Wicked Temptation

by Linda Verji

  "Ah, ah, ah, Danny," she moaned as she pushed the plastic rod into herself. She imagined his large hands on her breasts, molding and squeezing them. Imagined him cupping her hips, tilting her upwards for his first thrust.

  Inside her.

  Large! Hard! In so deep!

  In. Out. In. Out.

  She writhed on the bed as she brought herself to completion with his name on her lips. Her lust temporarily quenched, she started to drift off. Which was when her phone decided to ring - very, very shrilly. Her heart lurched. Maybe it was Danny calling to make up for their argument. However, a glance at the caller ID revealed an unfamiliar number.

  Misha swiped her finger over the answer icon. "Hello?"

  "Is this Misha Alexander?" a male voice vibrated in her ear.

  "It is," she acknowledged as she sat up in bed.

  "This is Eric," he said. "Eric Ingram."

  As soon as she heard his name, Misha sighed. "Eric, how did you get my number?"

  Eric wheedled, "Look, Misha, I really need to talk to you. What I've got is hot, the kind of stuff that could make your career."

  "I appreciate you thinking of my career…" Misha rolled her eyes. "… But as I said, I'm currently not looking for a story. However I can refer you to someone who-"

  He cut her off, "I don't want anyone else. I want you."

  "I'm sorry that's not poss-"

  "Look, I'm on my way to your house. Wait until you see what I've got then you can decide."

  "Eric, please don't come to my-" The phone clicked in her ear.

  Unbelievable! The blackmailing weasel had hung up on her. And how did he even know her personal number, or where she lived for that matter? Talk about creepy. Well, he was wasting his energy coming to see her. She wasn't daft enough to open her door to him.

  To say Danny was frustrated was an understatement. Despite it being almost four in the morning he was wide awake on his balcony. Below him, the city glimmered; a beautiful concrete jungle bustling with life. This view was the reason he'd bought this building. Initially, he'd intended to flip the six-story war-era building. But the moment he'd walked into its sun-drenched penthouse with its panoramic view of the city, he knew he wanted to live yet.

  Yet, today he paid it no notice, stared at it but did not see. The irritation swirling inside him made it impossible to think of anything other than Misha. Ugh! Misha. He lifted his glass to his lips and tossed back a huge gulp of whisky. The liquid scorched a path down his throat, its bitterness somehow soothing his agitated emotions.

  Yes, part of his frustration had to do with her refusal to let anything happen between them. There was no escaping the fact that he was in love with her. As far as he was concerned, the reason she'd given for rejecting him was bullshit. She was just too scared to tell him that she didn't feel the same way about him. Sure, she loved him and wanted him, but she wasn't in love with him.

  And that was okay.

  He could live with that. Hell, he'd been living with her rejection for more than a decade. What was a few more decades? But this whole Palestine thing? That he couldn't live with.

  How could one woman be so pig-headed? Going back to the Palestine was like asking to get killed. Or was that her intention? Three years ago Misha would never have taken this kind of assignment. But ever since her parents had died… it seemed like she was trying to join them.

  His grip on the glass fence tightened. What was he going to do about her? Could he even do anything? So far his attempts to knock sense into her had fallen on deaf ears. Or maybe he should pick a page from his mother's book and simply hold Misha hostage until she stopped being so suicidal?

  Drastic? Maybe.

  Crazy? Could be.

  Necessary? Absolutely.

  He would do just about anything to keep her safe. Anything.

  He was still ruminating over the mechanics of keeping Misha in town when his phone rang. Who the hell was calling him at two in the morning? "Hello?"

  "Daniel Landa-Hollis?" the female caller asked for confirmation.

  "Yes, this is he," Danny returned as he set his glass on the coffee-table.

  "Sir, this is Chesley Memorial Hospital," the woman said. "I'm Nurse Watkins."

  The mention of the hospital was enough to charge Danny's nerves with immediate alarm. "Yes?"

  The woman continued, "We have a Michelle Alexander here. She was hit by a car a few hours ago."

  Danny was glad he was holding onto the glass fence with one hand. Were it not for its support he wouldn't have been able to stay on his shaky feet.

