by Carrigan Fox
“We could curl up in bed.” He carefully attempted to scoot over on his gurney to make room for her. “Ow.”
“Stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He laughed in response and held his ribs in pain.
“Dr. Archer, I’m sorry to bother you so late, but the nurses mentioned that you were still awake and I wanted to come and speak with you and get a statement while everything is still fresh in your mind,” Detective Wilson explained apologetically as he stepped into the room with another officer that Jac recognized from the police department.
“I already gave you my statement, Detective.”
“We have just a few more questions with some recent developments.”
“What kind of developments?”
Jac sat up straighter and tried to read the detective’s expression. She could imagine perfectly the developments to which he was referring. It wasn’t an issue of premonitions. Instead, her experiences with MSC had acquainted her with the kind of violence that would be considered “a development.”
“Did someone go to check on Mrs. Huntley?” Will guessed.
The silence in the room was answer enough.
“What happened to her?” The baritone in his voice deepened with fear and anger.
Detective Wilson hesitated only a moment before he answered. “The officers found them both inside their home. They--”
“Oh shit.”
Jac closed her eyes and bit her lip, taking a moment to pray that Will wouldn’t blame himself for their deaths.
“How?” he pushed.
“Shot. Neither of them suffered.”
It wasn’t much of a comfort, especially given the fact that the killer tracked them through Will’s email and files.
The detective with Wilson turned out to be a homicide detective, and she asked a few more questions of Will while Jaclyn sat by unable to say or do anything to help. She watched him clench and unclench his right fist and his jaw, and she knew that he was outraged by the injustice of their deaths. After the detective left, she slipped out of her chair and carefully onto the gurney beside him.
“They were finding their ways back to each other. They were healing.”
“You helped them, Will. You can’t blame yourself for this, you know.”
“I don’t even know why these people are after me. What the hell have I done to deserve this? What did Dianne and Cori do? It wasn’t enough to lose the other half of their family? They had to be terrorized and killed, too? How does that make any fucking sense?”
Flinching at the typically mild-mannered doctor’s vicious word choice, Jac moved in closer and reached to take his hands. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
***
Will woke up early the next morning and reached for Jaclyn but found he was alone in his hospital room. On the cart beside his bed was a piece of paper with a short note, indicating that she had gone out but would return to escort him home once the doctor discharged him.
He felt that on some level, he was responsible for the deaths of Cori and Dianne, but he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around that right now. Instead, he mentally thumbed through his patient files, looking for clues as to who might wish to harm him or Dianne Huntley. What was the significance of the men finding the email? He tried to remember what he had written. Something about the progress between Dianne and Cori. Nothing terribly important to anyone other than the Huntley women.
While Dr. Archer continued struggling to make sense of what was happening, Jac MaCall was doing things her own way.
“I think this is a waste of your time, Jac.”
She smiled sweetly at Detective Wilson and graced him with a simple shrug. “Since it is my time to waste, there isn’t really any harm, is there?”
“The other guys won’t ever let me hear the end of it. No offense, but your…ah…your insights aren’t usually taken too seriously by the other guys in the department.”
“I’m aware of that, Detective. And it doesn’t offend me. I just need to take a quick look around for my own piece of mind.”
He shuffled his feet nervously, delaying the inevitable. “They’ve already taken the bodies, but it’s still going to be messy in there, you know.” It was his final effort to discourage her from entering the Huntley home.
She gave him a serious nod. “I really appreciate your cooperation with this. I know that the department is under no obligation to give me access to the site, but if I can glean any information that will help me keep Dr. Archer, then I think it’s worth it. And if it helps your homicide detectives solve their case, what’s the harm?”
Wilson, unsure of how to respond, said nothing. Instead, he handed Jac a set of gloves and hesitated only long enough to warn her not to mess up any possible evidence and to put his own gloves on before leading her into the house.
Jac followed the detective into the home and studied the front entrance intently as she moved into the house. She ran her hand and fingertips over the doorframe and focused on the energy in the room. Stepping into the living room, she glanced briefly at the blood spatter stains against the wall behind the sofa and heard a faint echo of a woman screaming.
The detective watched her close her eyes briefly and tilt her head to the side as though she were carefully listening for something. He smiled grimly to himself, wondering not for the first time if she actually was hearing or seeing something. He shuddered briefly, imagining the strength it would take for him to willingly attempt to relive a murder in an effort to protect others. In some respects, he had to be willing to imagine how the murder played out, but he never actually had to witness the terror of the victims in their final moments of life. He wondered if the sudden furrow between Jac’s eyebrows was a result of experiencing that terror.
Jac circled the room, pausing periodically to caress an item of furniture or tilting her head as though to listen to something only she could hear. The essence with the highest energy seemed to come from Dianne Huntley, sobbing hysterically and pleading for the life of her daughter. Jac focused on the science of her work, pushing aside the emotional trauma so that she would not be distracted.
