Touch Me Not

by Julie Kistler

  His powers were gone.

  “Check the room down the hall,” a different voice called out. “I looked at the ones on this side. Hey, Little Boy Nightshade, where are you?”

  “We gonna get you, wherever you hiding,” the first thug said in a singsong voice. He sounded familiar, like the guy from the alley maybe. “Hey, man, I like that picture in the hallway. Remind me to take that with me after I beat the crap out of pretty boy.”

  Luke almost laughed aloud. There were thugs in his house, threatening to beat the tar out of him, and he was euphoric.

  Because he could see, he could hear, he could smell—just like anybody else.

  But the gang of miscreants was getting closer, and he knew he had to put some kind of plan together. Because there was no way in hell he was going to lie there like a Christmas turkey and get beaten to a bloody pulp. Unfortunately, he had very few weapons at his disposal.

  He tensed, gathering the sheet around him, wishing he at least was wearing pants. Every movement was stiff and strange, every muscle ached, and he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. No outrunning, no overpowering. All he had were his wits.

  Well, he’d been here before, hadn’t he?

  Wearing the sheet, he rolled clumsily off the bed and closed his hand over the only thing on the dresser. A camera, of course.

  He had no time to think about strategy as the thugs came thundering down the hall. Dropping his sheet in front of the door, Luke slid behind the thick drapes at the window, close enough to see the intruders clearly, but hidden from their view. The first one had a dirty bandanna tied around his head, and he stood in the doorway, squinting into the dim room. “Where are you, pretty boy? You wouldn’t hide from me, now would you?”

  He got pushed aside when the other two—a tall, skinny guy with a bright yellow Mohawk and a big bruiser with bulging muscles—got stuck in the door together, each unwilling to let the other pass.

  Great. Other people got cold efficient gangsters who broke in, got the job done and took off. Luke got the Three Stooges.

  “Jeez, you guys can’t even come in a door right.” The leader of this grimy little band, the small one in the bandanna, motioned for the big lug to block the doorway. “Where are you, Nightshade?” He padded softly into the room. “Hiding under the bed or something? We know you’re in here. Come out nice and slow. We ain’t gonna hurt you. We just wanna play is all.”

  Luke seized the moment. It might not be perfect, but he couldn’t bet on getting a better one. Hopping out from behind the door, he focused his camera on the small guy, hitting the flash attachment and blinding him momentarily, and then he tossed the camera itself at Mohawk Man’s head.

  It connected with a satisfying thump. The big guy stayed in the doorway, looking wary. Luke dropped to his knees and jerked on the bedsheet, pulling the mountain of a man off his feet and on top of the other two.

  They would recover quickly, but by then, Luke planned to be safely ensconced in the secret passageway. As he pushed his aching muscles into a heroic leap over the top of the thugs, Luke just wished he’d had time to get some pants.

  THERE WERE no other cars in the driveway, and the house seemed quiet and dark.

  “Uncle Fitz? Aunt Abby?” Gilly whispered. “Is anyone here?”

  Stomp. Clunk.

  Someone was definitely there. And she had never heard Luke make that much noise in her life.

  “Hey, man, there’s all kinds of good stuff in this place,” a rough voice called from upstairs. “You should see this cool TV. And tons of camera stuff we could get some money for. I think we should forget about pretty boy and take the loot. He ain’t coming back, man.”

  “He’s here somewhere. Keep lookin’!” a more menacing voice yelled back.

  “Man, this place is deserted. He ain’t here.”

  “Keep lookin’!”

  Gilly put her finger to her lips to signal everyone for silence, as they all tiptoed in.

  “Be careful!” she whispered. “Tony, you and your mother stay here by the door. You’re our lookout.”

  “I’ll go this way!” Mr. Zamechnik announced, sneaking off to the back before Gilly had a chance to catch him.

  “You moron!” Mrs. Mooshman said, running after him.

  Gilly just watched them go, any hope of organizing this rescue party spinning down the drain.

  “You find Luke,” Suzette whispered. She grabbed a candlestick and hid behind the banister. “If anyone comes this way, I’ll brain ‘em!”

  “Okay. I guess.” Gilly began to creep up the stairs, but she stopped in midstep when the very audible sound of the garage door opening echoed throughout the house. Aunt Abby and Uncle Fitz. And not a moment too soon.

  “What was that?” the voice from upstairs demanded.

  “Man, I don’t know.”

  “Cops? Let’s blow.”

  Suddenly the sharp hiss of a whistle pierced the air. “You stop right there!” Mrs. Mooshman’s unmistakable voice cried. “I see you, you pervert!”

