Lush Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 8)

by Marysol James

  Lush Curves

  (Dangerous Curves #8)

  By Marysol James

  © 2017 by Marysol James.

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: theuntitledbook.com

  Cover photo: © MORO/Fotolia

  Dedication

  For all of you.

  For pulling me through a dark time in my life. Your faith, patience, and support were a warm, sweet light, one that helped me find my way back home, back to myself… and back to all of you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  The Devil’s Scars

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the author

  By the same author

  Prologue

  Three years ago

  The woman flew into the hospital emergency room like a bat out of hell: long, red hair streaked with gray flying out behind her, purse open as she haphazardly threw in some car keys, waitress’ uniform crumpled and creased, and stained with splotches of what looked like coffee and ketchup. But for all of that, she was absolutely formidable, and Doctor Sam Innis knew that this was the kind of woman who was going to face it – whatever the hell it was, whatever horrible thing had brought her storming into the E.R. at one a.m. – with all of the ferocity of a lioness.

  Sam was standing behind some heart monitor equipment, so she didn’t see him as she hurtled on past, but he suspected that she wouldn’t have noticed him even if he’d been standing smack in the middle of the hallway. Her blue eyes were trained on the large, glowering man with messy dark hair who’d come in with Doctor Shane ‘Mac’ MacIntyre almost an hour earlier.

  “Jax!” she cried, and Sam heard nothing but fear and confusion in the utterance of the man’s name. “Jax!”

  Jax Hamill got to his feet, and Sam saw him shoot a concerned look at the red-headed man sitting on the sofa next to him. Sam knew that the man’s name was Noah Matthews, and it was clear to Sam that Noah was pretty severely autistic. Sam had been nothing but amazed at how gentle Jax had been with Noah – and not just Jax.

  Sam’s attention turned to mountain of a man holding a stack of baseball cards in his massive hand. Sam had seen plenty of rough types in the E.R., numerous genuinely terrifying people with seriously-worrying reputations – but Matt ‘King’ Kingston took the proverbial cake. By a goddamn mile.

  So it had been touching to watch King sit for an hour with Noah, patiently going over the baseball cards, player after player, team by team, letting the younger man just rattle off physical stats after RBI after playoff. It was clearly Noah’s displacement activity, a way to keep him focused and calm, and King had dedicated himself to it with a compassion and almost-sweetness that had made Sam look at the ferocious, ex-military, black-ops badass with a sense of softening.

  Not that Sam had spent much time talking to Jax, or King, or Noah. He’d been in the E.R. with Mac for an hour, fighting desperately to save the life of the young woman that these men were here for. Mac was sitting on Noah’s other side now drinking a coffee in preparation for the long, awful night ahead. His blue eyes met Sam’s dark ones, and both men gave each other a tiny head-shake of sadness. They knew what Sam was there for.

  Sam’s thoughts went to Sarah Matthews now, and his stomach both sank and tightened in an all-too-familiar feeling of worry and dread. Her head injuries were extensive; they were the kind of extensive that rarely ended well. The kind of extensive that meant that he was almost certain that his next words to Sarah’s stoically-worried loved ones were going to be, “I’m so sorry. We did everything that we could…”

  God, he was fed up with having to say those words. Sam excelled at trauma and he knew that he had the temperament and the skills, that he was invaluable to the E.R., that he was damn good at his job. But some days, he just wanted to be a dermatologist, to have sane office hours, to have a little prescription pad for creams – and to never, ever again have to start a conversation with, “I’m so sorry.”

  Jax gently took the woman by the elbow now, said something under his breath to her. She looked over at Noah too, and Sam saw that he’d tensed up at the woman’s frantic appearance. Right away, her face softened and she nodded, let Jax lead her down the hallway to a sofa. He gently placed her on it, the knelt down to her level. Sam saw them talking, saw the woman look back at Noah, saw her touch Jax’s hand in a concerned, caring gesture.

  That was the thing that got Sam out from behind the heart monitor machine to talk to Mac about the CT scan – that little hand touch. This woman was clearly Sarah Matthews’ mother, and she had to be beside herself with fear and worry… and she still had it in her to offer comfort to a hurting, barely-holding-onto-his-rage bear of a man.

  A woman like this was strong, and she was gentle, and God knows that she needed to know things. She needed the worst and she needed the truth – both unvarnished – and she trusted herself to be able to handle things. Sam suspected that she’d been trusting herself and her own judgement for a long, long time, and had long stopped looking to others for solace or salvation. She carried herself like a woman who had vast inner resources, deep wells of strength to draw from. This was the kind of woman that if the zombie apocalypse came, she’d not only survive, she’d blow holes in zombie heads and feed the kids in her charge. Sam would want to be in a group with her, that was for damn sure.

  Well, thank Christ for her grit, because she was going to need it for whatever was coming her way – no matter what it was.

