by Paula Graves
Quinn grabbed his arm and whirled him around, slamming him face-first into the wall. Maddox's knee twisted, hot agony sparking up his leg to join the symphony of pain. Gritting his teeth, Maddox focused on the sound of Quinn's rapid breathing, trying to anticipate the next blow.
The second he felt it coming, he threw back his head, his skull connecting with Quinn's face. A grunt escaped Quinn's throat.
Maddox whirled around, ignoring the throbbing in his knee, and drove his body into Quinn's, hurling them both against the stairs. He landed a couple of punches to Quinn's gut and jaw before Quinn lashed out with a vicious kick that caught him in the groin.
Pain exploded in his pelvis and rocketed up his gut, sending nausea coursing through him. He dropped to his knees, the ache in his twisted knee racing up his leg. He managed to lift his head and found himself staring down the barrel of a 9 mm Beretta.
"You can't win this" Quinn wiped blood from his battered nose and steadied the Beretta.
Maddox glared at him, trying to catch his breath.
"I want you to go home and forget you ever met a woman named Iris Browning, Do you understand?"
Maddox's profane response made Quinn's lips curve.
"I was afraid you'd be that way." Quinn said. He put the Beretta's barrel against Maddox's forehead. "Turn around and face the wall. Stay on your knees."
Maddox did what Quinn told him, his heart racing. "You're not going to kill me."
"Why would I kill you?" Quinn asked.
Then Maddox's world exploded into blackness.
Iris watched the hands of her travel alarm clock click forward another minute. Twelve-fifteen. Maddox had been gone almost ten minutes. Where was he? Was he okay?
The hotel room doorknob rattled softly, drawing her gaze to the door. She heard the soft snick of the lock disengage. Her heart pounding, she looked at the safety latch at the top of the door. She hadn't engaged it, she realized, panicking her insides.
She pushed to her feet, her legs slow and uncooperative. She couldn't draw a deep breath, her brain turning to sludge as she tried to figure out what to do, where she could hide. The balcony. She scrambled over the bed and raced for the brass doors to the balcony.
"Stay where you are." The gravelly voice of the bearded man sliced through the haze of fear, drawing her to a halt.
She turned slowly to face him, what was left of her breath escaping in a soft gasp. He was disheveled, his shirt torn at the shoulder and blood streaking his nose and chin. Obviously, he'd been in a fight. And if he'd come out the winner-
"What did you do to Maddox?" she asked, her voice raspy with fear
"He'll live." He spoke with a flat, neutral American accent now, all traces of his earlier clipped tones gone,
"What do you want with me?"
The bearded man turned and started to close the door behind him. But it flew open, knocking him backward into the dresser.
Maddox stumbled into the room, bruises and scrapes covering his face and arms. He lurched at the bearded man, grabbing the man by both arms and hauling him face-first down onto the bed.
Iris backed up against the balcony doors, her pulse loud and fast in her head. Pain zigzagged through her, setting off little knots of agony all over her body. Her head. Her nose. Her knee. Her stomach and groin. Both men had taken a beating, and she could feel every bit of it.
"Maddox-" she gasped.
He glanced at her, looking quickly back at the bearded man who had started to squirm beneath his grasp. Maddox pulled something out of the back of the man's trousers and shoved it against the back of the man's head.
A gun, Iris realized, panic setting in all over again. "Maddox. Don't-"
Maddox looked up at her, his eyes cold and hard. His breathing was fast and labored, his jaw tight with anger. Iris could feel his fear, his rage, so overwhelming that it blotted out all the twinges and pains from both men's injuries.
He jerked the bearded man to his feet. "Give me the key."
The man reached into the pocket of his trousers.
"Slowly." Maddox warned with a growl.
The bearded man withdrew a room key and handed it to Maddox. "You don't know what you're doing."
"Yes, I do." He grabbed the man and shoved him up against the wall by the door. He kept the gun barrel tight against the base of the man's skull as he jerked open the door. With a hard shove, he sent the intruder through the door into the corridor. "Don't come back."
