by L. S. O'Dea
“Kim,” Viola called out, slamming the front door.
Kim quickly moved away and he flopped back down, his head resting on the arm of the couch, watching her with half closed eyes. The contact had been too brief, but it was more than he deserved.
“In here,” yelled Kim as she pulled the cloth out of the bowl and nervously dropped it on the floor. As she bent to pick it up, her shirt pulled up a little in the back, revealing smooth white skin.
He longed to trace it with his fingers. Was it cool like her hands? Did her fragrance linger there? If only he could kiss her and find out. She sat up with the towel, her shirt sliding back down.
“How do I look? I’m going to go see Hugh,” said Viola as she walked into the living room. “Holy shit! What happened to him?”
“My father,” said Kim angrily.
Viola walked over to the couch to scrutinize his injuries. “Shouldn’t you send for a doctor?”
“No,” he said firmly.
“He doesn’t want one.” Kim shot him an exasperated look. “He says he’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know about that. He could have internal injuries.” Viola wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t have internal injuries,” he snapped as he sat up, swaying a little.
“See, you’re weak,” said Kim.
“I’m not weak. I’m drunk. You gave me too much whiskey.” He was being grouchy but having these two fussing over him was getting on his nerves. It had nothing to do with the interrupted kiss.
“You asked for it,” argued Kim.
“Are you going to stitch him?” asked Viola.
“If he won’t let me send for a doctor, then yes, I’ll have to do it myself.” She brushed a lock of hair away from his injured eye, her fingers lingering for a moment on his scar. “I’ve done it before.”
His eyes met hers and held. They’d been children then. He’d allowed her to climb a tree and her father had found out. This had been after Jethro’s injury. Benedictine had lashed out at him, slicing his face open with a knife. He’d been lucky that he hadn’t been blinded. She’d insisted on stitching him when her father had refused to send for a doctor.
“I don’t like working with”—Viola waved her hands –“living things, but if you need help…”
“No. I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’ve done it before.” Kim broke eye contact with him and turned to her friend. “You said you’re meeting Hugh?”
“Yeah. He hasn’t come to see me. I thought he would, but…” Viola frowned slightly. “Anyway, I’m not waiting any longer. How do I look?” She spun around.
He studied Viola covertly, tight jeans and a tight, low cut sweater. Hugh would be eating out of her hands.
“Nice. A new outfit?” asked Kim.
“Yes.” Viola ran her hands over the sweater, accentuating her slender curves. “I thought it would give me confidence.”
“Have a nice time,” said Kim, a smile in her tone.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” asked Viola.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Give Hugh my love.”
“I will. Mine too.” Viola smiled wickedly and walked out of the living room.
“I’ll be right back.” Kim followed her into the hallway. “Don’t mention to anyone that Jackson is here. Okay?”
“I won’t. I’ll return tomorrow for my clothes, but other than that, I’m hoping that we’ll be back together. Thanks for letting me stay.” There was a short pause. “You have fun tonight too. Make sure you let me know if a Guard is as good in bed as they say,” whispered Viola.
He grinned. They really didn’t comprehend how good a Guard’s hearing was.
“Viola,” whispered Kim. “He’s hurt.”
“Not that hurt, I’ll bet. Guards heal fast.”
The door to the house shut and Kim came back into the living room and sat next to him. She picked up the needle and thread.
Did she really want him? Her lovely, blue eyes wrinkled in concentration as she threaded the needle. Was it only because he was a Guard? Her small white teeth played with her lower lip. He held back a groan. Did he care?
“What were you two whispering about?” His voice was raspy from desire. Hopefully, she would blame it on the whiskey.
“Tell me you didn’t hear her?” She blushed and her eyes widened.
“I heard whispering.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Nothing important.” She turned and held the needle and thread over the water bowl and dumped the alcohol on them. “Do you want me to start on your face, chest or arm?”
This was going to hurt. “Give me the whiskey.”
She handed it to him and he took a large gulp.
“Do whatever is worst first. That way, if I’m lucky, I’ll pass out.” He took another long swallow and leaned back, still holding the bottle.
She started on his arm. He tried not to flinch as she squeezed his skin together and then jabbed the needle through his flesh. He shut his eyes. The effects of the alcohol began to seep into his system. He replayed the whispers in his mind. Was she disappointed that he was hurt? They’d almost kissed. He didn’t count the slight brushing of their lips as a real kiss. He flinched as she stuck the needle in his arm again. Did she have feelings for him? Even if she did, what difference did it make? They could never be together. Her father wouldn’t allow it. The world wouldn’t allow it. He took another long drink from the bottle.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered.
“So’kay,” he mumbled, his tongue tripping over the words.
She finished his arm and moved to his chest. The first stab of the needle sent pain shooting through his body. He took another swallow of whiskey. He was half drunk already, but he aimed to finish the job. No half measures for him. She paused. He sighed in relief. When she didn’t continue he opened his eyes. She was watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“There’s something in your chest. Under the skin. Part is sticking out where you’re cut open. I think it’s metal.”
