The Impossible Alliance

by Candace Irvin

  Were anyone but Orloff chief of staff, full-blown cancer or not, Jared sincerely doubted that a woman suffering from the latter stages of dementia would ever have been given a bed in Rajalla’s remaining hospital. Not with all but one clinic gone, as well. Resigned, he met the man’s rheumy gaze. “You’re lucky to have such a capable neurosurgeon available.”

  Again, the man shrugged.

  Jared knew the feeling.

  But when that faded blue gaze connected with his again, they both searched, studied, recognized. This time, the old man sighed. “You must understand, I am careful not because I fear him for myself. I fear for others. Just know when you meet him that he will never understand what you did. He will only see what is before him. What cannot be fixed. This makes him more dangerous than you can ever know. Fear him.”

  What the devil was he talking about? Who was he talking about?

  The boy? The transfusion?

  Jared pushed his stare past the next four cots and shifted it to the opposite side of the triage bay to study the boy he’d hooked up to the second bag of packed red blood cells. The boy’s grandmother was snoring lightly in the wooden chair beside the kid’s cot. Other than the old woman, no one had been in to see the boy.

  He turned back to the old man. Unfortunately he was done talking. At least for the time being. A vigilant night spent on death watch had finally done the old man in. Those rheumy eyes had drifted shut. A not-so-soft rhythmic snore escaped the man’s lips as his chin dropped to his chest. Jared snapped out his free arm to steady the man as he swayed against the back of his chair.

  Jared glanced at the unit of packed RBCs.

  All but a few milliliters had been drained into his arm. He released the old man long enough to disconnect the IV line and tape a wad of cotton over the seeping puncture site on his forearm, rising easily for the first time in days as the fresh supply of red blood cells sucked up enough oxygen to feed his body, as well as his brain, succeeding in rejuvenating him where even a ten-hour stretch of sleep and rear end full of Demerol hadn’t. He glanced at his watch: 0736.

  Except for emergencies, the hospital doors wouldn’t open for another two and a half hours. Long enough for a nap—and time enough to cull a few answers on his own. Jared scooped the old man up and gently laid him on the canvas cot he’d just vacated, three feet from his snoring, seventy-something wife. Then Jared turned, his gaze automatically seeking out his own much younger “wife.”

  She wasn’t there.

  Jared spotted the back of Orloff’s head as well as the fluttering tail of his lab coat as the man stepped out through double doors of the triage bay. Jared headed across the bay after him, drawing on every one of his new red blood cells, pushing them to the limit as he pushed his stride to catch up as quickly, yet inconspicuously as he could.

  He left the triage bay and turned down the still-vacant, dimly lit main corridor, consciously working to keep the heels of his cowboy boots below a scuff as he rounded the turn at the end. He immediately whipped back around the corner as Orloff stopped at the base of the chipped granite stairs that led to the second floor—and his office.

  Alex was with him.

  He watched as Orloff retrieved a small brown box from the side pocket of his lab coat and tucked it neatly and discreetly into her waiting hands. Jared whipped his head back from the corner a split second before Alex’s gaze swept the dank hallway.

  What the hell was that about?

  The exchange had happened so quickly, so smoothly, he’d almost missed it. But he’d definitely witnessed an exchange. That morning came slamming back. The doubts. He snatched another glimpse, confirming the worst. Something was going on, all right. He didn’t care if every one of his marbles were cracked clean through, his instincts weren’t. Nor were his eyes. The woman heading up those granite steps as Orloff headed down the far end of the corridor had an honest-to-God hidden agenda, an agenda he was not privy to.

  But Orloff was.

  God bless Harold Blaine.

  Alex clutched the twine-knotted cardboard box in one hand, the key to Orloff’s private office—more importantly, the man’s very private mirror—in the other as she sent another round of praise heavenward. She didn’t know how she’d find a way to thank Harold for responding to her SOS on such short notice, but she’d manage. Somehow. For now, she concentrated on watching her back as she reached the top of the granite staircase. A third and final glance over her shoulder assured that her nerves were simply working overtime. Jared was not following her.

