by Angie Sandro
I draw in a couple of deep breaths, massaging my chest to open the air passages that constricted when he mentioned her name. “Oh God, I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “Gabriella, she’s…”
“She’s what? Dena, you’re scaring me. Was she in the house? Is she…dead?”
“No, she’s fine. Sorry.” I take his hand, biting my lip. “Luckily, she went on a date. If she’d been home when those men attacked, they would’ve killed her.” God, I feel so helpless. I need Mala. She’d know what to do, but she’s not here. Plus she’s been through enough trauma because of my family. I shouldn’t drag her or anyone else into this, but I can’t figure this out on my own.
I stare into Charles’s open face. Once, I trusted him completely. His betrayal hardened my heart. I cut off my emotions and turned bitter. Sad. Lonely. For better or worse, I’ll put my trust in him again.
“Charles, swear to keep what I tell you to yourself. Don’t talk to anyone—not Vanessa, and especially not Detective Anders.”
He takes a deep breath and nods. “Spill it.”
“The men who attacked my house tried to kidnap me. If Anders hadn’t been over, they would’ve succeeded. One of the men said I’ve got a bounty on my head. And before you ask, I’ve no idea why.” Though I’ve got a pretty good guess it has to do with being juiced.
Charles’s mouth opens, but I press my fingers to his lips.
“This guy said the only way my friends would be safe is if I went with him.” I squeeze his hand, making sure he understands. “He said his boss would give me answers, and I’d be protected. I was going with him, but then he died.”
Tears trickle from my eyes again. I hate crying. What purpose does it serve? But I can’t stop. I feel so helpless. Useless.
Charles sits on the bed and pulls me down next to him. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I lean against his chest, remembering the feel of him. But I also compare it to Anders’s solid chest. His skin had been so smooth. He radiated heat when he pulled me into his arms. Even mad at him, I felt a crushing sense of loss when the bullets struck his chest. He said he hadn’t been injured, but I saw him get shot. If he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest, he would’ve been undamaged, but I felt his bare chest against my palms before the doorbell rang. He hadn’t been wearing a vest.
“Charles, can you track down an address for the last number called on this phone?” I hold out the bounty hunter’s cell phone.
“If it’s possible. But this is outside my jurisdiction. You should speak to Anders, get authorization…”
“No, leave him out of it. He never even bothered to ask what happened to me. I was kidnapped, and he didn’t care. If I did burn the assassin, it would’ve been in self-defense. But maybe it’s for the best. We’ve got time to find proof of my kidnapping. Anders won’t be able to ignore me then.”
“Then report it…Anders’s accusations, all of it, to Lieutenant Caine or Sheriff Keyes. They’ll believe you.”
“That’s what I’m most afraid of. What if they start a huge investigation? They’ll only get hurt trying to protect me. Just like Winters and Kyle.”
“Shit, Dee. You’re asking me to put my job at risk.”
“I know.”
“You’ll be in danger.” He shakes his head.
“I’m already in danger. They won’t stop coming after me. This is the only way I can think of to get answers. It’s probably the stupidest plan ever. I’d never ask you to get involved, but I’m desperate.”
Charles’s arm tightens around my waist. I can tell he’s working through the situation in his mind. My feelings toward him have softened. In the last week, he’s repeatedly put himself out to help. So maybe he’s not my One and Only, but we can be friends.
“Okay, we’ll do it your way until we get more information.” He lifts a hand up, halting my words. “I think you need to involve Anders, but I understand your objections. There’s a way to trace the cell, but it’s not legal. And it’ll take time. I’ll let you know when I find anything.”
I give him a hard squeeze of relief. Of course, this is when Vanessa walks in. She shakes her head, as if unable to believe what she’s seeing. I know the feeling. I did the same when I walked into Charles’s apartment and found them going at it doggie style in the middle of the living room.
Funny how the memory doesn’t make me sick to my stomach anymore.
