Chosen (Second Sight)

by Hunter, Hazel

  Mac stopped listening as the road up ahead disappeared.

  He hit the brakes and turned into the skid. The road slid into view. A hairpin turn.

  “Come on,” he muttered, the wheel shuddering in his fists, the momentum of the car slowly tipping it. “Come on,” he said, easing off the brake, backing off the turn. The driver’s side was tilting upward. There were only two wheels on the pavement. The double yellow divider passed through the headlights and he jerked the wheel hard, straightening it out as the car landed with a thud, four wheels on the pavement.

  “Twelve one-thousand,” Isabelle yelled and she kept counting. “Count with me, Kayla. Fourteen one-thousand. Fifteen…”

  “One-thousand,” Kayla managed to get out. “Sixteen one-thousand!”

  “You’re doing great,” Isabelle said, as Mac swerved hard into the next corner. “The baby’s not coming…” Isabelle said as her shoulder hit Mac’s seat. “…for hours.”

  Kayla kept counting.

  “Breathe now,” Isabelle said, as the tires squealed and she pushed away from the seat. “Eighteen one-thousand.”

  Mac needed to get to the phone but there was no way he was going to take his hand off the wheel. He swerved again, leaning into the curve, crossing the yellow line, just as headlights flared to life up ahead. He jerked the wheel right. His rear view mirror clipped the other car as its horn blared, only to fade quickly behind them. He steered into the next turn, tires screeching.

  Back and forth, curve after curve, they hurtled down the canyon toward the bright lights of the valley far below. He hadn’t had to step on the gas for at least a mile but as the road rose up in front, he gunned the engine again.

  “Two-hundred!” Kayla screamed.

  “Good!” Isabelle yelled as another contraction claimed Kayla’s voice. “Two-hundred seconds between. Start again! One one-thousand. Doing good!”

  The twists and turns didn’t seem to end.

  “Mac,” Isabelle said.

  “I know,” he said.

  Two-hundred seconds, barely more than two minutes. The contractions were coming fast. They weren’t going to make it to a hospital. He grabbed the phone between his legs. Took his foot off the gas. He raised the phone up to the windshield so he didn’t take his eyes from the road. Quickly, he dialed 911. Gripping both the phone and steering wheel, they skidded into another turn.

  “I have to push!” Kayla shrieked.

  “Then push!” Isabelle said. “You’re doing great, Kayla. Go ahead and push.”

  Mac saw the 911 call go through just as the phone slipped from his grip. He just had time to straighten out the wheel before the next turn. Then he reversed direction.

  “This is an emergency,” he yelled. “I’ve dropped the phone and I can’t hear you.” He hit the brakes as the car leaned into the shallow bank of a wide turn. Another car passed them on its way up and didn’t kill the high beams in time. Mac could barely see. “We’re having a baby in the car and I need medical support. I’m heading…” he jerked the wheel to the left and heard the right fender grind against the metal emergency railing. Sparks flew into the black night and disappeared over a precipice. “…north, in a Toyota Camry, on Topanga Canyon. I say again, I have a baby being born in the back seat and I’m heading north on Topanga Canyon in a gray Toyota Camry. We need an ambulance.”

  Mac had no idea if he could be heard.

  “Forty-five one thousand,” Isabelle said, as Kayla finished her push. “Good, Kayla. Doing great,” Isabelle panted. “I’m going to check you.”

  Though it seemed like the turns would never end, the road up ahead looked level, the turns wider.

  Is that cross-traffic up ahead?

  “Help me out, Kayla,” Isabelle said. Mac hit the gas. “Separate your knees.” Mac could no longer see Isabelle. She must be off to the side. “Separate your…okay! Good!”

  That was a traffic light up ahead. Green turning yellow. Mac gunned it.

  “I see the head,” Isabelle said. “The top of the head, Kayla! I see it!”

  “Oh god!” Kayla wailed.

  “Your baby’s here,” Isabelle said.