  "She's in critical condition, and we need a signature for a few procedures," the woman said. "You're listed as her emergency contact so we'd like you to come to the hospital."

  This didn't make sense. Misha? In critical condition? He'd left her safely in her house. How… when had a car hit her? Ignoring the sudden buzz in his ear and already walking toward the door, he forced himself to ask, "Are you sure it's her?"

  "Yes, we're sure."

  "I'm on my way." Grabbing his car keys and jacket, Danny exited his apartment, feeling as if he was wading through quicksand. With every dazed step he took, panic stole further into his thoughts. It settled in his chest, squeezing, pressing, urging him to drive faster, to reach Misha before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 6

  Danny had no recollection of his drive to the hospital, but somehow he found himself parking near the emergency entrance and striding across the parking lot. The hospital was a hotbed of activity; doctors, nurses and EMTs rushing around amidst patients and their loved ones. He headed straight for the nurses' station where a harried, male nurse was trying to handle the long line of people awaiting his attention. It took ten minutes for Danny to get to the head of the queue, yet it seemed like ten hours - ten nail-biting hours.

  "I'm looking for Misha - Misha Alexander," Danny queried.

  The nurse asked, "Are you a family member?"

  "I'm her emergency contact," Danny returned, "Daniel Landa-Hollis."

  "A minute." The nurse tapped on his key-board, his eyes all the while on the computer screen. He nodded. "Yes, we have a Michelle Alexander. She's in surgery."

  Hearing it confirmed that it was Misha indeed and discovering that her injuries were bad enough that she needed emergency care was enough to knock the breath out of Danny. Yet part of him remained calm enough to ask, "How bad is she hurt?"

  The nurse shook his head. "I'm sorry. You'll need to speak to her surgeon about that."

  "Can I talk to him?"

  "He's in surgery. With her," the nurse stated the obvious. "But you can wait for him in the ICU, first floor. He'll look for family members when he's done."

  "Thank you." Danny turned on his heels and headed towards the bank of elevators. He rode the elevator to the next floor where the Intensive Care Unit was located. This floor was much quieter, free of the pandemonium reigning freely downstairs. He pushed through the double doors and strode toward the nurses' station, but before he could reach it someone called out his name.

  "Danny?" Geneva Vexer, Misha's neighbor, lifted off the couch. At barely five foot two with hair white as snow in direct contrast to her dark as coffee skin she was the definition of little old lady. Her 'littleness' was further emphasized by the presence of her almost six-feet tall grandson, Kendrick, beside her. Kendrick stood when she did.

  Surprise in his voice, Danny asked, "Geneva? What are you doing here?"

  "I came with Misha," Geneva said as she strode towards him.

  "Oh." Danny swallowed convulsively.

  "I'm sorry." Considering their significant height differences, the snug hug she gave him was awkward to say the least. Taking a step back, she said, "Not just because Misha is here but because…" She shot her grandson a dirty look. "… it was Kendrick who hit her."

  Danny shot a shocked looked towards the young man who was staring down at his feet, wringing his hands and looking beyond miserable. Anger swiftly replaced Danny's shock. This boy had
put Misha in here. It was only the knowledge that Kendrick was barely sixteen that kept Danny from striding over and punching his lights out.

  To give himself time to cool off, Danny turned back to Geneva. "Let me find out how she's doing."

  The middle-aged nurse at the counter was more than willing to answer his questions. She said, "Ms. Alexander’s still in surgery, but they should be done soon. However, we do need more information on her."

  Danny took a deep breath. "Okay."

  The nurse rattled off a list of questions; Misha's birth-date, her blood-type, her occupation, her next of kin, her insurance provider, any other health problems; he knew it all. After answering the questions and authorizing additional tests on Misha, he wandered back to the couch where Geneva and Kendrick were seated.

  For a while he was silent, then he turned to Kendrick, "What happened?"

  Kendrick stared at his hands in silence. But not for long. Geneva slapped the back of his head, "Boy, he's speaking to you."

  It was enough to draw a stuttered, "I - I didn't mean to. I'm - I'm sorry," from the young man.

