“I need to have these electrodes removed as soon as possible,” he answered. “I can't go to a hospital here. They’ll find me. I know they will. They'll have their friends and contacts and hackers and god knows who else looking for someone of my description trying to get a brain operation.”
“Shit...” I sighed. This was so complicated. At first it was just getting him out and running away for awhile. Now there was a werewolf and running from the cops and stealing a car and leaving the country and brain surgery.
As if sensing my overwhelm, Casey reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Once those things are out, we're free,” he said, giving her a quick glance and flashing a smile before turning his gaze back to the road. “After they're out, we get to go be a normal family, okay?”
I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves that had been on edge since we saw our faces on the news.
The car slowed a bit as Casey took the exit onto Southbound Interstate 49, toward Dallas.
“So, do you know someone who will do this? Take out the electrodes?” I asked.
“I have found someone. A very discreet surgeon at a private hospital in Colombia.”
“Colombia?!” I uttered in shock. That was quite a distance, I thought.
“The drug violence isn't as bad as it used to be,” he said, squeezing my hand again, “if that's what you're worried about. But, we'll be staying at a top-rated resort, regardless. View of the ocean, the beach, and the rainforest. And it's the safest area of the city we'll be in.”
That actually sounded quite nice, and I tried to release some of my stress by envisioning the emerald canopies of the Amazon that had always enchanted and enthralled me as a child and teen. In fact, South America had always been top on my list of travel destinations for that reason.
“I'm not worried, I was just...surprised,” I said and turned to flash him a smile. “It's farther than I was expecting, but it sounds nice.”
“I know the circumstances are completely insane, but, try to think of it as a vacation,” Casey said, intertwining and interlocking our fingers, rubbing the thin skin on the back of my hand with his thumb, sending sparks and goosebumps up my arm and causing a tightness in my chest. “I know you haven't had a vacation since...well, I don't know when. Since I've known you.”
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, letting the wind pouring in from his window beat against my face and whip my hair as I remembered the vacation my dad and I took right after my mother died. He had just restarted his music career, and booked a country music cruise as an opening act for the weekday lunch buffet and evening pool party headliner—some guy named Joplin Harding, who I'd never forget because I heard him perform about twenty-five times on that damn cruise. And he was gorgeous. Even at fourteen I had known that. I often listened to the older women, many of who were old enough to be his mother, and in some cases grandmother, tittle and fawn over him while I took my fill of my favorite foods from the buffet.
In fact, I remembered with a smile, the lunch buffet was headed up by a fantastic Southern chef, who had kept a rotation of fabulous Cajun and Creole fare in the daily lineup. That was where I developed my love for the food...I was alone, and it had been something new and interesting, yet immediately familiar and comforting as I reeled from the massive changes my life had taken. The chef, a large black man named Andre, had given me some lessons on the history of the food, and told me about growing up in New Orleans, and had applauded me for trying even the spiciest of his dishes at the young age of fourteen.
“Most kids don't touch the spicy gumbo, or the crawfish etouffee, or most of my specialties,” he had chuckled heartily. I remembered it like a recent memory, and not one that had happened ten years prior. “'N fact, ain't many kids really come on these types of cruises. But I guess you don't have a choice, so might as well put on a few pounds, huh, Miss Lexie?”
He had known I was lonely—no mother, no siblings, no one my age to talk to, and my dad on stage for half the day. So he just talked to me, every day. About food, and books, and movies, and cities, and other cruises he had worked on.
The day we reached the cruise's port of call, Cozumel, which I found out in high school most of my friends would have killed to visit, my dad said I could go to shore myself, but he had to stay and do sound check with Joplin's band, since he was taking over the headline spot so Joplin could take a day off. I had wandered around the docks for a bit, overwhelmed, but so glad to be free of the ship, before Andre and a few of the girls from the kitchen saw me alone and offered to take me to their favorite restaurant in Cozumel. They bought me a huge meal, and even let me try their mojitos, which gave me, an alcohol virgin at the time, a nice tipsy buzz—one that my dad, who generally operated on a beer buzz for his shows, didn't seem to notice or mind when I was extra giggly and talkative that night back on the cruise ship.
“It was a cruise,” I finally said to Casey. “Ten years ago. Right after my mom died.”
“I'm sorry, Alex,” he murmured softly.
“No, it was...it was alright,” I muttered contentedly, not fully appreciating the cruise until now. “I learned a lot about myself on that trip. It made me embrace being on my own, I guess you could say.”
“A cruise, huh?” Casey asked, his neatly arched sandy brown eyebrows raised in question. “Weird father-daughter vacation choice.”
“I guess it wasn't really a vacation either,” I said. “He was working. It was a country music cruise. I got to meet Joplin Harding. Have you heard of him?”
“Uh, no,” Casey laughed. “I haven't listened to country since...ever. Don't tell your dad, but it's basically the only music I don't listen to.”
“Well, he wasn't that great, anyway,” I chuckled. “He was a pretty good singer, and very attractive, but he was an arrogant dick.”
Casey laughed out loud. “Good to know. I won't purchase the backstage pass for his next Country Stampede, then,” he quipped.