  She swung to the left, high-tailing it down the remainder of the darkened corridor—hoping to get into the office, get it done and get back downstairs to the main triage bay before anyone, especially Jared, realized she’d left. She reached the door to Orloff’s locked office only to curse her slick fingers as she fumbled the key.

  Relax!

  Great. Bad enough that she’d had Jared’s slight, but toe-curling Texas drawl in her good ear for days; now she had him in her head. She ordered the man out and her nerves back into line as she regained her grip on the key and made short work of the lock. Relief burned through her as she twisted the brass knob and pushed the door open. She stepped into the shadowy room and immediately pulled the door shut, relocking it firmly behind her before she dared to step far enough into the heavily paneled office to reach for the chain hanging from the pewter lamp on Orloff’s desk.

  She drew a deep breath and switched the lamp on. Light flooded the room, illuminating a scarred walnut desk, a pair of worn leather armchairs, as well as several rows of haphazard bookshelves, each filled to the brim. She skirted the desk quickly, setting the box in the middle of the leather blotter, then pulled the slim, center drawer of the desk open and retrieved a pair of scissors. She clipped the stiff twine tied around the length and width of the box, then moved on to slit the label marked “Doktor Orloff—Personliche!” and the strip of reinforced tape beneath. Her breath seared out as she opened the box and stared at the priceless contents.

  Priceless to her, anyway.

  Her new hearing aid.

  Hell, she was alone, behind a locked door. She could be honest. The contents of this box might be priceless, but this was far more than just her new hearing aid. It was her entire right ear, right down the synthetic cartilage that made up the outer auricle cup and the softer lobe beneath.

  Her fingers shook as she reached inside the box to carefully slide the prosthetic ear from the familiar bed of molded, cushioning foam. Harold had included the additional remote volume control she’d requested, too. Jared wanted to know what else she’d done during those fifty-eight minutes she and Orloff had spent inside this office? Too damned bad. She didn’t regret concealing this from him for a second.

  Okay, perhaps one. Maybe even two.

  But that was before the man had coolly informed her that while he was definitely interested in her, he’d never lower himself to act on that interest. She retrieved the vial of adhesive from the box as well and slapped it on the blotter before sliding the upper right drawer of the desk open to search for the mirror Orloff had promised would be waiting. There it was, tucked beneath a yellowing prescription pad.

  She was about to shift the pad when she recognized several of the words scrawled down it, as well as the penmanship. It was Jared’s. “Quad infection. No Cipro; Reminyl.”

  His leg. The blood loss.

  Dammit, she was not going to start feeling sorry for the man, let alone feel something else. He was fantasy fodder, nothing more. Wrong. He wasn’t even that anymore. Not after last night.

  She shoved the allergy reminder aside and retrieved the smudged mirror beneath. Using the empty box, she propped the mirror up onto the blotter, staring at her reflection as she raised her right hand, staring at the illusion Harold and his genius had enabled her to maintain ever since Sam had contacted him on her behalf seventeen years earlier. She lowered her hand, this time staring into reality. A very cold, very lopsided reality.

  One that
did not include Jared. No matter how much she might want it to.

  The Jared Sullivan in her dreams was just that. A dream. Like her ear, he was an illusion she’d held tight to so that she could pretend she had a normal life. So she could pretend she was a normal person. Well, she wasn’t. She’d figured that out in grad school.

  She’d suspected it throughout high school and college, but the prosthetic had enabled her to hide from the truth. Leave it to Don to drive the iron spike home. She still couldn’t believe she’d loved him. But she had. So much so she’d decided to tell him the truth. To show him. Why not? Love could withstand anything, couldn’t it?

  It hadn’t.

  Oh, Don had tried. He’d managed to withhold his horror for a few days, anyway. Seven to be exact. It was then that she’d realized she’d left a sheaf of notes in his apartment. She’d shown up unexpectedly to retrieve them—and caught him in bed with another woman. A whole woman. To this day, Alex had no idea what she looked like. All she knew was that like Don, and unlike her, the woman had been absolutely, perfectly, balanced. Two legs, two arms, two breasts, two eyes. And, of course, two ears.