The detective was surprised when Jac circled the room and returned to his side, never touching the sofa where the two women had been killed. Beside him, she studied the sofa across the coffee table and looked directly at the bloodstains. She closed her eyes and attempted to visualize Dianne Huntley, a woman she had never seen. With no successful links, she shifted her attention to a visualization of the energy of anger in the room.
In an instant, she heard a man shouting angrily, “How long have you been fucking Dr. Will Archer?”
A quick intake of air turned Detective Wilson’s attention to Jac’s flushed face. Her eyes were still closed, her focus clearly elsewhere. He watched her expression with the slight frown lines around her wide mouth and the distress lining her forehead and furrowing her eyebrows. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut.
“Dr. Archer is sleeping with someone, a woman who may be pregnant with his child. I have seen an email that he wrote to you about your relationship.”
“My relationship with my daughter!” Dianne cried out insistently.
“If he isn’t sleeping with you, then who?”
Jaclyn opened her eyes in confusion. Why would two brutal killers be intent on discovering the details of Dr. Will Archer’s sex life?
“What did you see?” the detective asked lightly, knowing that even if he didn’t believe Jac MaCall received visions, she clearly believed it. He was curious to hear her take.
“I didn’t see anything,” she answered softly. She pursed her lips in thought and shook her head. Checking her watch, she excused herself quickly. “I need to go and pick up Will from the hospital.”
“You didn’t get anything?” he called after her, suddenly certain that she must have seen something. The only answer he got was the sound of the front door closing behind her as she left.
&n
bsp; Jac talked to herself as she drove the rest of the way to the hospital. “What in the hell is going on? They are looking for a woman who is sleeping with Dr. Archer and may or may not be pregnant with his child?” She refused to acknowledge the tiny start of jealousy burning in her gut. “He’s not suave enough to fumble through a date with me while sleeping with someone else at the same time. He’s too conventional and traditional to juggle more than one woman. He didn’t even try to kiss me goodnight.” Then again, perhaps there was a logical explanation for that. Perhaps he was already committed to someone else.
Her timing was perfect, as usual, and she quietly stepped into his room as he was tying the laces on his tennis shoes.
“Good news,” he greeted. “I’ve officially been released. Or I will be as soon as the doctor signs off on my release papers. Then again, that could take another hour or more.” His cheer was slightly muted and a bit more solemn, indicating that the deaths of the Huntley women were still weighing on his mind. He frowned at her, noticing that she seemed unusually serious. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to assure him. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“You’re driving me home?”
“I’ve appointed myself your personal chauffeur.” She flashed a grin that seemed to lack some of its typical luster. “Taryn is securing you a team for 24-7 detail. She wants no fewer than three body guards, one outside of your home and one outside of your office and one with you at all times. While she is making those arrangements, I have volunteered as a stand-in.”
Noticing the dark circles under her eyes, he asked, “Did you go home and get a bit of sleep?”
She shook her head before admitting to herself that she should have gotten some sleep prior to her trip to the Huntley’s. Her exhaustion wasn’t likely to have a positive effect on her reaction to the information she received regarding Will’s love life. And in spite of the twelve reminders she gave herself that she had no claim to him, she still felt a bit betrayed. She had thought he was adorable and dorky, not a playboy who could string along two women at a time…or maybe more. She had thought that she might have a future with him, but not if he was having a baby with some other woman. She aimed a dirty look in the direction of the head he had bowed over his other shoe.
“There.” He stood up quickly and reached for the bed, unprepared for the flashing shadows of dizziness that danced in front of his face. “Whoa.”
Unable to help herself, she laughed at the ridiculous idea of his eyes rolling wildly while birds circled his head. She reached for his arm to steady him or to be near enough to keep him from slamming his head on the floor again if he passed out.
Within minutes, she was following a nurse who was wheeling him out to her car in a wheelchair. He squinted his eyes as he emerged through the entrance out into the bright morning sunlight, and she had to admit that the marks on his face and head seemed even more pronounced out from under the fluorescent lights. Torn between wanting to confront him and wanting to avoid causing him more grief, she left him with the nurse and retrieved her car. “Be honest, Jac, you don’t want the truth. The last thing you want to hear is that he’s not actually available,” she coached herself as she pulled up beside him.
She waited until he was securely buckled into the front seat before she shifted into gear and eased out of the parking lot. They drove in an uncomfortable silence for a period of time before she awkwardly asked, “How are you feeling today?”
“Sore,” he answered with the corners of his mouth twitching. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine.” They drove for another block before she decided to be honest with him. If the woman in her didn’t want to know the sordid details, the security team member needed to know what she was up against. “I visited the Huntley home this morning to try to get a read on what happened.”
His head turned in her direction instantly. “And?”
She refused to look at him and stared determinedly out the windshield. “It was mostly just a soundtrack. And the emotions were loud and clear. The feelings are always hell. But the guy was asking Dianne questions that were really difficult to follow. He actually accused her of sleeping with you.”
“What? That’s absurd.”
“So you’re not?”
“I mean that it’s an absurd question to ask. If these guys are as dangerous as you say, what interest could they possibly have in my sex life?”
