by P. G. Forte
Cara lifted her chin. “Oh, you do, huh? Since when?”
Liam nodded. “I’ve always believed in you, Caramel. You know that, don’t you?”
“No,” Cara said, shaking her head once more. “How would I know that? When have you ever–”
“And now, I’m asking you to believe in me, too,” Liam urged. “To trust me. To help me. I really need your help with this.”
His voice was low, soft, persuasive. Cara gazed at him helplessly. “I’ve helped you before,” she whispered, swallowing hard. She’d helped him before and it had gotten her in trouble – it always got her in trouble. He had to know that, right? He had to realize what he was asking? “Liam, please... ”
“I know you have,” he said, mouth twisting in a sad, crooked smile as he added, even more softly, “but how about it, Tinkerbell, you gonna sprinkle a little more fairy dust for me? One more time?”
They stared at each other for a moment and the moment seemed to expand; stretching itself out into an eternity of blue eyes and a warm smile and a promise of safety. A promise Cara wanted so much to believe in.
“What am I supposed to tell Gregg?” she asked, silently begging him to change his mind. “He’s gonna throw a fit.”
Liam moved closer, until they were almost touching, until his mouth was only inches from her ear. “Look at her,” he whispered. “You can see there’s something wrong with her, can’t you? Tell Gregg we were afraid she was gonna die, or something. He doesn’t want her death on his hands. It’ll be like the car – how mad is he going to be if you prevent something bad from happening? I’ll come back as soon as I get her checked in, and I’ll tell him the same thing. Trust me. It’ll be okay.”
Cara shook her head. The car was a fluke, they’d gotten lucky that time. But something like this – it didn’t matter what excuse they used, Gregg was still likely to be mad.
“Help me,” Liam begged. “Please.”
“Oh, fuck,” Cara muttered as she tossed her head and blinked back her tears. It was a bad idea but, as usual, his voice made it hard to say no. “Just get her the hell out of here,” she said as she brushed past Liam without a second glance, and headed for the control panel. If she was going to do this, she’d better do it quick. Before she got smart and changed her mind.
“Thank you,” Liam murmured coming behind her.
Cara shook her head. “Forget it. The bitch has been screwing my boyfriend, why would I want her hanging around for, anyway?” She punched in the code and turned back to him, scowling at the sight of Lauren, tears gone now, all cozy in Liam’s arms.
“I can’t leave the gate open,” Cara warned. “So you’re gonna have to borrow my remote again.” She looked at him sternly. “You’d better bring it back.”
“I will,” Liam promised as she opened the door for him. “And I’ll be back as soon as I can, too.” He hesitated for a moment, looking worried. “Look, if this ascension thing happens to start while I’m gone–”
Cara shook her head. “It won’t.” Gregg was waiting for his psychic. Nothing would happen until then. “But, since you’re going into town anyway, you’d better pick up your friend and bring her back here. That would help a lot. Gregg’s really counting on it. He wants a psychic – bad.”
Liam frowned. “What’s he want a psychic for?”
Cara shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s the difference? He just does.”
“Well, he’s going to have to look somewhere else for one, because I’m not handing him Chenoa. And, anyway, like I said the other night, I don’t think she’s psychic.”
Cara sighed unhappily. Of course he wasn’t going to cooperate. Why hadn’t she guessed that? Just because the only thing that might possibly save her ass at this point, was if she could tell Gregg that Liam was bringing him something he wanted– Shit, why couldn’t things ever be that easy? “Well, try and find one, okay? ‘Cause it would really help.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Liam promised and, from the look in his eyes, Cara suspected that if he wasn’t holding Lauren, he might have kissed her cheek, like he had the other night. “We’ll talk about it when I get back. And, in the meantime, you be careful, all right? Don’t drink any Kool-Aid while I’m gone.”
“Kool-Aid?” Was he dissing her about her age again? Didn’t he ever stop? “Thanks, gramps, but I don’t go for the kiddie drinks anymore.”