  Alex drew a deep breath and retrieved the vial, twisting off the gold cap so she could apply Harold’s magic adhesive to his even more magical creation, then she fitted the prosthetic into place with an ease honed through years of practice.

  The illusion was complete.

  Alex Morrow, the woman, was back.

  It was a hell of a lot better than being Alexis Hatch Warner. A hell of a lot safer, too. Personally, as well as professionally. Alex secreted the empty box, mirror and scissors in the bottom drawer of Orloff’s desk and tucked the key to his office door, as well as the vial of adhesive, into the pocket of her jeans. The bulk of the evidence concealed, she snagged the remote control off the blotter and switched it on, deftly adjusting the volume.

  Relief flooded her as recognizable sound slammed into her right eardrum for the first time in days.

  Two and a half seconds later, she stiffened.

  Footsteps.

  No, boot steps.

  On the other side of the door. The still-locked side of the door. Very soft, but definitely there. She held her breath as she waited. Sure enough, he tried the knob. Her nerves hadn’t been working overtime. If anything, the damaged prosthetic had forced her unusually heightened hearing to work undertime. Jared had followed her—and now she was trapped.

  How the devil was she going to get out of here?

  Out of this?

  The man was supposed to be her partner. How could she possibly explain her presence in Roman Orloff’s locked office—without his knowledge? She ran through the possibilities, however remote, and latched on to the most believable one. She shoved the hearing aid remote deep into her brown leather bag and slung the bag over her shoulder as she stood.

  Might as well get it over with. She rounded the desk in Orloff’s office and twisted the doorknob before she lost her nerve, opening the door and plowing squarely into the chest she’d been sealed against on that bed in Orloff’s house eleven hours before.

  “Oh! Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize Orloff sent you.”

  “He didn’t.” He allowed her to insert six inches of desperately needed air between them, but retained the hold he’d acquired on her arms as the suspicion within those amber eyes deepened. “What are you doing up here?”

  In the end, she blessed his proximity.

  That piercing gaze.

  The first succeeded in torching her neck with just the right amount of necessary heat, and the second prompted the perfect amount of evasion in her own gaze. “Um, it’s that time of the month. Orloff gave me his key so I could use his private bathroom.” She bit down on the satisfaction she felt. There wasn’t a man alive who’d question that one.

  Except him.

  Those damned brooding brows lifted. “Really? Where did you get the tampon, honey? Or does Orloff keep a box of—”

  He stiffened along with her.

  Unfortunately she could tell he wasn’t buying her sudden urgency any more than he’d bought her original story, as she grabbed at the sleeve of his sweater and attempted to haul the collection of muscles beneath, as well as the rest of his massive body, into the office. “Hurry! Someone’s coming.”

  He vaulted into the room, dragging her with him as he closed the door behind them. “Are you sure? Your hearing’s been off these past few days. Maybe you—”

  “My hearing is just fine, thank you.”

  Though she hadn’t yet had a chance to calibrate the new remote, she swore she’d heard voices at the base of those granite stairs. She ignored the suspicion still swirling in Jared’s eyes as she pressed her index finger to her lips, straining to capture the sound waves beyond the thick slab of wood. Five seconds later she caught it again.

  Them.

  Orloff had reached the top of those steps. Though he was the only one speaking, judging from the number of footfalls that accompanied his, Orloff had several other men in tow. At least one of them was someone she and Agent Sullivan had come a long way to meet. Five more seconds passed before she was certain Jared had caught Orloff’s voice, too. The subtle warning in the doctor’s carefully phrased, almost painfully slow Rebelian words. They no longer needed to worry whether or not General Bruno DeBruzkya would show up at the hospital.

  He just had.

  Chapter 9

  They had to get out of here.

  Now.