That wasn’t the answer she had hoped for. She wanted him to vehemently deny a relationship with Dianne.
“Are you sure that’s what he asked?”
“Of course I’m sure. He went on to ask her whom you were seeing. He insisted that you were seeing a woman who might already be pregnant with your child.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Pregnant?”
“Yes,” she answered simply, waiting for him to laugh off the question. Instead, he diverted his attention to the ceiling of her car, as though tallying up the possibilities. She wanted to smack him. “Do you have something you want to tell me?” she urged.
Surprised, he looked back at her. “I’ve been on one date in the past four months. So you tell me. Do I need to start attending church services again to reacquaint myself with the concept of Immaculate Conception or do I have some superhuman power to impregnate women while admiring their eyes over the rim of my coffee cup?”
She grinned at him in relief. “I like you, Dr. Archer.”
“I like you, too, Ms. MaCall.”
“It would have been a downer to have had to kill you for two-timing me.”
He chuckled briefly before bringing the question back to the objective of the killers. “Why would they be interested in some woman I didn’t actually get pregnant?”
The question seemed too asinine to even consider. The possible answers that came to mind were equally ridiculous.
“Perhaps your father secretly had an affair when you were an infant,” she suggested cheekily. “You have a long lost brother who is in desperate need of a kidney. He sent in some hired goons to retrieve nail clippings from your office trashcan so that he could check the DNA for compatibility. When he learned that you were not a match, he decided to search for a possibility of a future relation.”
Will shook his head. “No way. I never clip my nails in the office.”
“Hair comb?”
“Nope. Perhaps it’s the garden gnome. My mother told me that when I was young, she made a deal with a magical garden gnome who came to life every summer solstice. He promised to grant her with a beautiful garden every year in exchange for her firstborn child. Since I was already a toddler struggling with terrible twos tantrums, the gnome agreed to leave me with her but promised he would take her first grandchild instead. More than likely, he hired the goons.”
“A garden gnome stealing unborn children. A gnome-napper!” she added with a snort. It felt good to be able to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
“Technically speaking, a kidnapper nabs kids. So a gnome-napper would nab gnomes, not unborn children,” he rationalized. “Nevertheless, it makes about as much sense as the reality,” Will muttered.
“I need to get Taryn involved so that we can figure out the next move. Most immediately, they seem to be after you so that they can then eliminate this mysterious woman who is carrying your immaculately conceived child. The biggest challenge will be protecting this imaginary pregnant woman.”
He gave her directions to his home, which was on the outskirts of town in a ranch set back from the road. A large covered front porch ran the length of the house and contained a large porch swing and two Adirondack chairs.
“I like your place,” Jac complimented, scanning the landscaped grassy lawn with borders of shrubs and flowers. A pair of tall oak trees stood twenty yards from the house, a perfect position for a luxuriously shaded hammock. “Plenty of room for a swing set for your unborn baby,” she teased.
He chuckled and turned hopefully to ask, “Are you coming in f
or a bit?”
“I’m sure as hell not going to leave you alone. Odds are good that they will either come looking for you here or that some woman is going to show up and force you to make mad, passionate love to her. Personally, I prefer to keep you alive and unavailable to fertile and horny women.”
He stared past her shoulder thoughtfully, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
“What’s on your mind, Dr. Archer?”
His attention returned to the question in the lavender eyes and his smile deepened. “I was just wondering what the odds are of you being the horny, fertile woman who is going to force me to make mad, passionate love to her.”
Surprised that the possibility hadn’t occurred to her, Jac’s eyes widened a bit. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Geez. I’ll try not to be offended,” he replied dryly.
Not sure how to respond, she hopped out of the vehicle and circled the front end quickly to help Will climb out safely. She encouraged him to lean on her, despite his loud protests and claims to ox-like strength. Determined, she managed to push her shoulder under his armpit and pulled his arm around her shoulders.
“I didn’t sprain an ankle or break a leg, Jac.”
“Well then lean over here and let me support your battered face while I help you into the house,” she answered sarcastically.
He shifted his weight to lean heavily on her and did a quick maneuver, shoving her back up against her car. He leaned over her, lifting both hands gently to either side of her face.
“Smooth, Dr. Archer.”
“I told you. Strong like ox.” He lowered his face to hers and she closed her eyes in anticipation.
His kiss started as feather-light as it had on the street corner in the rain, with his tongue lightly tracing her lips, inviting her to let him taste her. He moved his kisses over her jawbone and down her neck, enjoying the purring sound in the back of her throat. He pulled back momentarily, and emotion shone strongly in his emerald eyes. Jac gently caressed the side of his face that was colored brightly in shades of purple and blue bruising. She was caught off guard again when he moved in more abruptly and more forcefully pulled her against his body and continued the kiss. There was more urgency this time as his lips ground down against hers and as he made love to her mouth with his tongue and his teeth. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, reveling in how hard the good doctor’s chest and stomach felt. She placed a kiss at the base of his throat where his shirt was open.