Dark Operative: A Shadow of Death (The Children Of The Gods Paranormal Romance Series Book 17)

by I. T. Lucas

  "Thank you."

  Chapter 41: Turner

  Turner had the strangest dream.

  The thing was, he couldn't differentiate between the parts that had really happened and those he'd dreamt up.

  Had Sandoval invited him to have dinner with his nephew?

  That might have happened. The rest he'd dreamed. He felt no pain, which meant that he hadn't been stabbed in the back. And if he hadn't been stabbed, then the fake valet hadn't dumped his car in an alley, leaving Turner to bleed to death. Besides, the dream wound had been fatal.

  Surprisingly, for a pessimist like him who had little to no faith in humanity, his brain had conjured a most unlikely rescue. It had been an incredibly realistic dream.

  When the homeless guy had opened the back passenger door, Turner had been hit with a wave of stink. In the dream, the stench had revived him enough to hear the man ask if he needed help.

  "Do you have a phone?" the man had asked. "I can call 911."

  "No," Turner had croaked.

  "Oh, hell, they robbed you, didn't they? Left you here to die, didn't they? Now I'll have to drive you to the hospital, wouldn't I? Do I remember how, do I? I do. I do. I have to. I can't let you die. They are watching me, you know. The other they, the good ones. They promised to reward me for a good deed. They did."

  The man wasn't right in the head, but he'd gotten behind the wheel and driven the car to the nearest hospital, saving dream Turner's life.

  He found it odd that his mind came up with such a clumsy operation. Taking his phone and his wallet but leaving the keys in the ignition was an amateur move. When awake, Turner would have planned a much tighter attack.

  Oh, wait. No. He had given the valet one and kept the spare in his pocket. It was a remote ignition key. All the homeless guy had to do was to press a button.

  Damn, Turner could still smell the stench.

  He wished he could keep dreaming because he needed to thank his savior, give him money, offer him the use of his shower…

  Turner dozed off again, but instead of continuing the previous dream, this time he was dreaming about Bridget. He was meeting her after work. They had a lot of ground to cover regarding their project, and naturally, he had every intention of ending the evening in her bed. Maybe staying the night.

  He'd never slept with a woman, like in actual sleeping.

  The dream jumped ahead to her and him in bed. He was on top of her, and she was caressing him, her hands going up and down his arms, but then her grip tightened. She was so strong. She could hurt him if she wanted to, or just absentmindedly.

  "Gentle, woman, you don't want to hurt me," he murmured.

  "I'm sorry, honey. One more minute and it will be all over."

  A minute?

  He wasn't one of those guys who was done in a minute. "I beg to differ. I can last much longer than that," he said to the pillow.

  Wait a minute, why was he talking to a pillow? A moment ago he’d had Bridget under him and now it was a pillow?

  "Oh, honey. It's the drugs talking."

  "Drugs?"

  "You had an operation last night. You're so lucky that knife missed your lungs."

  Things were starting to coalesce. "How did I get here?"

  The nurse removed the blood pressure cuff. "A very kind homeless guy drove you. He called for help, and when the nurses ran out to the car to get you, he scurried away. The poor man was probably afraid of being blamed for your stabbing."

  The drugs were making Turner's thought process sluggish, but it was still clear enough to make him realize that he hadn't dreamt the ambush up, or the homeless guy. Only the last part about Bridget had been a dream.

  The nurse had said that it was morning. Bridget had probably gotten worried when he hadn't shown up. He had to call her.

  "Is there a phone I can use? I need to make a call. People are worried about me." He looked at the plump, jolly-faced nurse.

  "Sure thing, dear. Let me help you roll to your side."

  Her hands were gentle, but she was strong. "You can lie on your tummy or on your side. But not on your back."

  The way she talked to him, the nurse reminded him of his grandmother, but he wasn't a small kid, and no one should call him honey or dear.

  "Do you call all your patients dear or honey?"