  The light turned red. Cross-traffic began to move. Mac laid on the horn and barreled through. But someone must not have heard. Mac yanked the wheel. Tires squealed from every direction. Glass shattered–the right headlight–and the car lurched sideways but, as he yanked in the opposite direction, it straightened out.

  He glanced into the side view mirror and, to his shock, the red Volvo followed him through the intersection.

  “Push!” Isabelle yelled but her voice was drowned out by Kayla’s scream.

  Mac dodged the slower traffic around him. Up ahead, freeway traffic streamed left and right on the overpass. Suddenly, flashing red lights illuminated the underside of the cement. It was an ambulance and, behind it, a black and white! He couldn’t hear the sirens but Mac hit the brakes. He skid sideways into the empty median, Isabelle’s door facing them.

  The car had yet to come to a stop but Mac yanked up on the parking brake and killed the engine. As the car vibrated and shuddered, coming finally to rest, Mac jumped out of his door. Finally he heard the sirens and the smell of burnt rubber filled his nose. He raced to Isabelle’s door, pulled it open, and crouched, ready to catch her.

  But she wasn’t there.

  Instead, Mac found himself staring at the bloody back seat and the dirty soles of Kayla’s feet. Her hospital gown was drenched and lay flopping between her thighs. Isabelle had wedged herself between the back seat and the driver’s seat and was holding up Kayla’s head. Mac nearly grabbed Kayla and drug her out when he saw the umbilical. The curled cord of flesh tugged at the gown, vibrating, dripping and, he finally realized, led up to Kayla’s chest.

  And there, a tiny body lay quivering, covered with blood and something white, little hands and feet wavering in the air. It was slick and pale, wrinkled and puffy-faced–and the most incredible thing Mac had ever seen.

  The tiny mouth gaped open in an almost perfect “O” and, with eyes squeezed shut, it cried.

  Kayla’s hands gently gathered the tiny being to her chest.

  “It’s a boy,” Isabelle whispered and Mac finally looked at her, as she turned her tear-stained, ecstatic, and amazed face to him. “It’s a boy.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Geoffrey had never seen Maurice like this. Not even when he’d abandoned the clinic. Shooting a gun in the air? Shooting at people for godsakes? Chasing someone outside the commune? Geoffrey was glad the Jeep had never even caught sight of her. What were they going to do if they caught her? As it was, the gunshots had roused nearly everybody. It’d taken him the better part of an hour to get them to go back to their beds. Coyotes, he’d said. Keep the little ones indoors.

  Maurice sat on the floor next to the bar with the bottle of vodka. The moment Geoffrey had discovered him, he’d ordered the guards out.

  “So her mother came and got her,” Geoffrey said. “So what? It’s not the first time.”

  Maurice finished a swig from the bottle and set it down hard on the floor next to him.

  “Leave it to my half-witted brother,” he said, slurring a little.

  Geoffrey instantly bristled but Maurice was in a dangerous mood. So Geoffrey did what he always did when he was unsure. He waited.

  “Well, how did mommy know where she was?” Maurice asked. “We’ve never had an outsider at the birthing building, have we?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “No, we haven’t. And how did she overpower the guard there?” Maurice took another swallow and let the bottle slam into the floor with a sloshy thunk. “I know. She just walked up and asked him to take his clothes off.”

  “She was…determined,” Geoffrey said, staring at Maurice.

  Why was he taking this so hard? It was one child. One of dozens. Let it go.

  Maurice laughed–a quiet, mirthless laugh that sent a shiver down Geoffrey’s spine.

  “Change is hard,” Maurice whisper
ed, nodding a little, his head tipping forward too much. “No one knows that more than me.” He slowly shook his head, the anger switching to sorrow too quickly. “I just don’t think I can do that again.”

  Do what again? What is he talking about?

  “Well,” Maurice said, slowly pushing to his feet. Geoffrey tried to help him up but Maurice shoved him away, dropped the bottle with a crash of shattered glass, and slumped against the bar. “What’s done is done.”

  Then he leaned over the sink and threw up.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Isabelle watched Mac struggle with the t-shirt for a few moments. How he’d ever got it on, she didn’t know. Though she hadn’t bothered to change out of the purple scrubs, she’d switched the bloody, latex gloves for her own at the hospital.