  Jared grabbed Alex’s arm with his right hand and latched on to the knob of the doorknob with his left. Having never seen the woman in action, he had no idea how she preferred to arrange her confrontations, but his preferences did not include closed-in spaces with barely enough room to maneuver. Especially not when he was outnumbered by at least three to one. He wasted precious seconds as he strained to double check that herd of footfalls. He twisted the knob, putting his lips to her ear as she balked.

  “Trust me.”

  He opened the door to the office and tugged her out into the corridor before she could argue.

  “Ah, there you are!”

  Jared loosened his grip, using Alex’s elbow to spin her around with him as he turned toward Orloff’s voice. His footfall estimation had been off. The squat Rebelian dictator had five armed camouflaged thugs in tow, not three, and unlike the prepubescent packs that roved the streets of Rajalla, these men had been shaving for ten years at least. DeBruzkya barked a series of orders, causing the squad to break off and fall into line at attention halfway down the corridor.

  Orloff and the general continued on. The hallway was too dim for him to make out even Orloff’s familiar features just yet. From the tension radiating off Alex, he suspected she couldn’t make them out, either. He brushed his lips over the short curls at her ear, disguising the motion as a brief but loving kiss as he murmured, “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. He didn’t have your head bashed in.”

  True. But there was no time for even a whispered comeback, much less outright reassurance, as Orloff and Bruno DeBruzkya closed the remaining distance. Jared settled for sliding his arm about Alex’s waist and risked a quick squeeze as the men came into view. It worked. She relaxed.

  Visibly, anyway.

  He could still feel the tension radiating from her back into the muscles of his arm. He left his arm about her waist as long as he could, withdrawing it only when Orloff stretched out his right hand and clapped it into his as if they were old friends. The gleam in those dark eyes confirmed that was indeed the game.

  Orloff’s grin widened. “I see you’ve located your lovely wife. Good. General, may I present Dr. Jeff Coleman and his wife, Alice.” The physician deferred briefly to the balding general, allowing Jared and Alex the opportunity to study the notorious Bruno DeBruzkya up close for the first time. The assessment Jared had formed while reading the man’s dossier on the transatlantic flight was dead on.

  General or not, DeBruzkya hadn’t seen a gym in years.
At five-nine, the man was nearly as round as he was tall. Definitely more brute pudge than brawn. And definitely interested in Alex.

  Salivating.

  Even as Jared looped his arm back about her waist, he told himself he was doing it to protect their cover. That was all. This woman—his partner—could handle herself. So why had his arm tightened instinctively as the man drooled on her boots?

  Unfortunately DeBruzkya wasn’t stupid. He picked up on the subtle motion and grinned. The man’s fleshy lips parted a moment later, but Orloff beat him to sound.

  “Feeling better, Alice?” He turned to DeBruzkya before she could answer. “Jeff and I met while attending university in the United States. Alice, however, is new to their marriage, as well as hospital work. She became queasy.” His conspiratorial smile spread. “I believe she may be presenting a special gift to my friend this Christmas.” He capped the grin with a sigh. “But so far, she has refused to allow either of us to run the necessary tests.”

  Jared had to give Orloff credit. Whatever Orloff and Alex were hiding, the doctor was doing his best to look out for her. Unfortunately the fact that DeBruzkya had been willing to use Lily Scott’s own son against her weeks earlier to coerce her into submitting to the general’s perverse will suggested the man wouldn’t give a damn about a hypothetical pregnancy.

  The moment that dank-brown gaze slid down Alex’s curves, Jared knew he was right. Barely suppressed fury crawled through his gut and straight up into his heart as the general’s gaze finally rose. It intensified as DeBruzkya’s gaze stopped to study a particular set of curves he had no right studying.

  So much for DeBruzkya’s undying devotion to Lily.

  The general finally managed to drag his gaze above her neck. A smarmy smile followed. “Congratulations, Alice. My sister is pregnant, too. Though she is—” His gaze slid low once again. “Much further along. In fact, that is why I stopped by this morning. To arrange for a specialist to come to my home to examine her. I’m afraid her usual doktor recently met with a most unfortunate…accident—much like my son.”