Liam sighed. “Don’t take anything, okay? No drinks, no pills, no shots of any kind. I mean it. And, if things look like they’re getting weird, or if anything scary starts to happen, I want you to get yourself out of here – don’t stop to think or to make excuses, or anything. I don’t even want you to tell anyone where you’re going. Just go. You promise?”
“You mean more weird than usual?” Cara muttered. “Yeah. Sure. I promise.” Weird? Right. Because it wasn’t already too late for that.
* * *
“You know, Sam, I don’t think I ever quite realized how kinky you are,” Marsha said, giving an experimental tug to the silk curtain-tie that bound her right hand to the bedpost.
“Really?” Sam paused in the task of securing her other hand. “You think this is kinky? And I’m just getting started.”
“Hmm.” Marsha regarded her husband thoughtfully. “I know I’ve mentioned the whole I-can’t-read-minds-anymore thing, so you’ll understand my being dense, but how exactly is this supposed to save our marriage?
Sam sighed and the bed dipped slightly as he sat beside her. “You said your body felt numb, that you couldn’t feel anything,” he reminded her, as he picked up a large, pink feather from the night stand and twirled it idly between his fingers. “This was the only way I could think of to fix that, and to prove to you that it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Marsha stared at the feather uneasily. She thought about the feel of it against her skin, caressing her in a variety of sensitive places and felt her heart bump wildly in her chest. “Sam, you’re not gonna tickle me with that thing, are you?”
He looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“I know it’s supposed to be fun, but I really wouldn’t like that. Really.”
“Is that what you think?” he asked, eyes flashing in furious disbelief. “That I’m going through all this effort just to torture you?”
Marsha frowned, her uneasiness increasing. “How would I know why you’re doing it? I have no idea what’s going on in your head.” It made a damn good question, though. She squirmed uncomfortably, wishing she’d thought to have this discussion a little sooner. Why was he doing this? And, why on earth had she let him tie her up in the first place? Why couldn’t she just have said no?
“I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me, isn’t there?”
“Apparently so.”
They stared at each other in silence. Finally, Sam sighed. He tossed the feather back down on the nightstand and turned to face her, caging her further, with one hand braced on the bed at her waist and his bent leg nestled against her opposite hip. She was acutely aware of the warmth of his skin, the slight scratchiness of the hair on his leg. And when he lifted his hand from the bed to briefly caress her face, she nearly cried as she felt the loss of heat at her side.
Sam shook his head. “You know, right now I’m wondering if this was really such a bad thing to have happened, after all.”
Marsha gazed at him questioningly. “What was?”
“This change. Your not being able to read minds, or sense things. Maybe it was for the best.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Not a bad thing?” It was only the worst thing to ever happen to her. Or, almost the worst.
“I think your brain has gotten lazy. You’ve gotten so used to relying on those abilities of yours that, without them, it’s like you aren’t capable of thinking. Marsha, do you know me, at all?”
Tears swam suddenly in her eyes. It was so unfair that he should ask her that! She didn’t even know herself, anymore. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the wall. She h
ated not being able to push him away, to cover herself. To just get up and leave the room. Once, she could have pushed him away using nothing but her mind. She could have gotten inside his head and made him talk himself into setting her free. Now, she was helpless. But she wasn’t going to beg to be untied, she was too proud for that.
Sam heaved a deep sigh. He sounds sad, she thought. Maybe he didn’t mean to be so hurtful. Maybe he was at much at sea as she was. Maybe neither of them knew each other as well as they thought they did. In which case, maybe their marriage really was in need of saving, after all.
“Open your eyes, angel,” Sam said, gently turning her face back to him. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Marsha complied.
“I loved it too, you know,” he told her. “Loved knowing you could read my mind, and all those witchy things you used to do.” His hand left her face to travel downward, his fingers trailing over her throat and between her breasts, splaying across her ribs and around, until his arm was once again snugged securely in the curve of her waist. Marsha shivered in response, loving his touch, yet hating herself for wanting more than he could give her.