  “Maybe I should just get a pair of scissors,” she said, grinning. “Although,” she said, stepping around the bed toward him. “It’s a good look for you.”

  The tight, thin fabric had left nothing to the imagination, the material stretched tight as a drum between his pecs. The sleeves didn’t even reach the bottom of his bulging biceps. After the commotion had died down at the hospital, Isabelle had noticed the way that Mac had been noticed. Not a single woman had failed to take at least a little look.

  He paused, grinning at her as she stepped into his embrace. But then his gaze shifted downward and he scowled. She had to look down as well.

  Though the scrubs were stained, Isabelle had purposely left them on. From the moment the ambulance had arrived to when they’d left Susan with Kayla at the hospital, everyone had assumed she was a nurse. After all, she’d delivered a baby–a new life. And the glow of that little miracle was something she didn’t want to fade.

  “Earth to Isabelle,” Mac said quietly.

  She had to laugh.

  “Cloud nine to Mac,” she answered, looking up at him.

  He grinned and hugged her tighter.

  “You know you were wonderful,” he said.

  Her face and ears flushed hot.

  “My part was easy,” she said. “I practically just caught him.”

  “Not just the baby,” Mac said. “But Darren too. Kayla might still be at the commune if not for him.”

  “Oh my god,” Isabelle muttered, gripping Mac’s waist. “Darren. Do you think he’s all right?”

  “I think he’ll be fine,” Mac said nodding. “He’s a smart kid. Besides, we haven’t seen the last of him.”

  “We haven’t?”

  “If the Green Earth Commune uses legal firearms on their own property,” Mac said, “the Bureau can’t object. But, if they keep people there against their will, people like Kayla, and threaten her life with those guns? That’s something the Bureau can do something about.” He smiled down at her. “We’ll see Darren again.”

  “Does Ben want you to go back?” she asked.

  “Not Ben,” Mac said, his smile fading. He cleared his throat. “Scanlon. He’s my new boss. I got the transfer.”

  “Mac!” Isabelle said, hugging him. “That’s great!”

  Though he hugged her back, it wasn’t much of a hug.

  “Is it?” he asked.

  She quickly drew back from him and looked up into his serious face.

  “Of course it is,” she said.

  He nodded a little though he didn’t smile.

  She took her arms from around his waist and stepped back. Though surprised, he let her go. She went to the nightstand that Mac usually used and pulled open the big drawer on the bottom.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  It’d been years since she’d seen it but she knew it was in this drawer. She rummaged around in the bottom and heard it sliding around. Finally her gloved fingers found it and she managed to pry it off the flat bottom of the drawer. As she stood and turned back to Mac, she held it up between them–a key to her apartment.

  “The manager gave me two,” she said, coming closer.

  Though he stared at it, Mac shook his head.

  “Isabelle,” he said. “It’s been…quite the day. Maybe you should think about this.”

  “I’m done with that,” she said, picking up his hand and placing the key in it. “Sometimes my brain gets in the way. This is what my heart says.”

  She closed his fingers over it.

  He gazed down at their hands together for a few moments and then stared into her eyes. The serious look on his face only deepened and, for a moment, she thought he might give the key back. She held her breath. Finally, though, he laid his other hand over hers.

  “I can hardly argue with that,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “It’d be like arguing with my own heart.”

  Mac’s steady gaze froze her in place. Though she knew she must be gaping, she couldn’t stop. The look on his face–it was…unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  In his eyes, there was passion so fierce and so unmistakable that her breath caught. Yearning so strong, her skin tingled. Her pulse raced as the unblinking intensity in his eyes burned into hers, as real as any fire. And, as though they had actually been touched by heat, her eyes stung and she found her vision blurred with tears.

  • • • • •

  Though Isabelle’s face still looked troubled and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, Mac was never more sure of anything in his life.

