by Brenna Lyons
As he worked, Keith pushed Kyle’s drawing of the jail cell aside. He stopped in mid-swipe, his eyes riveted on the sheet of paper. Something wasn’t right, but what? His breathing was strained as he turned it over to discover the source of the faint shadowing he could see between the white Formica and the white paper.
Keith groaned as he picked it up. Ty feared the jail cell. Kyle’s fear was on the other side. The scene was amateur but done in startling detail. Ty stood over a bleeding woman with black curls that could only be Katie. In the foreground, a hand held back a sweep of black that probably stood for Kyle’s curtain.
This was what Kyle saw. This was what he feared and what he wanted to tell Keith. Kyle had told him in the only way he could.
His stomach churned as he considered the drawing. Was this what Ty wanted in the end? Was this his plan? Keith shuddered at the thought and dropped the drawing into his lap. No. They were getting married and starting a family. Nothing, not even Ty, was going to stop that.
Mallory’s voice came from the doorway. “Seen the tiger?” she asked distractedly.
“Behind my desk,” he answered without looking up.
There was a short silence punctuated only by the swish of her skirt. “Ah. Here he is,” Mallory announced. A second silence followed. “Dr. Randall?”
He looked up, still mired in a mild form of shock. “Yes, Mallory? What is it?”
“Are you all right? Maybe you should pack it in for the day.”
“I think you’re right. I’ll be going home sick after I clean this mess up. Leave a note for housekeeping, will you?”
“Sure. I’m glad to see you’re being sensible,” she decided. She started to move toward the door.
“Mallory?”
She stopped and looked back with a quizzical expression.
“Did Kyle ask for the tiger or did Tasha?”
She furrowed her brow. “What do you think? Kyle did, of course. Why?”
“Never mind,” he whispered.
Mallory closed the door behind her, and Keith surveyed the mess he was cleaning in a cool, detached haze. His hands shook as he folded the drawing, not in fear but in anger. Ty wasn’t taking Katie away if he could help it.
The only thing he couldn’t figure out was whose side Kyle was on. Kyle was questioning. He was fighting, but was it enough? In a fight, if Kyle were free to choose, would he help Katie or Ty?
Keith tucked drawing in his back pocket and finished his cleaning. He dumped the paper towels in the trash and grabbed his jacket before heading for the door. He stopped suddenly and stared at his jacket. For just a moment, it looked as if it was ripped, shredded at the back, but it couldn’t be, could it? Katie explained the welts. Telekinesis wasn’t involved.
* * *
Katheryn shouldered her way into the house with several large shopping bags. An appetizing smell emanated from the kitchen, and she followed her nose to Keith. She leaned over his shoulder on tiptoe and planted a kiss softly on his jaw as she dropped the bags on the counter next to him.
“Mm. I think I’ve found Heaven,” he commented as he sank into her arms.
She ran her hands up his chest, pressing her body into his back and feeling his muscles move through his T-shirt. “Dress down. I like it.”
Keith sighed raggedly. “Not much choice,” he muttered as he peeled her hands away and turned to hug her.
“That’s right. Juice. What was with the juice?”
“I needed to shock Kyle away from Ty. I was desperate, and splashing sixteen ounces of ice-cold juice sounded like a good idea at the time.”
“If it worked—”
He nodded.
“Tell me what happened.”
Keith groaned. “Let’s eat first this time,” he pleaded. “We’ll starve if we keep talking before we eat.”
“All right. What’s for dinner?”
“My specialty. Hope you like spaghetti.”
“Ragu Homestyle?” she teased.
“You wound me. Prego,” he admitted.
Katheryn laughed. “Please tell me you put meat in the sauce to raise the nutritional value,” she begged.
“Sausage, sautéed onions and mushrooms sound good?”
“You’re learning. I’ll have you whipped into a cook in no time.”
Keith raised an eyebrow dubiously.
“Laura may be a good cook, but my incentive program is better.”