  There was the sound of running feet from one room to the next. Gilly raced up the steps in time to see Mrs. Mooshman blowing her whistle in the face of a very thin, black-leather-clad man with a bright yellow Mohawk. He looked scared to death. Or maybe he was in pain from the whistle blasting so close to his ear.

  “Stop that, you old bag!” He reached out to grab her just as Mr. Zamechnik tapped him on the shoulder from behind. The punk whirled, and Mr. Z sprayed a canister of mace in his face.

  “From the NOD Squad,” the old man said modestly.

  “Nicely done,” Gilly said admiringly.

  “We’ll tie him up and dump him in the front hall. But there’re at least two more,” Mrs. Mooshman announced, taking a moment to breathe. “Be careful.”

  “You, too.” But somehow Gilly was sure Mr. Z and Mrs. M would be just fine.

  She raced for Luke’s room. He wasn’t there. It was eerily quiet, considering the place had been totally trashed. The mattress had been half dragged off the bed, the curtains pulled down and piled in a heap, and the sensory-deprivation tank knocked off its pedestal and leaking a steady stream of water. One of Luke’s black bedsheets had been ripped to pieces.

  “Oh, my God! Luke? Luke?” Where could he be?

  And then she heard the knock coming from the back of the closet. “Gilly?” a strange, raspy voice called. “Is that you? The door is stuck from this side. Open it, will you?”

  Gilly leaped over to the closet, grabbed open the secret panel and darted in, almost tripping over Luke. He was naked and a little wobbly, and he had what looked like a whopper of a black eye, but he looked gorgeous to her.

  “Oh, God, Luke.” She pulled him into her arms and hugged the stuffing out of him. And then she caught herself and backed off quickly. “Are you okay? What happened to your eye? Did those animals do that? Did they do something to your voice, too?”

  “Gilly, um, could we…talk about this later?” he managed. “I need pants.”

  “You need pants?” She almost wept with relief, kissing him all over his face, careful to avoid his swollen, bruised eye. But as she kissed him, he slid down the wall, ending up in a sitting position. “Oh, I’m sorry! Does it hurt badly? Oh, God, Luke, they could’ve killed you!”

  But he shook his head. “I’m fine, Gilly. I got the black eye by accident. I ran into a door in the secret passage. It was dark. My powers are gone,” he said bluntly. “Otherwise I’m just very tired. Aftereffects, I think. But no more bionic boy. No more freak.”

  “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, but I’m sure we can sort this out later.” She joined him on the floor and hugged him again. “Bionic boy? Is that something to do with the Nightshade thing?”

  “Uh-huh.” He leaned against her, taking a deep breath, and she could hear that his voice was already getting better. “I’m moving a little slowly now, but I think I’m going to be fine. You don’t know what a relief this is—I can hear and see and smell, just
like anyone. The eye—it’s painful, but just like anyone else would feel. And I can make love to you, Gilly, any time I want.”

  His hands clasped her behind the head as he tried to maneuver her over for a kiss.

  “Now is not a good time,” she said with a laugh. “I thought all you wanted was some pants.”

  “I’m willing to negotiate.”

  “But you do some of your best work without pants.”

  He dipped her back onto the floor, pressing closer. “I know.”

  So she kissed him back, ignoring for the moment that he was naked, that he had a black eye, that they were in a secret passage, that there was a battle royal going on in the house around them. “I love you, Luke. If anything had happened to you…”

  His eyes become more serious. “I love you, too, Gilly. Always.”

  Her heart warmed, brimmed over. Okay, so she was still a little miffed at all the deception and subterfuge. And someday she would make him pay for that midnight visit when he haunted her dreams and stoked her desire and then left her flat. But right now she had better things to do.

  After just a few kisses, they both knew this would have to wait. He found some clothes, and then the two of them ventured out to check on the rest of the gang.

  As they hit the second-floor landing, a commotion exploded below them. Gilly stopped, leaning over to watch, as a huge man pounded into the hall, coming right up in front of the newel, where Suzette popped up and bonked him with her candlestick. As he wavered, staring stupidly, Uncle Fitz stomped in from the other direction and punched him in the gut, and Tony leaped onto his back, grabbing his hair and screaming in his ear.

  The man lurched this way and that, finally dropping to his knees with a thunderous roar. As Tony hopped off, the big thug toppled over onto his face, right next to the bound-and-gagged Mohawk guy, who had apparently been left there by Mrs. Mooshman.

  Then Tony, Suzette and Uncle Fitz exchanged high fives.

  “Come back here!” yelled Aunt Abby from the direction of the kitchen.

