Fever

by Joan Swan

  Teague tried to lift his head. Someone from above him slapped a hand against his skull and slammed his face back into the gravel. Rock ground against his teeth.

  “The hell you have,” Dargan yelled. “I want to see paperwork. Official, signed paperwork.”

  “I have a copy of that documentation right here for you, Director Dargan.”

  Teague recognized Mitch’s voice immediately, although it sounded far more congenial than he’d ever heard it before.

  “Help me get him up.” Luke’s voice joined the mix. Two strong sets of hands grabbed Teague’s arms and lifted him from the ground. When Teague gained his feet and looked up, he found a dozen A.T.F agents in full S.W.A.T. gear had joined Dargan, her security detail and the cops. Luke took the cuff keys offered by one of the cops and unlocked Teague’s hands.

  “Need medical attention?” Luke muttered as he pulled the metal off Teague’s hands. “Aside from psychiatric, I mean.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Teague shot back, but couldn’t keep the half grin off his face. He spit gravel and blood out of his mouth.

  He scanned the crowd for Alyssa and found her, swaying with Kat, stroking her hair where the child’s head lay on her shoulder. Relief eased Teague’s shoulders.

  “She looks good with Kat,” Luke said with a casual air as he pocketed the cuffs. “Try not to screw that one up.”

  “You have no room to talk.”

  “Okay, Director”—Mitch held out a sheaf of papers toward Dargan—“it’s a little complicated, so I’ll go slow. First, I have a Change of Custody form signed by Judge—”

  “How could he change custody when he wasn’t in custody at the time the judge signed that form?” she asked.

  “Now, now, let’s not get hung up on details. Second”—Mitch licked his finger and flipped the page—“I have filed an expedited exoneration hearing based on new evidence.” He paused and gave her an award-winning grin. “No worries, I’ve taken the liberty of forwarding a copy of all that paperwork to your office.”

  Teague leaned toward Luke, lifted his chin toward Mitch and kept his voice low when he asked, “What’s with him?”

  Luke shook his head in an expression of uncertainty, then guessed. “Vindication. Retribution.”

  “Big words for you, Ransom.”

  Luke shot him a shut-the-fuck-up side-glance.

  “Three”—Mitch flipped the page again and pointed to a line midway down—“you’ll see it says here, that one Mr. Teague Creek, that’s him”—he pointed at Teague—“has been released into the custody of one Mr. Lucas Ransom, that’s him”—he pointed at Luke—“pending hearing date.”

  Teague couldn’t keep the shock from his expression when he looked at Luke again. “How in the hell ... ?”

  “Let me give you a bit of advice: Don’t ever travel with that man.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at Mitch where he stood with Dargan. “Getting through security was a nightmare. He carried his laptop and portable printer on the plane. He spent the entire flight either on the damn phone or on the Internet, and took up both tray tables with all his shit. ‘Put these together.’ ‘Staple that.’ You’d think I was his goddamned secretary.

  “But I have to admit—and if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass—that man works magic. Sheer magic. You may have kidnapped the wrong woman from that hospital, but you hit a gold mine when you grabbed Mitch Foster’s sister.”

  Yards away, where Mitch tortured Dargan, the woman’s face grew red and lined with anger. “And how do you plan on keeping him out of jail for the crimes he’s committed since his prison break?” she asked.

  “Ohhh, right. Did I forget to mention that?” Mitch flipped back through the pages. “On this exoneration page, there’s a section here ... I’ll read it for you, ‘blah, blah ... to include all crimes stemming from the escape attempt for which Creek was wrongfully imprisoned.’ ” Mitch straightened all the paperwork in his hand, secured the paperclip and offered them to Dargan with a charming smile. “I think that covers it.”

  At the last second, he pulled them back. “Oh, I almost forgot. My card.” He took a business card and a pen from his pocket, slid the card beneath the clip, then scribbled on the card. “And I don’t usually do this, but for you”—he tossed her a wink—“I’ll put my cell on here, too. Just in case.”

  She kept her arms crossed, rejecting the packet when he offered it again. “This is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. I promise you, if I were slinging bullshit, Director, you’d know,” Mitch said, remaining maddeningly congenial. “In fact, I’ll let you use my phone to call each and every judge—at home if necessary—to confirm their signatures.”

  The spark of uncertainty in Dargan’s eyes started the thaw of Teague’s numbness. Hope trickled in, and even though he tried to keep the flow regulated, his retaining walls crumbled quickly.

  At a short distance, Alyssa continued to monitor the conversation, eyes sharp, hopeful. Kat woke up, rubbed her dirty face and squirmed in Alyssa’s arms.