Dinner was actually much better than Katheryn anticipated, and she was honest enough to admit it.
It was Keith’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He grinned at her. “Heat and serve doesn’t necessarily mean substandard,” he assured her.
When he cleared the empty plates, Katheryn groaned. “I think I ate too much,” she complained.
“That’s okay. I know I did.” He dropped back into the chair next to her and stretched his bare feet out under the table, closing his eyes on a sigh.
“Don’t get too comfortable, buddy. We have a discussion to have.”
“Now?” he pleaded.
“Yes, now. Tell me. I was scared to death.”
“I know what they saw, now.”
“Who saw?”
He opened his eyes and regarded her miserably. “Peter and Monica.”
“And my mother?”
“If she had those welts, I’d guess so. It was scary enough to give me a coronary, let alone her.”
A sick swirl assaulted her. “I shouldn’t have eaten,” she decided.
“Sorry. I was trying to get food in you and settled first, but you insisted. Want to wait?” he invited.
“No. Tell me. I’d rather get it over with.”
“Well, it won’t be much of a surprise to you. You’ve seen the toy—alive.”
Katheryn nodded.
“Well, he does a pretty decent impression of a pissed-off tiger stalking a person, let me tell you.”
“Pissed off? Why?” she asked in confusion.
Keith darkened. “I went head to head. I was frustrated.”
Katheryn set her jaw and raised an eyebrow at him. “You did what?” she demanded.
“I was making headway with Kyle. That’s the good news. I think.”
“What kind of headway are you making?”
“If it’s not some sort of trick of Ty’s—but I don’t think it is.” He shook his head and seemed to get lost in consideration of some problem.
“Keith,” she warned.
“Kyle is questioning Ty. He’s afraid of him, and he’s strong enough to fight him with help.”
“Tell me,” Katheryn ordered excitedly.
“Kyle made the tiger disappear. Just for a moment, but he did it all on his own. He didn’t want Ty to attack me, so he tried to stop him. When he realized he wasn’t strong enough alone, he wanted to call you. Ty slammed the curtain down to keep him from doing that.”
“But, I felt him call,” she exclaimed. “He did it. I know he did.”
“After the juice,” he corrected her. “Ty’s curtain is slipping, but it’s still there and still quite a barrier for Kyle.”
Katheryn nodded uncertainly. “What makes you think it might be a trick?”
Keith shook his head in disgust. “He asked for the damned toy as he left. Honestly! I don’t know if it was him or Ty that asked, but—”
“I see your point. So, is it a trick to get make me think getting Kyle to change sides would be easy or is his hold really that tenuous? After all, he could be playing to my suspicions, or I could be right.”
“I’m still holding out for the idea that Kyle wants out. Just a gut feeling, but I think it’s accurate.”
Katheryn nodded and stretched her back. “Well, it’s something I’d rather not repeat.”
He nodded his agreement.
“I need to throw a load of laundry in. Anything specific you want included?”
“The clothes I wore today are hung over the shower bar. You do those and I’ll tackle the kitchen.”
Katheryn drop
ped a kiss on his lips and headed for the bedroom. She dropped the clothes over the bar into the Rubbermaid hamper, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell of apple juice and swinging the whole thing ahead of her down the stairs to the basement.
Using the top of the dryer to sort, Katheryn started dropping the dark clothes in the washer, checking pockets as she went. She smiled indulgently as she shoved a five-dollar bill in her front pocket. Keith was horrible about leaving things in his pockets when he took his clothes off. The five was probably change from lunch or parking or some other thing that never made it as far as his wallet.
She pulled the paper out of the back pocket of his Dockers and started to toss it aside onto the pile on the dryer. The buzzing in her fingertips reached her brain. Katheryn froze with the pants hovering over the drum of the washer and started at the folded crayon drawing. The buzzing seemed to intensify when she looked at it, coursing up her arm in a wild vibration.