  He nodded at Mac now, and walked over to the other man. Shane MacIntyre was hands-down the best neurologist that Sam had ever had the priviledge of working with, and although he had left the hospital to start his own private consulting practice – meaning that the man was rolling in cash, all his former colleagues presumed – he was still on-call for really bad cases that rolled into the E.R. Sarah Matthews had no idea how lucky she was that Mac had been among the first to see her after her brutal attack (Sam wasn’t sure where the connection lay, exactly, but based on his observations, it looked like Jax was Sarah’s boyfriend, and Mac was Jax’s friend), and Sam thanked every star twinkling above that Mac had been the one to bring her in. He’d started things up long before Sarah had hit the E.R., and that early care and intervention may have made all the difference for Sarah Matthews.

  Or – based on her CT scans – maybe not. Maybe no matter what any of them did, there was not going to be any hope for this young woman.

  God, Sam hated being the bearer of bad news.


  Mac got to his feet, and King glanced up sharply. They all shot looks down the hall at Jax and Annie, but they were still totally absorbed in their conversation, but no way they would be for much longer. They had to talk, and fast.

  “And?” Mac said brusquely, gesturing at the scans in Sam’s hand. “How bad?”

  “Bad.” Sam gave Mac the x-rays, and Mac held them to the light, squinted, sighed. “You see it?”

  “Fucking hell. Yeah.”

  “Don’t say bad words,” Noah reproved him. “Sarah says that swearing is bad.”

  “Sorry, Noah,” Mac said, giving him his trademark quirky grin. “Wanna wash my mouth out with soap?”

  “Why would I do that?” Noah asked, clearly perplexed, as he clearly always was when he took things absolutely literally. “I like you, and soap doesn’t taste good.” He then returned his attention to his baseball cards and exited the conversation completely.

  “See what?” King asked gesturing at the scans, keeping his voice low and his tone unconcerned for Noah’s sake, but trying to get the conversation back on track. “Anything very interesting?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Mac handed the x-rays back to Sam. “Not overly surprising, considering everything, but… it’s a bad case, man. We’re going have to dig in and dig deep, for everyone’s sake. They’re going to need support. Trust me.”

  “Whatever they need, they got it.” King’s voice was still warm, but his gray eyes were slate and steel. “All of ‘em.”

  “Heads up,” Mac said suddenly. “Mother headed this way, and she’s on the warpath.”

  “I’ll stay here,” King said, his tone jovial. “Noah? Want me to quiz you on your cards some more?”

  “Yes,” Noah said. “Ask me about the players’ eye color.”

  “Deal.” King nodded at Mac and Sam slightly. “Good luck.”

  “I don’t need luck!” Noah said. “I just need my memory.”

  “What’s her name?” Sam muttered under his breath as he and Mac hurried down the hall to meet Jax and the woman half-way. “Sarah’s Mom?”

  “Annie,” Mac breathed back, close on his heels. “Annie Matthews.”

  “Annie Matthews?” Sam said politely when they’d all reached each other.

  “Yes.” She was tense and trembling, but her voice was steady. Her face was drawn and pinched, but it had a lovely curve to the cheekbones, a sensual curve to the lips. Sam saw her hands clasped tightly together, and was surprised by the sudden urge to gently take one. He refocused his thoughts, trying not to notice how beautiful and clear Annie’s blue eyes were. He sought refuge in the pedantic and familiar.

  “I’m Doctor Sam Innis.”

  “How’s Sarah?” she asked immediately.

  Sam paused, feeling Jax’s dark green eyes boring a hole in his face, even as he kept his attention on Annie. “Mrs. Matthews, it’s very bad news.” He started to move back to the sofa that she and Jax had just abandoned. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “No.” She practically spat out the word, then right away, as if she regretted her harsh tone, she softened a bit. “Tell me, please.”

  Sam nodded, then launched into sentences and sentiments that he’d rattled off a hundred times, a thousand times – far, far too many times:

  “She has a very serious head injury, I’m afraid, and it’s caused her brain to swell. This swelling is pushing down on Sarah’s brain stem, specifically on her RAS – the Reticular Activating System.”

  Jax and Annie stared at him, utterly clueless and silent. Beside Sam, Mac sighed deeply. He knew what this meant, of course; God, did he ever. He knew that it meant that Sarah’s life was hanging in a delicate balance – far more delicate than Sam wanted Annie to know right this minute. After all, there was still a hope – slim, but it existed – that things might have turned around a bit by the morning.

  “What does that mean?” Annie asked Mac and Sam, those incredible eyes wide with confusion. “What’s a rectangular whats-it system?”

  “The RAS is responsible for awareness in the brain,” Mac said, and Sam happily acquiesced to the other man’s superior knowledge about anything to do with the human brain. “When it’s compromised or damaged, a person is rendered unconscious. And when it’s being pushed on – like when a person’s brain is severely swollen – then the person can’t wake up.”

  Jax and Annie blinked, and Sam saw that Annie actually looked ill. He was just about to ask her to sit down again when she seemed to give herself a shake. Her face was still the color of parchment, but those eyes had a fire in them now… a rage and determination that gave Sam heart. After all, if Annie had this fight inside of her, and if Sarah was her mother’s daughter, then Sarah’s chances had maybe just improved.