The stranger turned to face Maddox. His green glare as hard as stone. "It's not over. Heller."
Maddox slammed the door in his face and engaged the safety bolt. He turned to face Iris, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his arm. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I'm fine."
He laid the gun on the dresser and walked slowly to where she stood by the balcony doors, his steps unsteady.
"I was so afraid" she whispered, stepping toward him as he closed the space between them. "I was so afraid of what he'd done to you-"
He cradled her face between his hands. "You don't have to be afraid. It's okay."
She touched his cheek, a soft hiss escaping her lips. "You're hurt"
His gaze settled on her lips. "No, I'm fine " he murmured, dipping his head toward her.
She should push him away. The aches and twinges rolling off of his battered body were almost more than she could bear, and he'd barely touched her yet. But a different sort of ache had settled over her the second he took a step toward her. A need to be closer to him, to feel his skin on hers.
His mouth moved over hers, gentle but hungry. Her lips parted, her heat mingling with his. He released a low groan of pleasure that rumbled like thunder around them.
"Iris." he whispered against her lips, his hands sliding up her back, bunching the soft jersey cotton of her sundress under his palms.
She felt every pain he was feeling, but she also felt the heat of his desire, a flame racing to meet the blaze of her own need where it simmered low in her belly. The potent mingling of pain and pleasure came as a surprise; she hadn't known until this moment that they were two sides of the same coin.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, curling, twining, pulling him closer. His tongue darted against hers in response, an invitation she couldn't have refused if she'd wanted to. He started backing toward the bed, bringing her with him. She went willingly, wanting more.
Wanting everything.
His knees buckled as he hit the edge of the bed, and he fell backward, pulling her down on top of him. His knee twisted as they went down. Agony wrenched through her leg, making her gasp. She forced her mind back to the pleasure of his hands on her back, large and strong, holding her to him.
When he pushed her away suddenly, she almost fell off the bed. She caught herself, rising to a sitting position next to him. She scraped her hair out of her eyes and stared at him, confused. "Maddox?"
He turned to look at her, his blue eyes dark and fierce beneath his furrowed brow. "You felt that." he said.
Iris met his gaze with pain-dark eyes. She didn't answer him, just stared at him with a curious mixture of fear and hope.
Nausea shuddered through his gut. He swallowed hard, forcing it away, "It's what that woman talked about at the lecture. What do you call it-empathic sensitivity. Right?"
Even as he said the words, he knew they were crazy. Empathic sensitivity? What the hell was that? Who the hell believed in such a thing? That blow to the head must've been worse than he'd thought.
Iris started crying. It wasn't the way he'd seen her cry before, softly and quietly. It was a floodgate opening, racking her with sobs. She bent forward, burying her face in her hands, and cried like a broken hearted child.
He sat against the pillows and watched her, afraid to touch her for fear that somehow his crazy idea was right. It would explain everything that had puzzled him about her, wouldn't it? How she knew what Celia Shore's injuries were. Why she seemed to be in constant pain- was she picking up on the aches and
pains of all the people around her?
He shook his head, closing his eyes to the sight of her anguish. The idea was nuts. He was nuts to even consider it.
Yet somehow she'd reacted to his pain as surely as he had. When his knee had twisted as they fell to the bed, she'd gasped before he'd even really felt the pain.
She'd felt it.
Her sobs subsided to a weak hitching noise. He forced himself to open his eyes and look at her. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, her lips still trembling. "I should call the hotel doctor"
He shook his head. "I don't need a doctor." He didn't want to bring a doctor into this mess. If he saw a doctor, the cops would eventually show up. He didn't have much use for Mariposa's finest on a good day.
"Of course you need a doctor."
"Iris, talk to me. You just felt-"
"You need to lie down. You are hurt" She pushed away from the bed, wobbling a little, and took his arm, "Lie down and let me take a look at your injuries"
He looked at her through narrowed eyes, confused and suddenly scared as hell. "I thought you were a botanist, not a nurse."