Katheryn sucked in her breath and dropped the pants into the machine, the ones stained with apple juice, she vaguely noted. The laundry forgotten, she unfolded the drawing and looked at it in confusion. It was a jail cell. Katheryn sighed and pitched the paper toward the pile of light clothes as she grabbed the laundry detergent and started the load of darks.
“A jail cell? Why the hell would Keith save that?” she mused aloud. She’d have to ask him when she got back upstairs.
She dropped the lid on the washer as it started to agitate and reached to scoop the light clothes back into the hamper. She froze, her breath catching in her throat and snatched the drawing off of the pile of clothes. Katheryn flipped it several times. The back was a different picture, and it had landed with that side up. Keith didn’t save it for the jail cell. He saved it for the one of the back.
Katheryn fidgeted nervously from foot to foot. If this was what he was dealing with in his sessions, she was surprised he hadn’t walked away, from the sessions as much as from herself. The nervous buzz invaded the pit of her stomach. There was a story behind the drawings, and Katheryn had to know what it was.
She vaulted up the stairs toward the kitchen. Had she been paying closer attention, Katheryn might have realized something was wrong, but she was stuck on the drawing to the exclusion of all else.
Keith was at the sink. He seemed deep in thought, and the dishes lay forgotten.
“Keith,” she demanded with the drawing in her hand.
He wheeled around, and she stared at him in dawning understanding.
“Oh, no…”
Katheryn waited too long to react. His face screwed up in fury, and he lunged at her with her boning knife in hand. She scrambled backward, tripping over one of the kitchen chairs in the process and landing roughly on her back. For a moment, her mind locked on the knife in his hand in shock and amusement mixed. Keith never did know the difference between knives.
She shook herself mentally as he started toward her. Knives? What the hell was the matter with her? Who cared what knife he used if Keith managed to use it on her? Katheryn scrambled on her back toward the doorway, momentarily incapable of forming a plan and acting on it. He grabbed her by the waistband of her jeans to stop her retreat and dropped himself astride her. She watched the knife as it rose.
Finally, Katheryn snapped into action. She slammed the hand holding the drawing into his chest and concentrated a blast at Keith’s mind much like the one she used on Ty on the plateau. It was the mental equivalent of a slap across the face—or a punch, considering the way his head rocked back.
She held her breath and watched his reaction. Keith looked at her in dazed confusion that was clearing quickly.
He isn’t free yet. Katheryn ran her other hand up to his cheek and concentrated on breaking the tie she knew was there somewhere. His head rocked back again, as she felt his tether snap.
His eyes snapped open, and Keith looked at the knife in his hand in horror. “Oh, God,” he breathed as he threw it at the cabinets. “What have I done?”
* * *
Keith never felt the attack coming. One minute, he was washing dishes and the next—he was staring at the row of burning scratches in shock and confusion. He stared at the Siberian tiger blankly, and the paw lashed out, burning new trails. That time, Keith recoiled.
His hand landed on the knife on the countertop, and he pulled it up in front of him for protection. No more. His arm burned as if he had been branded, and Keith wasn’t about to accept any more of that particular pain.
The voice was in his mind suddenly. “Heal them. You know how to heal them, don’t you?”
Keith nodded in understanding, though his mind fought for the kernel of some other truth he knew existed but could not reach.
A sharp spike of pain silenced the nagging voice calling for that other truth. The claw marks burned with an unholy fire that Keith could suddenly see clearly. Orange-white flames burned under the skin of his arm, scattering rationality.
“Do it.” The voice barked out commands as if it never occurred to it that they would not be obeyed. “It will be cooling, the aloe of the gods. Try it.” The voice was crooning now, inviting.
Keith watched as his hand hovered over the fire. Something flashed silver before his eyes. Vaguely, the doctor in him tried to identify the thing he was holding, the thing that would bring cooling and healing.
The spike of pain assaulted him again. “The medicine. Good medicine.”
He nodded his agreement and moved the silver salve toward his arm.
