10 Fatal Strike

by Shannon McKenna

  She rolled to face him, eyes fluttering open. Her gaze seemed both bold and shy. It gave a sweet, bright rush to all his senses, a sudden sense of opening deep inside himself. Like arms thrown wide.

  Joy pulsed through his body, and suddenly they were wrapped in each others’ arms, clutching, knotted. Kissing madly.

  The kiss was revving into something inevitable, but he dragged himself back from the brink and grabbed his phone from the bedside table to check the time. “Holy shit,” he said. “It’s after two thirty.”

  She jerked up. “Wow. Really? We slept, what, fourteen hours?”

  “You needed it,” he said. “I’m just surprised at myself. I haven’t slept more than a couple hours at a stretch for months. Are you still, ah . . .” He put his attention to that part of his mind that he’d begun to think of as hers, not his own. Their secret point of contact.

  Ahhh, yes. He basked in that bright glow. A constant source of pleasure. Maybe that was what had zapped his headache. The Lara Kirk mind meld. Good medicine.

  She smiled at him, sat up, letting the comforter fall. Ah, man. Not fair.

  still inside appeared on his inner screen. no worries.

  He laughed, in delight, and responded the same way. awesome. works even in deep REM sleep. just stay there now its safer

  love 2. u dont have 2 tell me 2X

  dont ever leave he invited.

  tempting she replied.

  whos tempting who? 4 the love of god put on ur shirt

  She laughed at him. Her low, husky laugh was so sexy. It took all his self-control not to just roll over on top of her and mount up.

  But the day was more than half gone, they were in mortal danger, there were decisions to be made, actions to be taken. To say nothing of a houseful of twitchy, judgmental people downstairs, twiddling their thumbs, looking at their watches.

  It was past three by the time they were both decent. Lara insisted that she felt well enough to come downstairs, but her face was rosy as she followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  She looked awesome in the teal-blue pile sweatshirt and jeans, and purple high-top kicks that Aaro had gotten for her. Hair still damp, face pink. Lips, too. So pretty.

  Aaro was in the kitchen, his habitual disapproving scowl carved into his face. Sean looked Lara over, glanced sidewise at Miles, and nodded. “Looking good,” he said. “She’s got color. Breakfast?”

  “Please,” Miles said, fervently.

  He was stonily ignored by all, but a parade of food appeared anyhow. Fluffy scrambled eggs, sausage, home-fried rosemary potatoes, toasted English muffins, fresh orange juice, coffee. Sean set a place for Lara at the table, and was deferential and charming with his gigolo/major domo routine, serving her food, urging her to eat.

  No one urged Miles, or brought him a plate or fork. Sean left the loaded serving plates on the table and fussed exclusively over Lara, letting Miles slink into the kitchen to scrounge for his own dishes and flatwear. Still in the doghouse. He was lucky they didn’t make him lie under the table and beg her for scraps. But he wasn’t inclined to get his feelings hurt today. He was floating, like he was attached to a hot air balloon. The balloon was that soft Lara glow in his head.

  The other guys were filing on by on made-up errands, intent on checking out Lara, watching her eat. She got down more food than she had the night before, plus a whole glass of orange juice. Progress.

  Miles turned to his own refueling, loading up his plate with eggs. Protein, lay it on him. Fried potatoes, glory halleluia. He guzzled orange juice, wallowing in the citrusy, liquid-sugar orgasm. Drank one sip of coffee, and put the cup right down, instantly concluding that his adrenal glands did not need their asses kicked any further by caffeine.

  Food had never tasted so fucking good.

  He didn’t start slowing down until after his third plate. He’d polished off all the eggs, all the potatoes, and was eyeing the last English muffin on the plate when he noticed six pairs of eyes, all staring at him. Including Lara’s. She was trying not to smile.

  “What?” he demanded. “Never seen a guy eat before?”

  Connor cleared his throat. “Not like that.”

  The faint, far-off sound made him leap into the air. The other men jumped to attention in reaction to him. Guns appeared in all hands as Miles lunged for the window, twitching back the curtain. He’d left his Glock upstairs, and was cursing himself for a sloppy brainless fool until he caught a flashing glimpse of the vehicle through the distant trees.