After a drive that clocked in at six and a half hours—how Casey shaved off an hour and a half from the drive time without getting pulled over was beyond me—we stopped at a Target and bought some clothes and toiletries for the trip, and new bags to put them in, as Casey had aptly pointed out it would be very odd for us to be taking an international flight without any sort of luggage.
He insisted I grab a bikini for the hotel pool or the beach, my choice. I didn't think he'd really want to be doing either right after having his head operated on, but then remembered how quickly he had healed at the dentist office and figured he would probably be fine right after it was done.
On top of the bikini, some undergarments, and a few outfits mostly consisting of tank tops and skirts, I grabbed a beautiful chestnut-brown leather duffel bag to put everything in, and a new pair of sunglasses, both of which I had been eying at my Target back in Highdale Park for a few months. I also picked out a small travel purse I could strap across my chest and keep my cash, cards and phone in, then grabbed a few magazines before we both scoured the food aisles together for some snacks for what would surely be many hours in airports and in the air.
Once done with our shopping, we made our way to the airport, where, luckily, a flight to Colombia was taking off in less than three hours. We grabbed dinner at a Mexican restaurant in the terminal our flight was leaving from, and with my second margarita and Casey's hand gently caressing my thigh, I felt myself completely forgetting the events of the past two days. Things felt normal, despite how abnormal they really were. Shopping and eating dinner with Casey, being out in the world with him, traveling with him.
Traveling...
With a tequila buzz setting in, I laughed loudly, which caused Casey's head to snap up from his plate of enchiladas, not to mention drew the attention of a few others in the cramped airport restaurant.
“Where did you learn to drive?” I asked through uncontrollable laughter.
Casey smile widely and laughed with me.
“An onl
ine simulator course,” he answered after our laughter had calmed. “I can also drive a semi and sail a yacht. Hypothetically.
“So that was the—”
“First time I've driven a real car? Yes.”
I broke back out into hysterical laughter as the waiter delivered my third margarita. It was the only reaction I could even think to have. For whatever reason, I found it hysterical that we made all the way down to Dallas with a first-time driver at the wheel. How did it not occur to me at any point while it was happening? Probably because he was an incredible driver—he even knew how to hot-wire a car, for crying out loud! Why would you question if someone knew how to drive a car if they were hot-wiring it?
“Thank you,” Casey said to the waiter. Then he said to me, “I think I'll have this one, if you don't mind.”
“I don't know,” I purred, clicking my tongue. “If you get me tipsy enough, maybe I'll join the Mile High Club.” I giggled coyly and rubbed my hand up his thigh, taking great pleasure in watching him squirm and shiver in his seat.
“I don't know what that is,” Casey laughed nervously and shook his head.
I threw my head back again and laughed loudly, something I was sure the others in the small restaurant were growing quite tired of, but I didn't care.
I leaned over and whispered in Casey's ear: “It's when you have sex in the airplane.”
“Where?” he asked, pulling back with a confused look on his face.
“In the lavatory—the tiny excuse for a bathroom,” I answered.
More confusion, and a hint of disgust swept his expression.
“That sounds completely unsanitary,” he groaned.
“But hot,” I added, raising my eyebrows at him.
“It's going to be crazy hot wherever we do it, Alex,” he murmured. “Can we agree not to do it in bathrooms? The motel was pushing my borderline germaphobe buttons as it was.”
I giggled. “Okay, no bathrooms. Airplane or otherwise.”
As soon as we boarded the first leg of our flight, Casey propped a small pillow on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in to rest my head. I fell asleep before the plane had even left the ground, already feeling like we were a world away from our problems.
CHAPTER 14
Cartegena, Colombia, the location of the private medical center where Casey would have the electrodes removed, wasn't exactly the lush, green rainforest I envisioned when picturing South America. However, it was a large city rimmed with a pleasant sandy beach, and I could see the foliage-covered mountains on the horizon opposite the coastline—a stunning and contrasting backdrop for the vibrant pillars of metal and glass that were commonplace sights for any urban area.
The resort was top of the line, as Casey had told me it would be. Beautiful and pristine, with just the right blend of clean, modern décor and eclectic historical and coastal flair. Our room was as far from that Kansas City motel as it could possibly get. In fact, I had never seen a more incredible and luxurious hotel room in my life. I couldn't wait to sleep in the bed, adorned with all white, indulgent-looking linens and covered with enough plush pillows for five people.
I couldn't wait to do other things in the bed, either, as I watched Casey peel his shirt off and shamelessly ogled his washboard abs and rigid chest as he sauntered past me toward the bathroom. Then the pants came off, revealing his tight, supple backside, which I also thoroughly surveyed before he stepped into the opulent stone and granite shower.
“Care to join?” he asked over his shoulder as he turned on the water, which poured out of several shower heads, including one that somewhat resembled a waterfall.
In lieu of spoken response, I hastily stripped my clothes off and got in, finding the water at a pleasantly hot temperature, and very glad to wash the airplane germs and sweat off my body.