The noise behind him startled and annoyed him, and Keith wheeled to face it. For just a moment, what he was seeing made no sense. Then, his vision cleared, and the tiger took shape before him, not Ty but one of his underlings. The tiger sat back on its haunches, its forepaws draped over the back of a chair. It was huge, almost as big as Keith was himself.
The voice whispered to him again. This was the tiger that would be allowed to kill him, and Keith launched at it in anger. The voice was his friend. He trusted the voice completely. He wasn’t dying this way.
The tiger jumped back out of his range and rolled when it lost its footing. Wasting no time, Keith grabbed a handful of the belly fur, threw himself onto it, and raised the knife to kill the tiger first.
When the blow to his head came, he wondered at who would want to protect such a creature as the man-eating beast beneath him. The tiger’s paws were on his chest and his face, and Keith steeled himself for the burning and ripping to come.
Instead, a snap akin to thick elastic hit him hard between the eyes. As his head rocked back, everything fell into place. Keith remembered it all and prayed that he was wrong in what he was remembering.
He opened his eyes and looked at Katie, trapped beneath him with a pale, frightened face. At the sight of the knife in his own hand, Keith bit back a wail. He threw the offending instrument across the room.
“Oh, God. What have I done?” he breathed in grief.
Keith scrambled off of her and dragged Katie to her knees. His hands roamed over her, searching frantically for injuries. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Please, God. Tell me I didn’t—”
She took his hand in her own and stared at his forearm mutely. While he watched, Katie traced one of the angry welts with shaking fingers—now just a tender, brush-burn feeling. She met his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to swallow back the tears running down her cheeks.
Keith removed his hand from hers and cupped her face with both hands. He kissed her cheeks, tasting the salt on his lips. “I’m sorry,” he soothed her. “I would never— You know I wouldn’t.”
Her hands flattened against his chest, and Keith was afraid she was going to push him away. Rather, Katie pushed her face through his hands to nestle her cheek next to them. He understood the silent plea instantly and wrapped his arms around her to hold her close to him.
Keith held her while she shook. That gave his mind plenty of time to come up with all the countless reasons Katie could use to walk away from him. How could he? She was the most impo
rtant thing in his life. How could he try to kill her?
Ty. His mind spat the name out with a promise of death.
“Yes, Ty,” she agreed miserably. “And I couldn’t protect you.”
He tightened his arms reflexively. “Don’t. Please don’t,” he pleaded with her. Keith wasn’t even worth that consideration right now, he argued. Besides, it was one more reason she could use to leave him.
Katie didn’t answer. Instead, she buried her face in his chest. He ran his hands through the tangle of curls that fell over her shoulders and back, and she murmured something into his body.
“What was that?” he asked quietly.
“Just arguing with myself. It’s okay.”
“About what?” His heart pounded.
“One drink before I kill him,” she admitted.
“No.” Keith shot out his response without any forethought.
“I know. It’s a bad idea.”
“No. I mean, I think we could both use a drink after that.”
Katie swiveled her head up and looked at him in confusion.
“The no was the idea of leaving this house tonight. We’ll have a drink, a shower, and go to bed. Tomorrow—” He swallowed hard at that.
She nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow—”
* * *
Katheryn reached her hand out to brush the ever-errant wisps of hair away from Keith’s forehead. When they finally got off the floor, the idea of a single drink seemed like a joke, so Katheryn mixed up a pitcher of Kamikaze in his one-quart Tupperware drink container instead.
She slammed back the first four-ounce glass in two gulps and met Keith’s shocked expression steadily. “Just one more,” she assured him. Katheryn nursed that one while she let the warmth and relaxation burn into her muscles and her soul. It still tasted as bad as it ever did, but Katheryn never drank for the taste of the stuff anyway. She drank for this, the numbness and the solitude. She remembered that now, the peace she got from a few good, strong drinks. For some reason, it seemed to pacify Tiberius.
On the other hand, Katheryn refilled Keith’s glass silently whenever it was close to empty. The unimportant conversation that was his ploy to distract her became her smokescreen to how much he had to drink.