  Dargan snapped the papers from Mitch’s hands. “I will investigate each and every word on these documents, Mr. Foster. If one thing is out of place, just one, I will have your ass in front of the bar.” She turned and pointed at Luke, who looked at her from several yards away. “And I’ll have your badge, Agent.”

  A news van rolled up in the background and a cameraman jumped out, dragging gear in his wake.

  A pretty, dark-haired female reporter shoved a microphone in Dargan’s face. “Deputy Director Dargan, can you speak to the allegations of misconduct by D.A.R.P.A. regarding taxpayer funds in recent military scientific research projects, specifically—”

  “No comment.” Dargan swiveled and set a brisk pace for her Lincoln, flanked by her wall of security.

  “Oh, and Director,” Mitch called, “I went ahead and cc’d Senator Schaffer on all that paperwork. Good for everyone to be on the same page, don’t you think?”

  Alyssa passed Dargan on her way toward Teague. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the sight of Kat in her arms, his daughter’s eyes fighting to focus. Nerves squeezed his chest, as he wondered how she’d react to seeing him unexpectedly and outside prison walls. There was always the chance that she really wouldn’t want to be with him.

  “Uncle Luke?” Kat asked.

  Teague’s heart stopped.

  “Yeah, baby, right here.” Luke walked over and took Kat gently from Alyssa’s arms. She immediately curled into him and buried her face in his shoulder.

  A violent rip of pain tore across Teague’s chest.

  Alyssa came to him, stood close, and threaded their fingers. It helped. But ... Shit.

  Luke hesitated. He took a moment with Kat, ran a hand over her hair, closed his eyes, pressed an extended kiss to her head.

  Pressure built behind Teague’s forehead, eyes and nose. His throat thickened. If she rejected him ... Teague couldn’t do it. He could face a man with a gun. Face running into a burning building. Face going back to prison. He couldn’t face his five-year-old rejecting him.

  Luke walked up beside Teague. “Princess, look who’s here.”

  “I want to go home,” she cried against his shoulder.

  “Luke,” Teague said, his voice raspy, thick. “Don’t.”

  Luke ignored him. “Come on, baby. One quick look. You’ll be happy. I promise.”

  She lifted her head, her dark curls a tangled mess over her bleary eyes and soot-streaked cheeks. Luke pushed them aside as Kat assessed him.

  He held his breath.

  Tightened his fingers around Alyssa’s.

  “Daddy?” Her head tilted. She reached out a hand to touch his chest, as if testing to see whether he was real. “I saw you, but you disappeared. Like a dream.”

  His breath leaked out from between tight lips. He lifted his free hand, wrapped his fingers around hers and brought them to his mouth. Kissed them. Pressed them to his cheek. When she didn’t pull
back, the rest of his tension ebbed. Tears burned his eyes.

  “I’m real,” was all he could find to say.

  “You’re not in jail?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Forever?”

  Teague opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Forever, kid.” Mitch walked up from the sidelines. “Your dad is out of jail forever.”

  Kat smiled, leaned toward Teague and reached out to him with both arms. “Uncle Seth told me you’d come home someday.”

  Alyssa squeezed his hand, then released him to allow Teague to pull Kat into his arms. When he did, his entire world telescoped into view and focused. Like the heart of a labyrinth. Right here. Right now. With the woman and child he loved.

  “He did?” Teague asked.

  “Your file did come through my office,” Mitch said. “Seth submitted it.”

  Teague’s eyes fell closed. Gratitude pushed the last remnant of fear aside. He dropped his face to Kat’s feather-soft hair despite the residual fire debris.

  “It was a secret,” Kat said, resting her cheek against his shoulder, her lids growing heavy.

  Tara. Teague swung toward the house, where most of the flames had been conquered, but charcoal smoke still flooded the sky. “Did they—?”

  “In the ambulance.” Alyssa’s soft voice floated over his shoulder. “Critical, but alive.”

  “Are you going to live with us now, Daddy?”

  Teague returned his gaze to that cherub face he’d dreamed of every night in prison and picked up one of Kat’s dark curls, twirling it around his finger over and over. “I, uh, I—”

  “Yeah.” Luke grimaced, raked a hand through his own hair and pushed out a breath. “He is.” Then he muttered, “Whose freaking idea was that?”

  “Forever?”

  “No.” Luke gave Teague a hell-no look. “Just for a while.”

  Kat’s dark eyes landed on Luke with a clearly disapproving, disconcerted expression.

  Luke held up his hands, palms out. “Don’t worry. None of us is going anywhere. We’ll all be here whenever you want us. Me, Uncle Seth, your dad ...”

  “Sucker ...” Teague teased, a half-grin lifting his mouth despite a sudden wave of exhaustion settling in. “She’s got you wrapped.”

  “What about Mommy Tara?”