She grabbed his hand and directed it to his chest. There was a small bump under the skin.
“Do you know what it is?” she asked.
His heart raced. He couldn’t be this lucky. “Get it out. Now!”
“It’s deep. I mean, it’s sticking out but just a little. I’ll have to dig.” She was breathing heavier and her face had turned a greenish gray.
“Please,” he begged. “Take it out of me.” She couldn’t back out. Not when he was this close to freedom.
“Okay. I will,” she assured him, weakly.
He was asking a lot of her, but he had no choice. He chugged more of the whiskey and leaned back. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
She grabbed the bottle and took a small swallow. She coughed and then began digging under his skin.
A flash of white, hot pain shot through him. The other had been pleasant in comparison. He closed his eyes. Soon, the tracking device would be gone. He’d finally be free from Benedictine. Another sharp pain lanced across his chest and a sweet blackness descended over him.
CHAPTER 25
HUGH SAT IN HIS FATHER’S STUDY, sipping brandy that he’d found locked in the desk. The liquor was smooth as it slid down his throat. He had to give credit to his father for that at least. The man certainly could pick alcohol.
After he’d dealt with the police about the break-in, his mother’s death and the bomb, he’d met his Guards at the pub. They’d discussed staying at a hotel, but he wanted to catch those responsible for this mess, not hide from them. Most of the blood and reports were secured in a different location as a safety measure. He’d wait to see if anyone made another attempt on his life or to steal the samples that he had with him.
He tipped back the glass, finishing the drink. The one part of him that Conguise had never been able to understand was his instincts and those told him that the professor was behind the attacks. All he needed was proof.
He stood. He’d have another drink. He deserved it. Reese had found
his old science equipment in the attic. He’d worked on the blood tests all day. The results were staggering. The Almightys, Guards, Grunts, House Servants, Stockers and Producers all shared many genetic characteristics. Successful mating between the groups was indeed possible. As a matter of fact, he’d be surprised if it hadn’t been going on for years and everyone just hid the offspring as one type or another. If what he expected was true, he was indeed in danger. Once revealed, his discovery would shift the entire foundation of their society.
He filled his snifter a quarter full. Half would be good, but he did have work to do. Of course, before he went any further, he had to find Tim and Millie. He sat back down behind the desk. Who had sent that note warning Tim? It had to have been someone who knew about the bomb. Probably, someone from the professor’s house, but who? He also needed the escaped Producer. Right now, she was the only identifiable offspring of two different classes. She was his control group. He was positive that there were more like her, but without someone telling him he would have to draw blood randomly.
There was a tap on the window. He spun around gun in hand. The weapon had been his father’s. Guns were highly regulated and illegal to carry, but his father had been a top military strategist and allowed to keep one.
Birdie fluttered outside the window.
Relieved, he laid the gun on the desk and opened the window. “Hey, Birdie. What brings you here?”
“Pointing a gun at your friend is no way to keep a friend.” The Avian flew into the room and landed on the back of a chair.
“Sorry. It’s been a difficult few days.” He sat down at the desk, leaving the window open. The Avion didn’t like to feel trapped.
“So, so, sorry to hear about Sarah. She was one of a kind, I tell you. One of a kind.”
“Thank you. She counted you as a true friend.”
Birdie’s chest puffed out with pride. “She will be missed by many. Many in different walks of life.”
He nodded. After a long pause, he asked, “Did you need something, or did you just come by to offer your condolences?”
“Hugh too impatient. Not like Sarah at all. No pleasantries. Just business with Hugh.” Birdie ruffled his feathers.
“Sorry. Like I said, it has been a trying time.” He didn’t have time for this snippy little creature. He was always offending the Avian’s sensibilities.
“Birdie understand. Birdie busy too. Not as busy as Hugh. Not busy in the same way, but busy.”
He never understood how his mother could enjoy talking to this creature. It chatted on and on, always dancing around the point, but he held his temper. The Avian was useful and had been special to his mom.
“Birdie went to Hugh’s house to deliver a message. Birdie saw—”
“You have a message for me?” He straightened in his chair. “From who?”
“Hugh should not interrupt. Birdie tell story in Birdie’s way not Hugh’s.”
“Fine. But make it as quick.”
“Quick. Pfftt. Tale takes as long as tale takes.” Birdie ruffled his feathers again. “Anyway, Birdie’s cousin, on mother’s side, suggested that Birdie look for you at Sarah’s house, so, Birdie did.” He cleared his throat. “Birdie traveled a long way.” He opened and shut his beak, his little tongue darting out and back into his mouth.
“I’ll be right back with a snack.” Birdie wanted food. He should have remembered the little Avian’s big appetite.
Birdie wiggled on the back of the chair unable to contain his excitement.
A few moments later, Hugh re-entered the study and set a tray overflowing with food on the desk. Birdie’s eyes widened at the assortment and he began to feed. Crumbs dropped from his mouth and food fell onto the floor. Without hands, Birdie was not a neat eater. His mother had always entertained the Avian outside. She’d said it was because Birdie didn’t like being enclosed. Now, he knew the real reason.
