped that didn’t put him in more danger. Would he be smart enough to go to the police once he was sure she was missing? Again, she hoped so. He could tell them whatever he wanted—even reveal her secret. She no longer cared.
Mostly because she no longer had a secret.
Leah looked down at her hands. The bruises and cuts on them were fading, but the very fact they were there at all was continued evidence her Power hadn’t come back. She also still felt weak and run-down, another sign she’d changed. Although in the past she’d often ended up exhausted at the end of a hard workday, a good night’s sleep always had her as good as new the next morning. Now, here she was, days after the explosion and the blow to her head, and she still felt like death warmed over.
Would it be so bad if my Power was gone? It was a question she’d been mulling over since she’d first realized she wasn’t healing rapidly. Without it, no one would want to use her as a murder weapon. The people she loved—John, her family—would be safe. She might even be able to return to being a veterinarian, although it would probably break her heart each time she couldn’t Cure a dying pet.
She’d actually considered calling Leonard Marsh, who she figured was behind everything bad that had happened, and telling him she was just an ordinary person again. Let them arrange a demonstration if they wanted. In return for them letting her go free, she’d promise not to say anything to the police.
Right, Leah. And they’ll just let you go. After all, murdering criminals are famous for trusting people.
Not.
More likely they’d simply kill her.
Even with my Power gone, it continues to curse me.
Still, over the years she’d done a lot of good. John was right in that respect. She’d Cured hundreds of animals, made countless pet owners happy. Would she do it all over again, knowing what would eventually happen? Probably. If it weren’t for Chastity’s death, and John’s life being in danger, it would be more than a fair trade.
A memory popped up from when she’d been shot trying to rescue John. She’d had a dream of being Jesus. Rather than blasphemous, the comparison seemed oddly appropriate. Two people with the Power to Cure the sick. One sacrificed himself so that his followers could be saved. And that was what she was doing now, in a way. Sacrificing her life to keep other people safe. Not that she felt saintly or Godlike, but the situation seemed to prove that “acts of kindness rarely go unpunished.” Another of her mother’s sayings.
My mother, who I Cured of cancer. And what did that act of kindness get me? Decades of tiptoeing around the truth, one of the few parts of our relationship that isn’t perfect.
Secrets. Lies. Loneliness. Sadness. Violence. Death. What a list of consequences from having a so-called Power to do good.
I’m so much better off without it.
A middle-aged woman sat down in the seat across from her and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, miss. Do you have the time?”
Still deep in her own thoughts, Leah looked up at the clock. “Yes, its— Ow!”
A sharp pain in her shoulder made her turn around. Two well-dressed men stood behind her, one of them sliding a syringe back into his jacket pocket. Leah tried to scream but her mouth refused to open. At the same time, her body went limp and she was aware of the floor sliding up to meet her.
It’s not the floor sliding, it’s me. I’ve been drugged!
Her entire body felt wrapped in cotton, her senses of touch and hearing dulled and warped by the drugs. Only her vision remained clear, although she couldn’t move her eyes to look in different directions. Her body rose again and she caught glimpses of the two men standing at her sides. Then her head drooped forward and all she saw were the tiles of the bus-station floor flowing past in a river of filthy gray.
Garbled voices reached her, some louder than others, the jumbled words disappearing and returning like a poorly tuned radio station.
“…what’s wrong with…it’s okay, we know…suffers from…escaped…call the…no, we have…be fine…”
Then she was outside, which she could tell because the gray tiles disappeared, replaced by cracked cement. The two men lifted her into a van and laid her on the floor. With her head facing up, she was finally able to see their faces. Neither of them looked familiar. Then the woman from the bus station stepped into view, and she did look familiar.
Even more so when she pulled her hair off.
You, Leah wanted to say, recognizing the man called Del.
He must have seen the comprehension in her eyes, because he nodded. “Nice to see you again, Doctor DeGarmo. Have a nice sleep.”
This time the pinprick in her arm was barely noticeable.
The last thing she saw w
as Del’s face growing fuzzy.
Leah woke up with the worst headache she’d ever felt, worse even than the time she’d done too many tequila shots at a college party. That one had lasted almost fifteen minutes, while her drinking partners had all ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. At the time she’d thought she’d been lucky. It was only looking back, years later, that she understood it was more likely a side effect of her Power that kept her from getting her stomach pumped. And earned her a reputation for being immune to tequila.
This hangover showed no signs of letting up, and she wondered what kinds of drugs she’d been given.
That man. Del. It was him. Dressed like a woman.
Dammit. I should have stayed on the bus.
No, she consoled herself. It wouldn’t have made a difference. If they had the audacity to drug her and carry her off in public, in broad daylight, then they’d have had no worries about boarding an empty bus to take her. Which brought up the next question.
Where had they taken her?
At the moment there was no way to tell. She was on a hard, cold floor of some kind, tile or maybe wood, her hands tied in front of her. The only light came from a nearby computer monitor, which showed the swirling, twisting rainbow colors of a screen saver. The monitor sat on a desk, but she couldn’t see beyond that, couldn’t tell how large the room was or what else it contained.
A scream threatened to break loose from her throat and she clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to give in to her panic. It terrified her that there could be a dozen men with guns not ten feet away and she’d never even be aware of their presence. Adding to her fear was the knowledge that something far worse awaited her, especially when Del found out she was no use to him anymore.
Leah forced herself to take deep breaths, which wasn’t easy because the air stank of something foul, something that reminded her of the dissection labs in vet school. Was she in a morgue? God, she hoped not. Dead bodies all around…