  Maybe just a bit.

  “I still don’t understand,” Annie said, struggling to speak slowly. “Sarah can’t wake up?”

  “Sarah’s in a coma,” Sam said, dropping that dreaded, awful word, the one that struck terror into the hearts of every single person that he had facing him. For so many people, coma meant death sentence. And for so many patients, that’s exactly what it was. “And as long as the RAS is being pressed down on this much, she’ll stay in a coma.”

  Annie gasped, and one again, Sam had to fight back the urge to touch her, to physically offer her the comfort of a warm hand.

  Or a hug.

  Stop it.

  “OK,” Jax said hollowly, and it was in this moment that Sam knew that he loved Sarah. Loved her hard enough to stand by her, all the way to the end of the road. “So how do you deal with the swelling?”

  “Drugs,” Sam said, his eyes moving between Jax’s hard face and Annie’s strained one. “Drugs will sometimes reduce the swelling, which then relieves the pressure on the RAS.”

  “What do you mean ‘sometimes’?” Annie said, looking so lost, Sam’s heart ached a bit. “Drugs don’t always work?”

  “No, Annie.” Mac’s voice was gentle. “They don’t always work… it depends how badly her brain has been damaged by the beating. The more damage inflicted, the worse the swelling, and the harder it is to control. And from what I saw when I checked her eyes, Sarah’s brain has been pretty badly damaged.”

  “I – I still don’t understand,” Annie repeated. “Are you telling me that she’s not going to wake up? That she’s going to die?”

  “I’m telling you that the swelling is bad,” Sam said, hating to do this, hating it worse than he’d hated it in a long while. “And that Sarah won’t be able to wake up until it goes down. I’m not able to say anything more right now. We need to watch her for the next twelve hours, and see if she’s reacting well to the drugs. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

  “But… but…” Annie stuttered. “I can’t… I don’t…”

  “Hey.” Mac put his arm around her shoulders, and when she subsided against his strong, solid body, Sam felt the wild urge to growl and beat the living crap out of the man.

  Hands off, MacIntyre… I swear to Christ, if there are any professional lines to be crossed and any hugging to be done with a patient’s mother, I’ll be doing it. I don’t care if you’re built like a brick shit-house, I’ll take you down.

  “Look, we’ll go get you something hot to drink, and I’ll sit with you and explain it all again.” Mac was holding Annie closer and tighter now, the bastard. “You’ll ask me whatever you want, and I’ll answer what I can. OK?”

  She stared up at him. “You’re the one who’s a doctor, right?”

  “Yep.” Mac grinned, all gorgeous charm and blue eyes and long blond hair, damn him. “Doctor Shane MacIntyre, at your service.”

  She looked him up and down, clearly stunned. “What kind of doctor are you?”

  “Oh, Doctor MacIntyre is one of the best consulting neurologists in the state,” Sam said, giving credit where it was due, mostly to set Annie’
s mind at ease. “Believe me, ma’am, if you have any questions about how the brain works, this is the man to ask.”

  Annie’s jaw dropped. “A neurologist?”

  “I know, right?” Jax finally producing a grin. “He’s as brainy as hell – and yes, that was an intentional pun.”

  Annie gave a small, shocked laugh. “Good Lord, boys… you’re all just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  “We try to be,” Mac said jovially. “Now, let’s get you sitting down and we can talk. Yeah?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “Thank you, Doctor MacIntyre.”

  “Mac.”

  “Mac.” She gave him a grateful, astonishingly beautiful smile, and Sam wished that she’d smile like that at him, just once. Maybe twice.

  “Mac!” Noah echoed.

  “Yeah, man,” Mac said, turning to face Noah again. “How you doing?”

  “King’s smart,” Noah said, and despite the flat monotone typical of a person with advanced autism, Sam did discern a clear tone of admiration present in his words. King grinned at Noah with real affection, gave Mac and Jax a wink.

  “Is he?” Annie said, walking back over to her son. Sam watched her go, knowing that she had to – of course she does, she’s got people to take care of now and she’s not going to shirk that responsibility, not for ten seconds – knowing that her mind was already on Noah, on Sarah, on all the ways that she had to cope with this new, terrifying reality.

  And Sam also knew in that moment that he was going to do anything and everything to help Annie through this. Anything she needed, he was going to be there.

  Whether she knew it or not.

  **

  Three days later, Sam walked over to Sarah’s room, carrying a cup of coffee. He knew that Annie was there, since he’d seen her arrive at the hospital around six that morning. He assumed that she’d come straight from her job – I wonder where she waitresses, anyway? And really, how to ask without sounding like a creepy stalker? – since she’d been wearing her uniform and sensible shoes, and she’d been a harried, hurrying mess. He was sure that she hated being away from Sarah for hours and hours on end; he was also sure that if she was away, then it was because she had no choice whatsoever in the matter.