Casey's hands were immediately on me, caressing the curve of my waist and tracing paths along my midsection with his fingers. I watched with growing desire as water trickled through the patch of dark chest hair that turned me on so much, and then down the muscled path of his midsection to his lower body. I reached for him, running a hand along the soft, sparse chest hair I loved, and another along his muscular back, causing him to step closer.
When he lowered his forehead to mine, I shifted my gaze downward, instantly noticing that he was standing at the ready. I clutched into his back and his chest and took my lips to his with urgency.
Our shower ended up clocking in at over an hour long, but thankfully, the water stayed hot as long as we did...
My gut churned the entire time we were in the private medical facility. I knew I should have been paying closer attention as they walked the two of us through an admission tour. Casey devoured all the information, nodding enthusiastically, asking intelligent questions, and engaging in medical conversations that sounded as foreign to me as the Spanish that the nurses spoke to each other in the background.
The doctor was thorough in his tour, which I was surprised he was giving, but maybe Casey had specifically requested to have more time with him personally. But it didn't matter how great the doctor or the facility was, or how 'smoothly' they all said this 'simple' procedure would go. I hated hospitals, medical centers of any kind. Seeing my mother wither away in a chemo chair at the oncology center where she had received her frequent, and ultimately futile, treatments for the cancer that riddled her body didn't leave a good impression on me in regards to medical facilities. It had metastasized aggressively from undetected skin cancer. By the time doctors had found it, it was too late. I realized this now, as an adult, after learning more about it. But as a kid, I was lied to, sheltered, and caught completely off guard when the day finally came...in a hospital, after a risky surgery to remove tumors from her liver.
So, surgeries to remove things, whether simple or risky, really didn't sit well with me.
Casey must have noticed me trembling as he grabbed my hand and looked at me with comforting eyes. I hadn't even realized the doctor had left us until I saw him rounding the corner toward the operating wing at the end of the hallway we occupied.
“Hey, it's going to be okay,” Casey said, squeezing my hand.
“I know,” I said, nodding rapidly to try to convince myself.
“You don't look like it,” Casey said, angling his face to get a better look at mine. “Remember how hard it is to kill my kind?” He dropped his voice to a whisper for the last few words and smiled encouragingly at me.
“What if that complicates things?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Doctor Garcia is aware that I...heal quickly, without giving too much detail, and I've paid him well to not ask questions,” Casey assured me. “He is prepared for any complications that might arise.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “I just—how long is this going to take?”
“Not long. Two hours in the OR, and then some post-op observation, which I'm sure you can be in the room for, if you want me to tell them. Grab a coffee and a book from the shop downstairs and try to relax. Please,” he stated softly, “it is going to be just fine. I know this is a hard place for you to be, but don't worry about me.”
I nodded as a nurse came up to us and told Casey his room was ready and he needed to fill out the rest of the admission paperwork before they could start pre-op preparations. We held hands the entire way to the room, which looked more like a nice hotel room than a hospital room, and I watched with a knife in my stomach and an anxious nausea as he changed into a medical gown.
In the name of strength and support, I suppressed my sobs as they wheeled him away toward the operating room. But I rushed to the bathroom and let them out at the first possible moment, barely making it through the door before they started to break free from my throat.
Once I felt them subsiding, I wiped the smeared mascara from under my cheeks and under my eyes and made my way to the coffee and gift shop. I ordered a large iced latte and looked for a book or a magazine, but nothing caught my attention, so I decided to
sit in the cafeteria where there were TVs. A telenovela played on nearly every screen, except one screen that showed a replay of a soccer game. I absent-mindedly watched the soccer game, as the telenovelas were in Spanish. The soccer game was in Spanish, too, but I didn't need words to understand what was going on. I had been assigned to soccer as my sport to cover when I wrote for the high school newspaper. Everyone had to write at least one sport, and seeing as I didn't really like football, baseball or basketball, and those were generally coveted by the guys on the staff, anyway, I ended up with soccer. The games were long, but it was easy to follow. Easier than American football, for me at least.
After about an hour and a half had passed, I ordered another latte and bought a bag of chips and made my way back up to Casey's room. Before I went in, I asked the nurse at the nearest nurse's station if it was okay that I was in the room when they brought him back, and she nodded and stated that he had specifically requested it.
When they wheeled him back into the room, the palpable weight of my anxiety instantly lifted from my chest. I felt a fresh wave of tears encroaching but I stifled them as he smiled at me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he muttered as they positioned the bed back in its original place and started to hook him up to various monitors. He seemed more alert than I expected him to be.
“Were you awake for that?” I asked as I walked slowly toward the bed to grab his hand.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it's pretty common for these kind of things. They can monitor specific brain functions better than if they put you under general anesthesia.”
I shuddered, imagining what it would be like to be awake while someone was operating on my brain.
“That's crazy,” I whispered. “I don't know how you did that.”
Casey chuckled and squeezed my hand. “I've been through a lot weirder shit, remember? It was actually kind of cool.”
I shook my head and smirked.
“You wanna go to the beach later?” he asked, a sly grin spreading his full lips.
Captive: a Paranormal Romance Page 12