  She smiled. "No, only those with no name. Would you rather I call you John?"

  Right. He had no wallet and had been too out of it to tell anyone his name. "You can call me Victor, or Vic for short." Normally, he only told people his last name, but the nurse was soft and kind, and he felt like she deserved to know it.

  "Well, hello, Victor. My name is Donna. When you call your people, please tell them to bring over your insurance information. You don't want to see the hospital bill until you feel a little better."

  "I bet."

  She handed him a cup of water with a straw. "Here you go, sweetie."

  Donna was a liar. She called all of her patients honey and sweetie, whether they had a name or not. But it was kind of nice. Sick people liked to be babied.

  She took the phone from the side table and put it on the bed next to him. "I'm all done. Just wait until I collect my things and you can call your people in privacy." She started rolling her portable equipment out of the room. "Oh, and I almost forgot. The police would like a statement from you."

  "I know, but it will have to wait until my head is clear."

  "Of course, honey, I mean, Victor." She winked at him before closing the door behind her.

  Fortunately, Bridget's number was one of the few he'd bothered to memorize.

  It rang for a long time before she answered. "Hello?" Her voice was slurred and raspy as if he'd woken her up from a deep sleep.

  "Did I wake you?"

  "Victor?" she screeched into the phone.

  He'd been right. Bridget had been worried about him.

  "In the flesh."

  "Oh, dear merciful Fates, we thought you were dead. We saw what happened on the camera feed and we searched all night…"

  "Bridget," he stopped her. "Now is not the time to talk about all this. I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay." Meaning, the line wasn't secure, and she couldn't talk freely.

  "I understand. Where are you?"

  "In a hospital. My wallet was stolen, and I was out of it until about five minutes ago. I'm probably registered under John Doe."

  "I'm touched that you called me right away. Thank you."

  "I knew you would be worried."

  She snickered, but not with mirth. "Worried? I was devastated, Victor. I thought you were dead."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Not your fault. Which hospital?"

  "I don't know. I can check and call you back. Why?"

  "Because I'm coming to see you, you big oaf."

  "Oaf?"

  "Yes. Oaf. Do you think anything or anyone could stop me from coming?"

  Evidently not. But he didn't want her to come. "It's not safe."

  There was a pause. "I'll bring one or two of my burly cousins with me. Will that be safe enough?"

  With a couple of Guardians accompanying her, she should be safe. "Bring two, and arrive in separate cars. Don't come in together."

  "Done."

  Chapter 42: Bridget

  "Do you need me to thrall anyone?" Brundar said as they met up in the empty waiting room.

  Bridget cast him a sidelong glance. "No need. During the day anyone can visit. In fact, I suggest you stay in here while I go to see Turner."

  Anandur put his hands in his pockets. "That kind of defeats the purpose of us coming with you."

  Turner's instructions had confirmed Anandur's opinion that the man was paranoid. But just in case Victor's paranoia was justified, Bridget had insisted that they follow the instructions to the letter. The brothers had arrived in their own car, hadn't parked next to her, and had waited a few minutes before following her inside.

  "I promised Victor I would bring muscle. I didn't say anyth
ing about you guys coming in. Unless you want to as his friends."

  Anandur shook his head. "I wouldn't go as far as calling Turner a friend. I'm just glad he's not dead."

  Brundar didn't say a thing.

  Despite finding his truelove match, he was still the silent type, though not as cyborg-like as he'd been before. Callie was melting his ice layers one at the time, but there were still many to go through.

  "Thank you for coming with me. I appreciate it. I'll let you know if I need you." She left them in the waiting room and went searching for Turner.

  He wasn't alone when Bridget found him. There was a pretty blond woman sitting next to his bed. Lying on his side, Turner was looking at the woman with genuine fondness.

  An unfamiliar wave of jealousy washed over Bridget. She hadn't known he was even capable of the feeling let alone expressing it.