When the food was gone, except the piles of crumbs on the floor, Birdie began to preen himself.
Hugh cleared his throat, leaning back in the chair.
Birdie raised his head from under his wing, confusion in his eyes for a moment. “Oh, yes. The message.”
He nodded, trying to hide his exasperation. It would insult Birdie and then he probably wouldn’t even get the message.
“The Handler has the Producer,” said Birdie succinctly.
“Since when?” This was excellent news.
“This morning. He says you should meet him at your cabin in four days.”
“He has her now and is bringing her to me, the escaped, female Producer. The one they call Trinity.”
“The one and only,” chirped Birdie. “A sweet, young thing. She shared bread with Birdie. Birdie likes this Producer. Birdie thinks that all—”
“Thank you, Birdie.” He walked toward the door.
Birdie harrumphed at the interruption but flew through the window and fluttered just outside. “You are welcome, High Hugh. You now, owe Birdie two favors.”
“The food doesn’t count for payment? You ate a ton.”
“Thank you for the…hospitality,” said Birdie and flitted away.
“Hospitality, my ass. I should have bargained with the flying rat. No telling what he’s going to demand from me.” He left the study and yelled down the hallway. “We need to pack. We’re going to the cabin.”
Night had crept up quickly while they’d prepared to travel. He’d sent Buddy and Reese ahead to secure and ready the cabin. He and Sue would leave at first light.
Sue was at the market picking up last minute supplies. He stared out the study window, sipping a little more brandy. He was having a hard time getting used to night coming early this year. He was only twenty-eight and yet, it felt like time raced by faster and faster. Where had spring and summer gone? It seemed like yesterday when Viola had moved in with him, but it had been spring. His gardens had been coming to life and now, everything was dying.
There was a tentative tap at the door and then Sue stepped inside. “Viola was outside when I came back from the market.”
“Send her away.” He stared into the night.
“She’s upset. Very worried. She went to your house—”
“Damn it, Sue.” He began to pace. “She’s not to be trusted. You know that.” He tossed back the rest of his drink.
She touched his arm, stopping his pacing. “You should speak with her.”
“She’s responsible for my mother’s death.”
“You don’t know that. The old Guard said he worked for Professor Conguise, but he never admitted to trying to harm Millie. He was adamant that he was hiding from the professor.”
He’d heard all this before but neither he nor Buddy was buying that tale.
“I think he was telling the truth. I know what years of fear and abuse look and smell like. I recognized it in him. Hear her out.” She gave his arm a quick squeeze.
He didn’t want to see Viola but Sue would never let up. “Your heart is too soft.”
“But not my head,” she said as she left the study.
Was she implying that his was? He let his Guards get away with too much.
The door opened and Viola stepped into the room, her white skin and violet eyes as lovely as ever, but it was a façade. Her beauty hid a traitorous heart. He was immune to her now.
“Thank goodness, you’re okay.” She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
He stood, unmoving, wanting to fling her away. She pulled back, confusion written across her face. He removed himself from her grasp.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated. “Really? You’re going to ask me that?”
“What happened? I went to your house. I didn’t know if you were hurt, or…” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“Crying is not going to work. Too bad for you, you didn’t even get your target. Only my mother.” He couldn’t keep the hurt and anger from his voice.
“Hu
gh?” She looked up at him, tears running down her cheeks.
“You failed. You and your father,” he said calmly, although his hands trembled at his side. He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. Why had she betrayed him? Did he mean nothing to her?
“What are you talking about?” Her tone was shrill, panicked.
“Keep your voice down,” he snapped. “Or, is this another ambush?” He was an idiot. He peered out the window. Nothing moved in the area. “Why did you wait until Buddy and Reese were gone to come and see me? Do you have someone waiting outside?”
“You’re not making sense.” She grabbed his arm.
He shook free, not able to bear her touch for fear he might let her convince him of her innocence. He was weak when it came to her.
“Why are you acting like this?” Hurt shone in her eyes.
“You killed my mother! And burned down my house. You tried to kill me.”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Didn’t think I’d figure it out, did you?” He turned away from her and poured more brandy in his glass. He deserved another drink.
“Someone tried to kill you? What happened to Sarah?”
He faced her again. “Your Guard placed a bomb in my house. We caught him before it went off. He was trying to kill Millie, but he did not succeed.”
“My Guard? What Guard?”
She was a good actor. He would give her that much.
“The Guard you let into my house.” He had an overwhelming urge to strike her. He’d never hit a woman in his life. He took a deep breath, calming himself. He would not start now.
“Old Jorge?” she asked. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone. What happened to him?”
“So, you admit to letting the Guard into my house?”
“Yes. Jorge came to me the night before our fight. My father was getting ready to retire him, and he was terrified. I tried to reason with him. I’ve been to the retirement home. It’s a lovely place, but he wouldn’t listen. Anyway, I said that he could stay. I told him to keep out of sight until I spoke with you. Then we had our fight and I left. I forgot all about him. Where is he?”