  Teague’s grin dropped. Everyone went silent.

  “She’s not feeling well right now,” Alyssa said, saving them from answering. “But when she’s better, I’m sure you can see her.”

  Kat’s dark eyes slipped to Alyssa. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Alyssa.”

  “Are you going to live with us, too?”

  Alyssa smiled, tilted her head, and opened her mouth to respond.

  But Mitch spoke first. “I heard rumors that Gregory Dyne has resigned from St. Luke’s. The scuttlebutt is that as soon as an accusation of defamation of character hit the airwaves, he hit the pavement. Seems St. Jude’s is trying to locate you to offer you a permanent position.”

  Alyssa’s mouth froze in that open position as she stared at her brother. Teague couldn’t read her expression past the shock. But how could he possibly compete with that offer? Despite the fact that he’d always suspected he’d have to give her up eventually, he hadn’t anticipated the immediate and complete shredding sense of loss that hit him now.

  “But”—Luke slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and glared at Mitch while speaking to Alyssa—“if you decide you’d rather not go back to an overpopulated, polluted, crime ridden hellhole of a city and prefer to live in the pristine Sierra Nevadas instead”—he turned his gaze on Alyssa—“I happen to know the head of H.R. at Tahoe Basin Community Medical Center. I’m sure they would jump at the chance to have a physician with your qualifications on staff.”

  “Ransom,” Mitch said, “mind your own damn business.”

  “This is more my damn business than it is yours now, Foster. I don’t see him sleeping on your couch.”

  The news reporter sidled up to the group, but she only had eyes and one hell of a flirtatious smile for Mitch. “Excuse me, Mitch. Do you have a minute?”

  “Beautiful job, Brittany.” He turned on the charm like a light. “I believe I owe you dinner.”

  As Mitch wandered off with Brittany, Luke looked toward the A.T.F. van. “I’m going to check in.”

  Teague watched Luke go, twirling Kat’s hair in an attempt to calm the nerves in his stomach. Finally alone with Alyssa, all the emotion bottomed out. He turned and nearly fell into her, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him, sandwiching a now snoozing Kat between them.

  “My God, you scared me to death.” He closed his eyes and absorbed the all-consuming relief. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

  She closed her arms around his waist and fisted the shirt at his back. “Now you know how I felt when I saw you in that house with Vasser and all those guns. Only you weren’t near as nice to me as I’m being to you now.”

  “I know. I was a shit.” He turned his head in and kissed her neck.

  “There you go with your famous understatements,” she murmured against his shoulder. “Just so you know, I won’t be accepting the extenuating-circumstances excuse ever again.”

  Teague looked down at her. With the fear washed out of her eyes and the stress drained from her face, she looked tired. He longed to drag all the anxiety of the last several days from her body, wished he could ease the worry of the next few weeks from her mind. But he couldn’t.

  He could only give her what he had. And based on the fact that he was now free and the shadow government was off his back, that was a hell of a lot more than he’d had to offer several days ago.

  He took a breath, brushed stray black hair off her forehead with his fingers. “What if I were so over-the-top insane about you that I lost my head and did crazy things? Would that be an acceptable extenuating circumstance?”

  The shadow of fatigue drifted out of her eyes, replaced by a spark of surprise and a grin of interest. “Depends on the offense. What kinds of crazy things?”

  “Like ...” Oh, shit, here he went. The biggest risk of his life. “Like if I asked you to stay in Truckee with me and Kat, even though I know the job in San Francisco is better. And promised we’d go anywhere with you once we got things straightened out back home. And told you I love you more than is rational for time or circumstance and that the thought of losing you scares me as much as the thought of losing Kat again.”

  “W-wow.” Her eyes grew wider with each confession, their irises glittering with unshed tears. “Those are pretty crazy.”

  He tried to smile, but his stomach was wound in knots waiting for her response. “That’s me. Impulsive. Reckless.” He paused, searching for another word to finish off the trio. “Foolish,” tumbled out.

  Alyssa laughed. The sound bubbled out of her chest like a fountain of champagne. She squeezed close and swept her palm across his cheek, her skin warm and smooth. “Those are just a few of the things I love most about you. And if you hadn’t asked me to stay, that house”—she tipped her head toward the charred remains behind them—“wouldn’t have been the only thing on fire around here.”

  This time, Teague’s smile spread across his face and stuck. And when Alyssa pushed to her toes and pressed her lips to his, he knew it was way too late to think about starting fires. Or smothering fires.

  “Baby,” he murmured, a breath away from her mouth, “where you’re concerned, I’ll always be on fire.”

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2012 Joan Swan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Brava and the B logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-
7582-7789-3

  ISBN-10: 0-7582-6638-3

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: March 2012