  Until now, interest and lust were the only expressions Bridget had witnessed him having. The rest of the time he kept his features in a neutral mask that revealed nothing of what was going on inside his head, fooling people into believing he was cold and incapable of strong emotions.

  The fact was that he'd fooled her just as easily as everyone else hurt, driving the lesson home better than any spoken words or deeds. She was a means to an end the same as Turner's other associates, holding no special place in his heart like the woman sitting next to him.

  "Hello, Turner," she said in a tone that could've chilled a volcano.

  He lifted his head, and the woman turned to look at her.

  "Hi, Bridget. This is Alice, my personal assistant. Alice, this is Bridget, a business associate."

  Right. A business associate with benefits.

  Pulling on her professional doctor's mask, Bridget offered the woman her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alice."

  After a quick shake, Bridget lifted Turner's chart and read through the notes. "You were extremely lucky. The knife didn't penetrate the pleura or the mediastinum, meaning no punctured lungs which could have been fatal without immediate medical intervention. It impacted the vertebras between T4 and T5, wedging into the costovertebral joint, again without causing irreversible damage to your spinal cord. The knife was surgically removed, and you were given antibiotics."

  Turner shifted, adjusting the pillows. "I want to reward the homeless man who found me and drove me here. He was smart to leave the knife and not try to pull it out."

  Alice clutched her purse and rose to her feet. "It wasn't about being smart. The guy was probably too afraid to touch you." She patted Turner's shoulder. "I'd better get back to the office. Call me if you need anything else."

  "Thank you, Alice." That fond look was back on Turner's face.

  Alice smiled at Bridget. "It was nice meeting you."

  "Same here."

  Bridget took the seat Alice had vacated. "How are you feeling?"

  "Is it the doctor asking, or the woman?"

  She shrugged. "I'm a woman and a doctor. And I don't suffer from a split personality disorder."

  A tiny smirk lifted one corner of Turner's lips. The jackass was too smart not to figure out the reason for her sarcastic tone. "I feel grateful."

  "That's understandable. You're alive."

  "Yes. But I'm grateful for much more than my life. I was saved by a random stranger who expected nothing for his good deed. He restored my faith in humanity. I thought I was all alone, but today I realized that it wasn't true. I have two women who care about me."

  The asshole was really pushing it. "It depends on what you define as care."

  "I've known Alice for years, first as the wife of one of my soldiers, then as his widow, and then as my secretary. But I never thought of her as a friend, only as an employee who had no choice but to tolerate me, and whom for some reason I never managed to intimidate."

  "You seem to like her a lot."

  "I admire her. It wasn't easy to raise her boys by herself. And working for me is no picnic either."

  Was this his way of telling her there was nothing going on between him and his personal assistant?

  But why the hell not?

  The woman was a young widow, pretty, seemed like a nice person, and most importantly she was there. It would have been the most natural thing for them to get together.

  "How many years has she been working for you?"

  "Ever since I opened the firm. She was with me from the very start."

  Bridget wasn't one to beat around the bush. "Did you ever sleep with her?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "First of all because she works for me. Besides, I was never interested in her that way. And I don't think she was ever interested in me."

  "Bullshit, Turner. There is no way two single heterosexual people who are both fairly attractive wouldn't feel a pull toward each other. It's nature."

  "Perhaps. But then we are not chimps, and there is more to us than base urges. In my mind, Alice was off limits, and that translated into how I felt about her." He smiled and reached for Bridget's hand. "I could ask you the same question about all those hunks you hang around all day. Aren't you attracted to any of them? After all, they are not your brothers."

  He had a point. "To me, they are like brothers. But you are right about it being more of a conviction, than a natural inclination. I just know they are off limits."

  "I rest my case. Are we good now?"

  "We were never bad."

  "You look beautiful when your eyes sparkle with jealousy. It gives you a dangerous edge I find very sexy. A warrior woman."