  "Nobody asked you if you meant to," Geneva berated. "What happened?"

  Kendrick tripped over his words. "I was-was c-coming from practice."

  Geneva smacked her lips and slapped his arm with a purse that looked older than Christ and huge enough to hold a spare-tire. "Don't make me beat you in front of all these people. I ain't got time to get arrested. You know damn well you weren't coming from practice at two in the morning. I told you to get your black ass in the house by midnight. But you were still running around with that Bobby boy, weren't you? How many times have I told you that boy is no good? Were you-"

  "Let him talk," Danny interrupted before Geneva could go full throttle into her rant.

  Kendrick revised his story, "We had a small party at Bobby's house. But I swear I didn't drink." He cast a frightened glance his grandmother's way. "I dropped off Carter and Lewis at their houses then I headed straight home. Misha came out of nowhere-" He swallowed convulsively. His voice barely rose above a whisper as he continued, "I didn't see her until she was on the road in front of me. I tried to stop but I couldn't." He stopped speaking when tears filled his voice.

  Geneva glared at him before picking up where he left, "Kendrick called the ambulance. I heard the sirens and woke up to find them loading her into the ambulance. We followed them here."

  "How bad was she hurt?" Danny asked through the tight knot in his throat.

  "Her arms and legs were bleeding a bit, and she was holding her stomach," Kendrick mumbled. "But she was still speaking."

  She was still speaking. That was good, right? Danny tried to console himself. But it was no consolation. The doctors wouldn't have taken Misha into surgery if her injuries weren't serious.

  Geneva shook her head. "Ida must be turning in her grave knowing we put her baby in hospital." Which of course led to another session of beat up on Kendrick.

  Danny let her words fade into the background of his thoughts as he processed the night's events. It felt like he was starring in a nightmare. Just hours ago he and Misha had been laughing, kissing, arguing, and now she was lying under the glare of surgical lights, unconscious, broken and fighting for her life. It felt unreal; as if any moment now Misha would walk through the double doors, smiling and saying it was a prank.

  Yet this was real. Oh, so real.

  What if she, like his father, didn't make it? Just the thought of losing Misha made his blood run ice. He forced the thought away. She was going to make it.

  She's going to make it.

  His frustration at not having news of how she was doing mounted with each passing minute. It took all of his self-control to stay seated and waiting. Two hours later, a weary doctor wearing scrubs appeared. The moment he asked the nurse if Misha's next of kin had arrived, Danny and Geneva stood.

  "How is she?" Danny asked.

  The doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "She had a bit of bruising on her arms and legs, but her torso caught the brunt of the hit. She suffered two fractured ribs and some internal bleeding. We had to remove her spleen, but she's in stable condition now."

  "That's good." Danny breathed his first easy breath of the night.

  But it was too soon because the doctor continued, "But that's not what we're worried about." The doctor looked troubled as he explained, "When the car hit her, she fell backward head first. When the paramedics brought her she was in and out of consciousness with compromised speech. We suspected a concussion, so we did an MRI. The MRI confirmed trauma to her brain. Unfortunately we won't know the full extent of trauma until she wakes up."

  Danny tried to nod. He wasn't sure if he actually did.

  Geneva asked, "When will she wake?"

  "We don't know," the doctor said. "It could be tonight, tomorrow, next week. It depends on the patient."

  They didn't know whether she was brain damaged. They didn't know when she'd wake up. Then what the hell did these people know? Danny asked tersely, "Can I see her?"

  "She's in recovery at the moment. Once they move her to ICU, someone will come and get you."

  The wait was longer this time. By the time a nurse came to get them it was morning. Danny didn't know what he expected when he walked into Misha's room, but nothing could've prepared him for the shock of seeing her lying there so still.

  She was hooked up to machines and an IV bag, dressed in a blue hospital gown and bundled under white sheets and a blue blanket. Her skin was ashen, her eyes closed and her face completely expressionless. Were it not for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor, he would've thought her dead.

  He stepped closer, took her hand in his and called, "Misha?"