I lean away from Charles, flushing. “V-Vanessa,” I stutter, then give in to the urge to explain the situation. I don’t know why. It would serve her right to stew in her own jealous juices. I guess I don’t feel up to a fight and Charles deserves happiness in his life. “It’s not what it looks like. I just…”
Vanessa walks to the bed in silence, face inscrutable, but her chocolate eyes are full of emotion. I have time to suck in a deep breath before her arms wrap around my neck, squeezing.
Vanessa’s trying to kill me. I struggle to pull free, but her skinny little arms tighten around my neck. I’m debating whether I should use my newfound super-strength to rip her arms out of their sockets and club her in the head with them, when it sinks in that she’s sobbing. Charles also has tears in his eyes. He watches us embrace with what looks like paternal satisfaction. What a fucking reunion.
It’s good I took a deep breath before the hug ’cause several minutes pass until Vanessa pulls it together and releases her hold. Charles pulls her onto his lap, and she curls up like a cat, mewling as if her best friend passed away.
“You almost died,” she chokes out, echoing my thoughts. “Again…”
I almost say something scathing, like, “Why would you care if I died?” But I guess what Uncle Ben said is true, with “great power comes great responsibility.” Time to stop wallowing in self-pity. Charles won’t be so willing to help if I keep insulting his fiancée, especially when she seems to be undergoing a metamorphosis of her own.
I’d tuned out and missed part of her seemingly heartfelt apology, but now I cobble it together enough to be gracious. “I’m fine, Vanessa. I accept your apology.”
“I miss you, Dena. You were my closest friend. I wish I’d done things differently with Charles, but…I love him. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Of course, love excuses betrayal. I shake my head, brushing the thought aside. Being magnanimous is difficult. “Look, Vanessa. It’s all water under the bridge. I can say with absolute certainty that I’m no longer physically attracted to Charles.” I suppress a slight shudder, revolted at the idea of seeing Charles naked again.
Hurt flares in his eyes, and I quickly continue, “My feelings for him are platonic. I’ve grown up a lot in the last week, and the ability to forgive is a skill that grows over time.” But I’ll never forget. I learn from my mistakes.
“Are you sure, Dee? I know I’ve been a bitch, but I’ve been insecure. Your attack, plus the fact that you’re seeing another man put things in perspective. I’d like for us to be friends again.”
Ugh, self-centered…It’s always about her feelings. She feels bad. She wants to be friends. Never mind how I feel. Exhaustion makes my voice thick. “Vanessa, please. I’ve had a hard day. I’ll talk to you both later, okay?”
Charles meets my gaze with a covert nod. He’ll let me know if he finds anything. He pushes open the curtain and leads Vanessa away. With each step she takes, my tension releases. I curl up in the bed, staring at the ceiling.
I’ve been in schoolyard fights. Kids used to tease me and my brothers all the time. Pepper left right after I hit puberty so I didn’t have a woman in the house to talk to. Mala’s mama—well, Ms. Jasmine wasn’t the best role model. She tended to use booze or sex to cope with her problems. I’m not the sort to let people run all over me or my family, but I’ve got a gift for gab that could talk myself out of most sticky situations. The martial arts training I took in case words failed. I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly strong person, especially when I compare myself to my cousin. But the one thing I’ve discovered about mysel
f this week is that, when push comes to shove, I shove. I fought Tolson, almost to death. I fought those men tonight with every ounce of my strength and, like that man rising from the dead, I’m a survivor.
Susan sweeps in to check on my recovery. “Not seeing double? What about nausea?”
“Fine and fine. What about Anders? He came in earlier. Was he injured?”
“No, he said the blood’s Winters’s. He’s checking on the guys then will probably go down to the morgue.”
I sit up, surprised. “Are you saying the man whose brain spilled all over my porch is at the hospital? Not the coroner’s office?”
“He still showed signs of life, so they brought him here. He passed in the operating room.”
Signs of life? With that injury. Good God Almighty. This isn’t good.
Susan frowns. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re looking awfully pale.”
I force a smile. It probably looks ghastly. “Sue, tell me I’m being ridiculous to worry. People don’t come back from the dead. Right?”
“Not unless they’re Jesus,” Susan says, then pokes my arm. “Or you.”