  Everybody else stood and watched as a smaller man wearing a bandanna barreled down the hallway with Abby in hot pursuit. The little creep saw the crowd ahead of him, stopped in his tracks, and Aunt Abigail caught up.

  “Take that!” she cried, giving him a roundhouse blow with her frying pan.

  Down he went, spinning and tumbling right on top of his comrades, all in a neat pile.

  And that, as they say, was that.

  Well, not quite. Just as the frying pan found its mark, Devon Drake stuck her head in the front door. “Gillian Quinn? Are you here?”

  Gilly waved her hand weakly from the second-floor landing.

  “Ms. Quinn, this very nice lady outside, a Mrs. Fielder, has been telling me that this whole attack was set up by the mayor. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is.” Still a little unsteady, but on his feet and looking mighty fine, Luke put his arm around Gilly. “All because of the casino project.”

  Aunt Abigail shrieked when she saw his eye, Uncle Fitz came racing up the stairs, and Gilly braced herself.

  But Luke waved them away. “We can fill you in on the details later,” he said coolly. “Right now, I need to go to bed for about twelve hours.” He paused. He sent Gilly a mischievous smile. “Gilly? Coming with me?”

  Suzette, Mrs. Fielder and Uncle Fitz laughed, Mrs. Mooshman put her hands over Tony’s ears, Aunt Abby gulped, the pile of burglars moaned, Devon Drake scribbled in her notebook, and Gilly blushed down to her toes.

  But she lifted her chin and met Luke’s blue blue gaze. “I think my place is a better idea. Yours is kind of a mess,” she said sweetly. “Are you game for a ride in Mr. Zamechnik’s Ford?”

  “Why don’t we take the limo?” He brushed her cheek with his lips. “Fitz can drive.”

  Gilly just smiled.

  “But, Ms. Quinn—what about the mayor? What about my story?” cried Devon Drake.

  “It can wait.” Gilly looped her arm through Luke’s and guided him down the steps as Devon continued to protest. “It can wait,” Gilly said more firmly. “After all, I have my priorities.”

  And she and the mysterious Nightshade walked out the front door into a bright white winter morning.

  Here’s a sneak peek at

  Carrie Alexander’s THE AMOROUS HEIRESS

  Available September 1997…

  “YOU’RE A VERY popular lady,” Jed Kelley observed . as Augustina closed the door on her suitors.

  She waved a hand. “Just two of a dozen.” Technically true since her grandmother had put her on the open market. “You’re not afraid of a little competition, are you?”

  “Competition?” He looked puzzled. “I thought the position was mine.”

  Augustina shook her head, smiling coyly. “You didn’t think Grandmother was the final arbiter of the decision, did you? I say a trial period is in order.” No matter that Jed Kelley had miraculously passed Grandmother’s muster, Augustina felt the need for a little propriety. But, on the other hand, she could be married before the summer was out and be free as a bird, with the added bonus of a husband it wouldn’t be all that difficult to learn to love.

  She got up the courage to reach for his hand, and then just like that, she—Miss Gussy Gutless Fairchild—was holding Jed Kelley’s hand. He looked down at their linked hands. “Of course, you don’t really know what sort of work I can do, do you?”

  A funny way to put it, she thought absently, cradling his call used hand between both of her own. “We can get to know each other, and then, if that works out…” she murmured. Wow. If she’d known what this arranged marriage thing was all about, she’d have been a supporter of Grandmother’s campaign from the start!

  “Are you a palm reader?” Jed asked gruffly. His voice was as raspy as sandpaper and it was rubbing her all the right ways, but the question flustered her. She dropped his hand.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem,” he said, “as long as I’m hired.”

  “Hired!” she scoffed. “What a way of putting it!”

  Jed folded his arms across his chest. “So we’re back to the trial period.”

  “Yes.” Augustina frowned and her gaze dropped to his work boots. Okay, so he wasn’t as well off as the majority of her suitors, but really, did he think she was going to pay him to marry her?

  “Fine, then.” He flipped her a wave and, speechless, she watched him leave. She was trembling all over like a malaria victim in a snowstorm, shot with hot charges and cold shivers until her brain was numb. This couldn’t be true. Fantasy men didn’t happen to nice girls like her.

  “Augustina?”

  Her grandmother’s voice intruded on Gussy’s privacy. “Ann. There you are. I see you met the new gardener?”

  eISBN 978-14592-6765-7

  TOUCH ME NOT

  Copyright © 1997 by Julie Kistler.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any Individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and In other countries.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

 
; Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Preview

  Copyright