  As the fight left her body, Bridget sighed. "Right. You should have seen me last night, sitting on the pavement in some back alley and crying my eyes out. Anandur had to carry me back to the bus."

  Turner frowned. "What were you doing in a back alley? And why were you riding a bus?"

  She leaned closer and whispered. "When you didn't show up, I called Brundar. He had someone hack into the restaurant's security camera footage, and we saw what happened. The entire force got mobilized. We spent the night searching for you. Your paranoia could've been the death of you. Switching cars, using rentals, we had no way to find you. By the way, did you switch the license plates around?"

  Turner nodded, which meant that Anandur was wrong about his strict adherence to the law. Apparently, the man had no qualms about civil offenses. Perhaps he had no problem with criminal ones either. The truth was that she knew very little about him, and what she'd thought she knew was often wrong.

  "My caution makes sense considering that I don't expect anyone looking for me to have good intentions," he said.

  For a moment, Bridget was rendered speechless. What a lonely life Turner must have been leading if the only people ever searching for him wished him harm.

  "What about Alice?"

  "It's not her job to worry about me."

  "I bet she does."

  "Maybe. Still, it is more important to make it difficult for my numerous enemies to find me than to make it easier for my handful of friends."

  Chapter 43: Turner

  Bridget's jealousy over Alice had uncovered a strange feeling in Turner. On the one hand, it was almost funny because of how absurd he found the notion, but he also found it flattering.

  That wasn't all, though. In a strange twist, it made him care for her more. He had never experienced a woman's jealousy before. He just didn't inspire those kinds of feelings. For him, being desired physically was the most he'd ever expected from a woman, and it was enough. Anything more was an unwanted complication.

  So why did it feel so good?

  What did he expect to gain from it?

  After getting to know her, he'd already deduced that Bridget was going to approve his transition attempt no matter what happened over the next couple of weeks. She was a smart and logical woman, and denying him was the least logical step she could take. He'd made sure of that.

  "You'll be safer at my place. I can have you discharged into my care," she said.

 
"They are going to release me later today or tomorrow morning. I can go home."

  Bridget glared at him. "And who is going to take care of you there? Alice?"

  He stifled a smile. "I don't need anyone taking care of me. I'll be fine on my own."

  "No."

  She was glorious when mad, and her assertiveness was one hell of a turn on. Turner gathered the thin blanket, bunching it in front of his inappropriate response.

  "No?" He lifted a brow, goading her temper to flare hotter.

  "You heard me. I'm taking you with me, and I don't want to hear any arguments from you. Silly machismo is beneath you."

  Ouch. She also knew where to kick to make it hurt.

  Another turn on.

  As sexy as Bridget's curvy body was, and as succulent as her lush lips were, her brain was by far the sexiest part of her.

  "How long are you planning on keeping me there?"

  Her smirk was triumphant. "For as long as I deem it necessary."

  "That can be open to interpretation."

  Her smile had an evil twist to it. "Indeed."

  "I have work to do."

  "You can work from my place."

  He shook his head. "I can't. I need my secure network."

  "Ours is secure."

  "For you. Not for me."

  Bridget eyed him for a moment before nodding her agreement. "If there are no complications, you can go home tomorrow evening. And just so you don't feel like you're wasting your time, we can work on our mutual project while you're staying with me."

  "Deal." He offered her his hand.

  When she clasped it, he pulled her to him, then grabbed the back of her neck and smashed his lips over hers.

  Bridget hadn't offered even a token resistance, going to him as if she was desperate for him. Climbing on the bed, she plastered herself to his front, careful not to push him to his back. Mindful of his injured back, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gently holding him to her as she licked into his mouth.

  Turner groaned, wanting more, but even holding her to him was painful. Every move of his arms put a strain on his back.

  After a moment, Bridget let go of his mouth and cupped his cheeks. "I shouldn't have done that. You're in pain."