I chuckle, but hate where my thoughts are going. God, please let this be over. The guy in the morgue lost half of his brain. Even on The Walking Dead there’s no healing from a head shot. The problem is, a man came back to life tonight, without medical intervention. The laws governing life and death have already been broken.
CHAPTER 17
Don’t Be a Hero
The fact that I’ve snuck into the morgue to verify that a dead man has stayed dead says a lot about the state of my sanity. That I’m running down a faintly lit hallway toward the screaming rather than away, once again verifies I’m certifiable. The last time I found myself in this position, Squirrel ended up a casualty of the shadow. This time, it might be me. Still, I don’t hesitate. I’m the only person who stands a chance of neutralizing the man who shambles in my direction like a damn zombie straight from a horror movie.
The missing part of his brain must’ve controlled rational thought. All that remains is a capacity for mindless violence, and judging from the blood trail he’s left, someone has already fallen victim to his rage.
Bones grow back together over the ragged hole in his skull. The pieces reform, coming together in a transparent, fragile matrix that seems to have the consistency of gelatin and the color of freshwater pearls. He screams when he catches sight of me, an inhuman roar. He lurches in my direction and then turns on his heel, quick…quicker than the eye can follow, even if it’s slower than he’d be if uninjured. He looks over his shoulder and screams again.
A security guard exits a side room. He stares at the undead man, stunned, before he shouts, finger reflexively pulling the trigger of his gun. Each bullet thrusts the man back, then he staggers forward a few steps and back again, each time getting closer to the guard. With a final leap forward, he grabs the guard’s outstretched arm, using it as a lever to throw him—toward me.
I shout, lifting my arms. The guard slams into my chest, and we fly back. I hold onto him as we slide across the linoleum, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
I release the guard and roll toward my attacker rather than away. My legs wrap around the man’s calves and I twist, summersaulting backward. The force of the roll throws him over my head. He smashes headfirst into the wall. He slides down in a motionless heap.
I crawl back to the security guard. The nametag says his name is Pete. He can’t be more than twenty-five. He stares into my eyes, his own filling with pain and pleading for help. I’ve never felt so useless in my life.
His fingers fumble at his belt. “Radio…call for backup.”
I remove the radio. “Please, someone…anyone, I need help in the morgue.”
Pete’s eyes begin to glaze. He hears the music…Death’s song, an ethereal flute playing its seductive melody. It soothes his pain, mesmerizes and cajoles. He’s falling under its spell. Soon he’ll let go. My vision shifts as the veil to the other side thins in preparation. The aquamarine of his aura fades, then grays. But it’s not black. There’s still a chance for him to pull through, if he gets help soon.
I slap his cheek. “Don’t you dare,” I snarl the order. “Stay awake. They’re coming for you.”
He blinks, nodding. His gaze moves over my shoulder, and his eyes widen.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” I hunch into a protective crouch over Pete and then leap to my feet.
The assassin slides up the wall. Rage fills me. The jerk just won’t stay dead. He charges, and I throw myself toward him, arms outstretched. Our bodies impact in the air, driving the breath from my lungs. Darkness rolls across my vision as we hit the ground, but I push it back. I hold onto him, kicking and gouging at his body as we roll across the floor. The returning blows are as mindless, but damn it, they hurt. With a solid jab of his knee, he thrusts me off of him and I slide across the floor like a turtle on its shell.
He rises, unstoppable. And unlike me, he doesn’t seem to feel pain. The elevator dings. Someone has answered my radio for help. I have to lure the assassin away because I can’t allow anyone else to get hurt.
So I do the most practical thing for everyone involved. I run away.
His bellow of rage echoes through the corridor, bouncing off the walls. I glance over my shoulder. Once I’m sure he’s following me, I head down a hallway leading away from the voices exiting the elevator.
Never having been on the lower level of the hospital, it doesn’t take long before I’m lost. The shambling steps follow. I slow enough for him to keep up, almost feeling the heat of his rancid breath on my neck, but not enough to be caught. There has to be a staircase leading upstairs. Or a weapon to help me kill this creature from Night of the Living Dead who refuses to die.