  Air rushed back into his lungs. “Tam’s car,” he said. “She’s driving. Nina’s in the front, Edie’s in back.”

  “You heard the car from here? And saw it?” Aaro peered out the window, disgruntled. “I can barely see it, let alone identify it as Tam’s.”

  Miles was weak kneed with relief. So it wasn’t going to be mortal combat right after breakfast. Give him time, for the love of God. Time to find a place to keep her safe before engaging with that prick again.

  “Nina? You said Nina’s here?” Lara’s voice broke in on his reverie.

  “Coming up the driveway now,” he told her.

  Before he could say a word, Lara was out the door, pelting across the meadow in front of the house toward the big curve of the driveway. Out in the open, under a huge, threatening sky, where anyone could see her, snatch her, put her in the crosshairs of their fucking sniper rifle. He bolted after, irrational panic clutching him.

  Tam’s car came around the bend and braked. The passenger side flew open, and Nina sprang out and sprinted toward Lara.

  They came together in a tight, shaking hug.

  Tam and Edie climbed out, stopping at a discreet distance. Miles waited, too. They were crying, for God’s sake. He’d wait until they’d slogged through it. At least this sob fest was one that he didn’t have to navigate. But they took their goddamned sweet time, babbling and weeping. He tried not to listen in with his souped-up hearing.

  It was really hard not to listen when you could.

  After an inappropriately long time, he started to fidget and twitch. Jesus, out in the open, exposed on all sides. Of course, they were backed up by several tough guys with guns who had all filed out to watch the floor show, but that meant nothing. There was no reason the cathartic, girly sob-fest could not take place indoors on a comfy couch.

  “Uh, Lara? Nina?” he ventured. “Could we, like, take it inside?”

  The women ignored him. “Thanks for looking for me,” Lara was whispering soggily. “Thanks for sending Miles.”

  Nina lifted her eyes, fixed them on Miles. “I didn’t send him, honey. I would’ve, if I could, but I can’t take credit for that. He did that on his own. All of it. With no help from us.”

  Miles clearly heard the acerbic tang of reproof in her voice.

  “Ladies?” he said again, plaintively. “Can we take this inside? Please? I could use some cover. This is making me nervous.”

  “I just bet it is.” Nina let go of Lara and strode toward him with purpose. “I have just two things to say to you, Miles Davenport.”

  Miles took a wary step backward. “Uh, let’s hear them.”

  “They’re both non-verbal.” She reached out, gave him a fierce, tight, shaking hug. Then just as abruptly, she stepped back, hauled off and whacked him hard in the face, smack. A bruising open-hand.

  “Fuck!” He reeled back. “Jesus, Nina! What was that about?”

  Lara ran toward them. “Nina? What the hell are you doing?”

  “I am so pissed at him!” Nina’s voice vibrated with fury. “Well and good that he saved you, but he is an opportunistic son of a bitch for seducing you right after!” She turned on Miles, cherry red with anger. “You might have waited! Even a few days would have been less indecent, for God’s sake! But I imagine your dick wanted what it wanted, right? You thought you had the right? You saved her, so you get to fuck her? Was that how it was? You dickhead! ”

  Miles pressed his hand to his stinging cheek, and op
ened his mouth to say he knew absolutely not what, but Lara broke in, leaping in front of him. A human shield.

  “Do not hit him!” she yelled. “Not ever, Nina! You hear me?”

  Nina pressed her fist to her shaking mouth. Her eyes were wet. “He shouldn’t have done that! He shouldn’t even have looked at you!”

  “It wasn’t up to him! I jumped on him with all four feet! He had no choice!”

  Tam snorted, giving Miles a mocking once-over. “Awww, poor little Miles. Forced, were you? Did she have to tie you down?”

  “Fuck off, Tam,” he growled, licking blood off his lip, which Nina’s lusty blow had smashed against his tooth.

  “If I were wrecked and broken, you might have a point, but I’m not!” Lara raged on. “Do you get it? They did not wreck me!”

  Nina cupped Lara’s face. “Okay,” she crooned. “Okay, okay, I believe you. Good for you, sweetheart.” And they melted into a sobbing embrace once again. Miles was blessedly forgotten. Thank God.