“I loved the way you always made me feel,” Sam murmured as his gaze followed the path of his hand, dipping low, lingering sensuously. “It was magic, whenever you touched me.”
His touch had been magical, too. But now… now she was left with a craving she could no longer satisfy. She wanted to feel more than just his hands on her skin. She wanted to feel the weight of his stare as it pressed on her nerves; to know the shape of his thoughts, the touch of his heart. But, no more. No more… that’s all over now. It’s gone.
“I’d be lying to you, if I said I didn’t miss that,” Sam said and his face grew hard as his eyes rose once more to meet hers. “But, Marsha, if you think that’s all we have between us, if you think that’s the only reason I fell in love with you, or that I married you for nothing more than that, well, then, you’re crazy. And I’ve obviously done a piss poor job of being a husband to you.”
“No.” Marsha shook her head. “Don’t say that. It isn’t true. It’s not your fault.” It had never been his fault – it was hers. She was lousy at being married, she’d told him she would be. It ran in the family. And unless I can find some way of breaking the cycle, I’m dooming myself – and my kids, as well – to a lifetime of unhappiness.
She blinked, surprised by the thought. If that wasn’t motivation enough to give everything she had to this marriage in hopes of making it work, then she didn’t know what was. “Please, Sam, don’t give up on us yet,” she whispered.
“I’m not,” he replied as he leaned forward and kissed her; one soft, gentle kiss. “Giving up was your idea.” As his lips closed over hers a second time, she arched into him, kissing him back, wishing she had her hands free. If she had, she would have held him tight because, all too soon, he was pulling away.
“Get me out of this.” She tugged impatiently on the ropes. “I want to touch you.”
Sam smiled. “I want that, too, angel. But not yet.”
“Why not? You’ve made your point. Now let me go.” She didn’t want to play this game anymore. She didn’t even care if they had sex tonight or not. She just wanted to curl up, with her husband beside her, and go to sleep. Maybe dream about what used to be. Wake up tomorrow and…and try to make it through another day.
“Not yet,” he repeated, gazing at her sadly, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. “And, it is my fault. I got lazy, too. You made it too easy for me, Marsha. I never really had to work for your love.”
Easy? “I’m not sure that’s exactly true,” Marsha felt compelled to point out. “It seems to me I’ve given you a hard time about quite a few things, as a matter of fact.”
Sam’s eyes once again drifted over her body, igniting another rush of longing inside her. A tiny smile curved his lips. He shook his head. “Not about this. Never about this.”
Marsha felt her cheeks burn. She had to clear her throat before continuing. “You know, Sam, that’s not the most flattering thing I’ve ever been told. And, generally speaking, telling a woman you’re trying to have sex with that she’s been too easy, is not a great move.”
Sam glanced up at her again, eyes twinkling. “It’s not, huh? Well, too bad, doll, because I still think this is my best chance for getting through to you.” His hand strayed once again toward the nightstand. This time, he picked up a silk scarf. Marsha gasped as he fitted the soft cloth across her eyes, as he leaned close and whispered, “And I will get through to you, Marsha. One way or another.”
She swallowed hard. “Sam, I’m really not sure about this.”
“Relax, angel,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to make love to you—like I should have been doing all along.”
Marsha laughed nervously, twisting her head in an attempt to orient herself to the direction of his voice. “So, what are you saying, Sam? That, all this time, we should have been using ropes?”
Sam’s chuckle sounded warm and rich in her ears as he answered, “Nah, that’s just a precaution. That’s just to keep you from jumping me before I’m ready.”
* * *
“Adam, wake up.”
A soft voice spoke urgently in Adam’s ear, rousing him from a sound sleep. He reached for Sinead, who should have been asleep beside him, but found the bed empty, instead. “Hmm?” he mumbled in confusion.
“Wake up!” Sinead urged again, this time shaking his shoulder, as well.
He turned, and peered at her, standing by his bedside, fully dressed. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in bed?”