When we’re far enough from the elevator for the responders to be safe, I pick up my speed ’cause I really don’t want to fight him again without a weapon. I skid around a corner, losing my balance and ricocheting off the opposite wall. He still follows, but he’s far enough behind that I can’t see him. The long, empty corridor ends at a blank wall. Given my high degree of panic, it’s no wonder that I’ve cornered myself in a dead end.
I huddle against the wall, gasping for breath. My head feels stuffed full of cotton, and I sway with dizziness. I’d ignored the pain from my injuries with the spurt of adrenaline filling my body during the fight, but that’s fading. My body’s one giant throbbing bruise, but miracle of miracles, I don’t think anything is broken.
The halting steps get louder. Soon he’ll come around the corner and will have a clear view of me. I imagine his satisfaction at seeing me trapped—if he’s capable of any feelings. I’ve given up hope he’ll collapse from his injuries. Those will be healing like mine.
The overhead lights flicker like crazed lightning bugs. One by one they pop, exploding with a flash of light. The corridor darkens until only the light directly overhead remains, then it too ignites. I shriek, raising my hands over my head as sparks drift down, burning my skin, and an answering bellow fills the corridor.
Shit! He’s here…His shuffling footfalls move toward where I crouch in the corner. I can’t see him—my monster in the dark.
A hand grabs my wrist. My mouth opens, prepared to scream again, but another hand closes over my mouth. My feet leave the ground as I’m lifted into the air. My body slides up the wall. It’s dragging my sorry ass across the ceiling. I kick my legs wildly, unable to break free. A body climbs under mine, holding me up, and I’m now a fly stuck to the ceiling in a sticky paper. Gravity defied, except for my hair, which trails down in a ragged waterfall around my face.
My brain screams that what’s happening is impossible. It’s illogical. My perception’s twisted upside down. It feels like I’m lying on top of a warm chest, but my back presses against the ceiling. My arms are pinned between our chests, and I can’t move. A cool nose touches my neck and inhales. All the trapped air in my lungs rushes out in a sigh of relief.
“Ashmael,” I whisper, as my shadow man breathes in my scent.
He responds by licking a tear from my cheek.
Footsteps drag closer until they’re beneath us. My mouth opens with an inhale, and Ashmael’s mouth slants across mine. His tongue slips between my parted lips, and the sweetness of his saliva fills my mouth. I drink him in, savoring his taste. Fear fades. His tongue caresses my tongue, coaxing it to dance in time to his kiss. My chilled skin warms, then tingles. The aphrodisiac I swear is in his saliva loosens my tense muscles. My aches disappear. The kiss deepens. His hands slide down my hips and grip my thighs. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he draws our bodies closer. We melt into each other, which given his incorporeal nature might not be strictly metaphorical.
A groan from below acts like a slap to the face. The lust boiling inside vanishes. God, this is so surreal. I’m suspended from a ceiling in a spirit’s embrace, while a murderous, zombie-like creep thrashes around directly beneath us.
Kissing no longer seems like the best idea.
Gravity hangs heavy on my body—an irresistible force drawing me toward the ground. I don’t know how Ashmael suspends us in the air. I’m not a scientist, and whether this is a manipulation of electrons or something equally mystifying, I don’t know. I do know if his mojo gives out and he becomes incorporeal again, I’ll fall.
In the distance, a voice I recognize calls my name, and I shudder. The man below hears him, too. He bellows in response, and his footsteps pound down the hall. “Anders!” I shout, thrashing against the body restraining mine, “Anders, run!”
Anders yells my name again. This time he’s closer.
“Put me down.” I wiggle against the spirit. “Please, I have to help him. It’s Anders…that thing is going after Anders.”
Rather than releasing me, Ashmael pulls my body closer. His lips move to my neck, nibbling the underside of my jaw. His hand caresses my thigh, heedless of my pleading for release. I refuse to fall into his lust trap again. Frustration grows until it’s a palpable wave flowing through me. I heave against him with all my strength. A pop rings in my ears, and I fall headfirst. I throw my hands up to protect my face. Arms circle my waist, and I’m jerked back against Ashmael’s chest.