  Not by Tam, though. She sauntered toward Miles, giving him one of her X-ray stares, the ones where she read every fear and doubt and fatal fault line. She then turned the same stare onto Lara, who met it squarely, over Nina’s shoulder. After a minute, Tam nodded, having come to one of her inscrutable conclusions.

  “Leave them alone, Nina,” she said. “Look at her eyes, her color. She’s all right. He’s doing his duty.” Miles flinched as she smacked the same reddened cheek Nina had slapped. “It’s about time, big boy. Glad to see you finally misbehaving like a man.” She punctuated her statement by swatting his ass, very hard.

  “Hey!” Miles backed away. “Public service announcement. Next person who slaps me, I slap back. Girl or no girl.” He glanced at Lara. “Except for you,” he amended. “You can slap me any time you want. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

  Her eyes swept down as a subtle smile quivered on her lips. “Least I could do. You were such a good sport about being tied down.”

  Miles gaped, and turned his gaze wildly upon the other women. “Uh, that was a joke,” he told them hastily. “You get that, right?”

  That cracked them all up.

  He suffered through the snickering and chortling as they walked back to the house, but his discomfort melted away like magic when Lara grabbed his hand, a defiant, possessive gesture. Her slender hand was cool, her narrow fingers closing around his, jealously tight.

  Staking her claim. He liked it. Let them mock and scold and slap and kick him around like a fucking soccer ball.

  When she touched him like that, he could feel no pain.

  19

  Lara rocked in Nina’s tight embrace and groped in her pocket for a tissue. It did something strange to her, seeing Nina after all these years. She’d worshipped the older girl as a child. And though they weren’t blood relatives, Nina was the only person left with whom she shared actual memories of her mother. It made Mother feel closer, somehow. More real. It had been such a sad, remote feeling, being the last repository of memories for a person. Like being lost in space.

  Problem was, this warm fuzzy stuff melted her to mush. Nobody seemed to judge her for it, but still. She quelled another wave of emotion. “I can’t believe how different you look.” She stared at the bright, fitted sweater Nina wore. “I always thought you were pretty, but you wore baggy dark clothes, so I never knew you had a hot figure, too.”

  “Oh, well. Aaro insists.” Nina darted a smile at her guy, Aaro, who sat on the couch near them. He was tongue-tied and uncomfortable, but clearly unwilling to be more than a few feet from his lady. Even if she was hugging the sobbing girl. Tough-guy Kryptonite.

  Miles was seated on the other side of her, twitching with discomfort and embarrassment, but whenever he made a move to go, she grabbed his hand and yanked him right back down. Nope. Plant your ass right here, buddy. Do not move it one inch. Everyone needed to get the non-verbal cue that she had not gone to rack and ruin, she was not a poor, broken girl that Miles had taken advantage of in her moment of weakness. Hell, no. None of his fierce friends would dare to slap or scold him if she was clutching his hand in a white-knuckled death grip.

  So there, everyone. Take that. She hung on. He was all hers.

  Hours had gone by since Nina, Tam, and Edie had arrived. Big platters of deli sandwiches had appeared on the table at one point, and Miles had nagged and poked and prodded until she’d successfully gotten around half of a turkey and swiss, and another glass of juice.

  The room was packed. It was an overwhelming number of people, after months of solitude with only occasional vicious attacks from Hu and Anabel to break the monotony, and she and Miles were the main attraction. But damn, out of nowhere, a group of smart, brave strangers had saved her and borne her up. How crazy and improbable was that.

  She would endure their focused attention if it killed her. She fished for the tissue again.

  “You okay?” Miles leaned in close.

  She nodded. “Need more tissues,” she muttered.

  “I’ll go and look for—”

  “No!” She yanked him back. “Don’t go anywhere. Sorry to be clingy, but just . . . just stay put. I’d rather just leak.”

  “Uh, okay.” He sank back down, lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it. Eight people in the room took notice, and exchanged meaningful glances. The stunning redhead with the tight bun and the skintight black clothes, the one they called Tam, clapped her hands briskly.

  “Time for one of Edie’s drawings,” she announced. “We need to speed things up. Do you know about Edie’s drawings?”