  He lifted the scrub top from the bottom and, as Isabelle lifted her arms, he easily pulled it up. As it cleared her head, she shook out her long, silky hair and he let the garment drop to the floor. She undid the buttons on his jeans as he tugged loose the drawstring of her pants and slid them down over her hips. He yanked the tight t-shirt off, over his head.

  They were on the verge of something.

  Mac could feel it. Like crossing into unknown territory but–she pushed his jeans and briefs down and they fell to the floor–he knew they were ready.

  He ran his fingers through her dark, satiny hair. It was cool and silky, draping down her neck and over her shoulder. He touched the delicate curve at the nape of her neck, smoothed his fingertips along her collar bone, and realized she had goosebumps.

  The night air had become brisk.

  “Here,” he said lowly, leading her to the bed.

  He flipped back the covers and carefully set the key on the nightstand.

  She scooted between the sheets and he followed her, drawing the linens and blankets over them both. The fabric was chilly to the touch and Isabelle curled into his chest.

  He loved this about her–the way she effortlessly melded her body to his. They fit together but, more than that, they belonged together. Though his arousal probed forward against her tummy, she snuggled close. As he rubbed her back, her breasts pressed softly against him. Though his body was more than ready to respond, he forced himself to go slow.

  This is only the beginning. We have all the time in the world.

  Isabelle seemed to relax as the heat that radiated from him warmed her. He brushed back several fine strands of hair from her neck. Just beneath the skin, he saw her jugular rhythmically pulse. Slowly, he lowered his face to her neck and, ever so lightly, he placed his lips on the pulsing vein.

  He closed his eyes to the feel of her life throbbing against his mouth. Her skin had the smoothness of cream and his tongue slipped forward to taste it. With a long and lingering kiss, he savored the sweet taste of her. His tongue traced a short line along the pulsing in her neck and he kissed her again.

  Her soft, warm sigh whispered against his chest.

  His mouth moved lower, tenderly sampling her, as his fingers released the bra clasp at her back. His tongue lapped slowly along her collar bone and he gently rolled her to her back. Under the covers, he couldn’t see her slender body but his fingers lightly traced its contours–around the curve of her waist, slowly up her ribs, and finally to the incredibly soft swell of her breast. He scooped the warm flesh in his palm, caressing it.

  Her long, breathy inhale accompanied a slow arching of her back. As he sco
oted lower under the sheets, he nuzzled behind her ear. For a moment, she seemed to freeze but her head slowly turned away from him to allow him more access. As his hand moved to her other breast and gently squeezed, he nibbled her ear lobe.

  Slowly his thumb drifted across her delicate and dimpled nipple. Again, Isabelle’s back slowly arched as he reveled in the luxurious feel of the tip of her breast. It was like velvet and, despite knowing how sensitive she was, he couldn’t help but fondle it. His fingers circled it and rubbed it and it swelled in his grasp. The tiny nub of its center emerged and, as he gently kneaded it, Isabelle gasped.

  Mac let her earlobe tug free of his lips, settled them on her neck, and lightly sucked. Though her breast quivered in his hand, he let it go, tracing his index finger down the center of her chest, down into the hollow of her abdomen, and then the tiny dip of her belly button.

  But he didn’t pause. His mouth sucked harder on the skin of her neck, the flesh beneath it tensing now, and her breathing becoming deeper. His index finger ran down the center of her abdomen, over the fabric of her panties, and past the downy cushion of her mound.

  Rather than arch her back, Isabelle tipped her hips upward, pushing into his hand. Mac smiled against her throat, letting her ride higher, his fingers poised just over her entrance. But as her legs spread in anticipation, he slowly squeezed.

  • • • • •

  At Mac’s touch, warmth flooded into her entrance and Isabelle couldn’t help but squirm. She tried to stay in contact with him, feel the pressure of his hand on her sweet spot, but her hips needed to move. And rather than slake the need that was coiling inside, she managed to rub herself against him, and wind the tension higher.

  “Mac,” she whispered breathlessly.

  Her hand flew to her side and immediately found his arousal.

  The gloves.

  Mac hissed against her throat and his fingers pushed into her entrance. Her hips surged upward as she squeezed and stroked his iron-hard flesh.