"Shut up and quit fighting me."
He forced a pained chuckle. "Forceful. I like that." He stopped resisting, allowing himself the painful luxury of inhaling the fresh soap-and-water smell of her as she helped him lie back on the bed. She was warm where she touched him.
He sank against the pillows, trying not to breathe too deeply. Now that lust and adrenaline had both begun draining away, he was feeling the full force of his injuries. He hoped the stabbing pain in his rib cage was just a bruise and not something worse.
Iris suddenly sat down on the bed, wrapping her arms around her middle and doubling over, A quiet whimper escaped her lips.
Maddox sat forward, closing his fingers around her wrist. She winced and pulled her arm away.
He leaned back against the headboard, his heart racing, "I'm right, aren't I? You do feel that."
Slowly, she turned and laid her hand on his left shin. She couldn't hold back a grimace of pain. She took a deep breath and spoke.
"Your ribs are bruised on the left side. One may be cracked-I'm not sure of that. You twisted your knee at some point. It's aching. When you got hit on your jaw, it scraped the inside of your cheek against your teeth. It's raw and probably bleeding."
He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth. The flesh was torn and tender.
"You got hurt, somewhere else, too." Her gaze dropped to the zipper of his jeans.
Laughing to keep from freaking out, he bent forward, his ribs screaming in painful protest, and pushed her hand off his leg. "Don't touch me, Iris."
The stricken look she gave him made his stomach hurt. She pushed herself off the end of the bed and retreated to the window, her back to him. Her shoulders shook with new tears.
"I'm sorry." he said. "I just don't want you to have to feel what I'm feeling right now."
She turned to look at him. Daylight filtering through the window outlined her with gold, obscuring her features so that he couldn't read her expression as she slowly approached the bed.
She stopped beside him. "I can do more than feel it."
He frowned at her, not understanding. She sat on the bed beside him and twined her fingers with his. Her forehead crinkled with pain.
Then he felt it. Electric prickling, like a numb limb coming to life, a release of energy from his body to hers. Agony swirled out of him as if she'd pulled the stopper on a drain. Her face went ashen, but her grip on his hand tightened, as if that connection were all that was holding her upright.
He jerked his hand out of hers, and she whimpered.
"Stop it!" he growled, shifting into a sitting position.
He had to get out of here.
"Let me finish." she whispered, reaching for him again.
He gently pushed her hands away. "No."
She closed her eyes, her chin dropping to her chest. She was breathing hard, as if she'd just run a race.
"This is why you fell down in the street yesterday." he said past the lump in his throat as he watched tears spill down her cheeks.
"It's what you were doing at the beach when you held Celia's hand. That's why she wanted to see you, isn't it? Because she felt what you could do."
Her voice cracked. "You think I'm a freak."
He didn't know how to answer. It was just so-impossible.
She stood up, swaying slightly, her slender body like a reed in the wind. "It's okay. You're not the first."
His heart twisted as if hands had reached into his chest and wrung it dry. He tamped down the feeling, hiding the pain from himself. From her.
He let silence fall between them, as heavy as the dread settling over him as he watched her cry. For several minutes, only the harsh sound of his own breathing and the damp whisper of her tears intruded on the quiet. Then, slowly another sound filtered into his consciousness.
Sirens.
Chapter Nine
Maddox turned to Iris, dread sitting heavy on his chest. "Did you call the cops?"
She looked at him, wide-eyed. "No."
Maybe the cops were just passing by, he thought, trying to ignore the voice inside him warning him trouble was on the way.
Iris crossed to the balcony, holding on to the door frame to keep her balance. She peered out at the beach road beyond. "They're coming here. Maybe someone reported your fight."
He pushed himself off the bed, blackness rimming his vision as agony unleashed itself on his injured ribs. He groped for the walk taking care not to touch Iris, He spotted a couple of Mariposa police cruisers, as well as a fire truck and an emergency ambulance.