She took a deep breath. “Get dressed. We have to go to the hospital.”
Oh, shit. That woke him all the way up. He reached for the lamp on his night table. “Is it Nick? Has something happened? Did Scout call?”
“It’s not Nick,” Sinead said, her mouth compressed into a knife-thin line. “It’s the baby.”
The baby. Chills raced across Adam’s skin. “Now? It’s early,” he protested, feeling all at once breathless.
She nodded. “I know that. It doesn’t matter.”
Adam stood up slowly, still trying to get his bearings. The baby wasn’t due for another two weeks.
Sinead heaved an impatient sigh. “Could we please hurry it up a little?”
He frowned at her doubtfully. “Are you sure about this?”
Sinead’s eyes flashed. “Adam,” she began, and then she gasped. Her hands tightened on her stomach. “Yes, damn it,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “I’m sure.”
And, suddenly, Adam was sure, too. He grabbed his clothes and ran for the bathroom.
* * *
The emergency room waiting area boasted chairs and a TV – neither of which were of any use to Liam, who wanted room to pace and a shot of caffeine. So, once he’d gotten Lauren settled, he headed off for the hospital proper to get what he needed.
He had to skirt around the closed-off East wing, which was under construction, but that was no problem, he had plenty of time, after all. It would take a while for the tests to come back, and when they did, he was pretty sure what they would find. Evidence of recent drug use. Extreme emotional trauma. Mental or physical abuse. Or, possibly, all of the above.
Things he should thought of and been on the lookout for. Things he should have caught onto – days, if not weeks, ago.
“Damn it, this is all my fault,” he mumbled as he slid through the nearly empty corridors, moving fast, trying to look official. It was his fault. He knew how places like TLV were run. He should have anticipated something like this. He had gotten sloppy, distracted, complacent. And he knew for a damn certainty that Greco was gonna tear him a new one when he found out what had happened to Lauren. If he found out. If the guy ever fucking woke up again. Shit.
It couldn’t be a good sign that Nick was still unconscious. In fact, Liam was pretty sure he’d heard somewhere that the longer you were out, the worse your chances f
or regaining consciousness became. Not that exceptions weren’t always possible, of course, and if anyone was likely to buck the trend and beat the odds, it would be Nick Greco. Even so, it wasn’t a good bet to take.
Liam looked at his watch. He had plenty of time before Lauren’s lab results were back. Maybe a slight detour was in order. If he could see the kind of shape the old guy was in, maybe he’d have a better idea what kind of recovery to expect. He wasn’t a psychic, but he was empathic enough that he could maybe pick up something, if he tried; if he could focus for a moment, and not let himself get distracted, like he’d allowed to happen with Lauren.
Lauren. He shook his head as he thought about her, and what she’d maybe gone through. He should have seen what was going on there. He should have guessed. He should have known, damn it. But he hadn’t. Gregg had done a fine job with the smoke and mirrors. He’d kept Liam so preoccupied that he’d missed what was happening to Lauren. And now, Liam couldn’t help but wonder what else he might be missing.
* * *
The lights were set low in Nick’s room. Peeking around the edge of the door, Liam could just make out the figure lying on the bed. A woman sat huddled in a chair beside the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees. Nick’s wife.
“Hey. How’s he doing?” Liam asked, moving hesitantly closer.
Scout raised her head. If she was surprised to see him here this late at night, she didn’t show it. She looked at him for a moment without speaking, as though debating what answer to make. Would she go with the truth, he wondered, or come up with some kind of spin?
“Not good,” she said at last, in a voice that sounded drained of hope.
Liam sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Well, at least she was honest, which was probably healthier, in the long run. Not good would have been his call, too.
Nick seemed... shrunken, somehow; and much too still, too relaxed. Liam would have been a lot happier if he could’ve seen some tension in his frame, some hint that Nick’s consciousness was still in there somewhere, fighting to get back.
“You’re the one who found him, aren’t you?” Scout asked.