  He didn't know what he was hoping for; an answer, a squeeze of his hand? None of that happened. Her eyes stayed closed and her hand hung limply in his.

  And for the second time in his life Danny prayed.

  Hopefully, this time God was listening.

  CHAPTER 7

  "You don't need to send Aiko," Danny said into the phone.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Femi, Misha's cousin, retorted. "You two are family. And I know if it was one of us, you would be here too. Do they know when she'll wake up?"

  "No. They say it could be a day, days, weeks…" Danny briefed Femi on Misha's condition. It was mid-morning and he was alone in Misha's room. About an hour ago, Geneva had carted her grandson off after extracting a promise from Danny that he'd call if Misha so much as blinked.

  After spending the whole night awake tiredness was catching up with him and he felt like he'd been carrying the world on his shoulders the whole night. However, much as he tried he couldn't keep his eyes closed. Every time he tried, his thoughts inevitably wandered into 'What if something happens to her while I'm asleep' territory.

  Ending the phone-call with Femi, he slumped back in the chair watching Misha's still form. Though she hadn't stirred since her surgery, she seemed to have gained some of her color back. She looked so peaceful lying there. If it wasn't for the bandages and the machines she was hooked up to it was easy to imagine that she was just sleeping.

  Only she wasn't just sleeping.

  Danny dragged his chair closer to the bed and took her hand in his. He whispered, "What were you doing outside in the middle of the night?"

  Maybe she heard him. Maybe it was her time to wake up. But she stirred, and her lashes fluttered.

  Danny's heart jolted in excitement and he leaned forward. "Misha?"

  Though she didn't open her eyes, she sighed and flexed her fingers. It was enough for Danny. With a flick of the button at the head of the bed, he had a nurse at her bedside in minutes.

  "It’s probably reflex." The nurse tried to rein in Danny's excitement, with little success.

  That was not a reflex, he was sure, and it wasn't wishful thinking on his part. Misha had heard him. Once the nurse was gone, he kept talking to her hoping that it would wake her.

  "You would've laughed if you'd
heard Geneva going off on him." Danny's lips quirked in a smile. "She was on fire."

  "Who was on fire?" A voice said from the doorway.

  Danny's gaze snapped to the door to find a man striding into the room. At six foot three, long, midnight black hair held back with a cue, and leanly built, the man looked like a cheesy Asian soap opera hero.

  A cheesy Asian soap opera hero who was also a cop.

  His badge hung from his neck down to his dark blue t-shirt. Although he was wearing an overcoat, the gun holstered to the waist of his dark wash jeans was visible.

  As if Danny's night wasn't crappy enough. Now he had to deal with this joker?

  "Hollis," the joker in question greeted stiffly.

  "Wu," Danny returned just as stiffly. "What are you doing here?"

  "Same as you." Tony Wu swaggered to the other side of Misha's bedside with all the arrogance of a peacock. "How is she doing?"

  Danny was tempted not to answer. Talking to the man was like getting his teeth pulled - without anesthesia. He couldn't stand Tony when he and Misha were dating, and he certainly couldn't stand him now. It took every bit of Danny's self-control not to snatch Misha's hand from Tony's when the punk took it. But somehow he managed to stay seated and answer, "She hasn't woken up yet."

  Genuine concern in his gaze, Tony asked, "What happened?"

  "No idea," Danny bit out through clenched teeth. He could've elaborated further but he didn't feel like it. Tony wasn't on his list of confidantes.

  Misha had dated quite a few guys but she'd never confessed to loving any of them. Until Tony Wu.

  Seriously! How could she be in love with this walking Tommy Hilfiger ad? What the hell was so loveable about the guy? So what if he’d served his country as a Marine before joining NYPD? Lots of guys had done that. Now if he’d lost a leg or two out there, that would've been worth the self-important smirk he carried around.

  So what if the detective shared Misha’s values; family, honesty, justice? Anyone could share those. So what if he’d done almost everything right during the seven months when they were dating; not pressured her for sex, remembered birthdays and anniversaries, been nice to her parents... Please. The man was probably putting on a show anyway and given more time would’ve shown his true colors.