"Maybe an accident or something."
"What if that guy was hurt worse than he looked?" Iris glanced over her shoulder at him. "Maybe he passed out."
"Listen, you stay right here. Okay? I've gotta go get something" He'd left the food boxes out in the hall. If the police came through this section of the hotel and spotted them, they might be curious enough to start knocking on all the doors.
He went down the hall and picked up the boxes. They were wrapped in clear plastic sheeting, which had kept them from spilling their contents when he dropped them to the carpet. The food was probably a mishmash now, but he didn't think either of them was hungry anymore.
He knocked on Iris's door. "Me again."
She let him in. "What's in the boxes?"
He managed a pained grin. "I was feeling a little hungry"
"Two lunches?"
He smiled at her skeptical tone. "I thought I might find a pretty tourist to share a little chow with me. Know anybody like that?"
She managed a half smile. "Sorry, no."
He flashed her a wicked grin. "Come on. Sure you do"
Her smile faded and she stepped back. He stepped toward her, regretting his words. When was he going to learn to shut his mouth?
"Iris?"
"Quinn." she said. "That man-you called him Quinn. And he knew your name, too."
He sighed. So she'd heard that.
She stared at him. "You know him, don't you?"
He hesitated, well aware that he couldn't tell her who Quinn really was. But he didn't like lying, either. "Sort of"
"Who is he?"
He debated a couple of lies but finally opted for the truth. "I can't tell you that."
Her brow wrinkled, "What do you mean, you can't tell me?"
"I can't explain. I'm sorry."
"That's insane! That man just broke into my room and beat you up, and you can't tell me who he is?" Her gaze darkened. "Who are you protecting?"
A knock on the door interrupted. They both turned and stared at the closed door.
"Who is it?" Iris asked.
"Mariposa police."
Damn it. Maddox looked at the gun lying on the dresser. He actually had an island gun permit, but not for that Beretta. He pushed himself to the dresser and put the Beretta in the middle drawer, tucking it under a pair of silk panti
es. "I'll wash up." he told Iris, heading into the bathroom.
He ran water and grabbed a washcloth, wincing as the wet, rough terry cloth brushed across the abrasion on his cheek. He didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere else, but his whole body felt as if he'd been trampled by elephants. Quinn shouldn't have been able to get the first punch in. He'd lost his edge over the past three years.
He heard the low' murmur of voices outside but couldn't make out any words. He laid the washcloth on the sink and opened the bathroom door, bracing himself for whatever came next.
A pair of detectives in street clothes sat in matching chairs at the small table near the balcony, Maddox recognized the taller of the two-Melvin Lively, a round-faced Mariposan with a ready grin and an extensive vocabulary of profanities, he used with abandon whenever he was losing at pool, which was often. He gave Maddox a small nod of recognition.
Iris sat on the bed, her back ruler-straight. Her dark eyes met his. "Celia is dead."
Maddox's knees buckled for a second. He caught himself on the edge of the dresser. "What? How?"
Iris looked at the two policemen. They remained silent, "Mr. Kipler gave the police my name."
Maddox sat next to her on the bed, glaring at Lively. "You're not suggesting-"
"No, we're certain Ms. Shore was killed by someone rather larger than she was, which Ms. Browning is not."
Left unsaid, however, was the fact that Maddox was larger than Celia. The hint of accusation lingered in the brief silence, adding to Maddox's growing sense of dread. "How was she killed?"
"We're trying to establish a timeline." The shorter of the two detectives ignored the question. He was European in background, his local accent slightly tinged with the clipped cadence of the Dutch. "Ms. Browning says that she was with you from the time she left Ms. Shore's room, except for a few minutes while you were downstairs getting lunch."
Maddox looked at the two unopened boxes. "That's right."
"Can you verify your whereabouts from the time you left Ms, Browning's hotel room until you returned?"
"The cashier at the restaurant would've seen me." he answered automatically. "I talked to Charles Kipler there, as well. I think he was getting dinner for Celia."