  Lara looked up at Edie, who had been introduced as Kev’s wife. She was tall and slim, with a long, loose, dark braid and a gentle smile. Very pretty, in an understated way. “Know what?”

  “I have this ability,” Edie explained. “Maybe a tiny bit like yours. When I draw, I see things about the people I’m drawing for. Sometimes they can be useful. It’s not a precision instrument, but it can help.”

  “It only happens when you draw?” Lara asked.

  Edie nodded. “It only runs on that channel.”

  Lara sighed. “I wish I could pick a channel. When it comes on me, it’s more like an epileptic seizure.”

  “We can probably help you with that,” Nina said. “We’ve been working on blocking techniques, control issues. Me, Aaro, Edie. We’ll help you out. We’ll work on it together.”

  She tried to smile, but her smile felt weighted down. She had a hard time imagining what kind of conscious control could keep her from tripping when the pull started to suck her down into the vortex.

  “Thanks, I guess,” she said, faintly.

  “Of course, when it comes to shields, nobody beats Super-Miles,” Aaro said, sourly. “The magical boy that no bullet can kill.”

  Edie serenely ignored him. “So? Can I draw for you, Lara?”

  Lara stared for a moment, blankly. Still unaccustomed to the idea of her wishes being considered. She stammered a little. “Ah . . . sure.”

  Edie still hesitated. “Sometimes it’s scary.”

  Lara just looked at her. Edie broke eye contact, her face reddening. “Um, sorry. Forget I said that. Stupid of me.”

  “It’s okay,” Lara said quietly. “Go ahead.”

  A hush came over the room as Edie started to draw. It was quiet enough to hear the scratch of the pencil on paper. Everyone seemed afraid to breathe. Clearly, they all took Edie’s ability very seriously.

  Kev, Edie’s husband, the scarred twin of the one they called Sean, came over and sat next to his wife. Val, too, came over, sliding his arms around Tam, from behind. Nina grabbed Aaro’s hand.

  Lara glanced at Miles. Her gaze stuck on him. Those beautiful, soulful dark eyes, so charged with emotion. His gorgeous, battered face.

  He held out his arms to her, and she moved into them with such a feeling of magnetic inevitability, it made her heart shake.

  She huddled there, folded up tight, her head beneath his chin. Blocking everything out but h
is warmth, his scent, his heartbeat.

  Sometime later, she sensed the breathless tension in the room resolve. She looked up. Edie stared down at her sketchbook with a puzzled frown. Kev pondered it, too, over her shoulder, his mouth grim. Neither of them seemed to like what they saw.

  Gee. Why was she not surprised.

  The others were clustering around, peering at the sketch with various expressions of perplexity.

  Lara held out her hand. Edie passed the sketchbook over.

  It was a sharp icicle-in-the-belly feeling, to see something from inside her head externalized. She’d witnessed this scene over and over. It was as disturbing rendered on paper as it had been in her head.

  It was a freeze-frame from the worst vignette in her weird sleepwalker vision. The woman in the pink shirt staring out the window, hair uncombed, mouth slack, eyes vacant, while behind her, the toddler wailed desperately in her crib.

  Superimposed over the woman’s head was another drawing, an odd, ball-shaped thing with tiny tentacle-like protuberances all over it, like an illustration in a biology book. She had no clue what it could be.

  She looked up into their expectant faces, and cleared her throat, trying to make her voice loud enough for all of them to hear.

  “This is a scene from one of my recurring visions,” she said. She glanced at Miles. “I had it last night, along with the Tokyo bomb one, remember? It starts in a city park, and things seem normal, but it’s too quiet, and the grass is too long, and deer are grazing in the park. And people are just sitting there, or lying on the ground. Maybe alive, maybe dead. Then I see . . . her.” She indicated the woman in the sketch. “But I don’t know about that thing that’s drawn on top.”

  “It looks like a virus,” Kev said. “I’ll identify it, if I can.”

  “Another terrorist attack, maybe?” Miles offered. “With biological weapons?”

  “Could be,” she said, reluctantly. What a horrible thought.

  “Another? What do you mean, another?” Con’s voice was sharp. “You mean there was one already?”

  “One she stopped,” Miles said. “Tokyo. Last night.”