01 Untouchable - Untouchable

by Lindsay Delagair

  He closed his eyes for a moment, “How’d you do?” he finally asked.

  “I knocked one out and Kevin knocked out the other.”

  “Kevin?” he questioned, reopening his eyes and looking at me as if I wasn’t serious.

  “Yeah, he jumped on her back and got her in the sleeper hold.”

  A big grin spread across his face, I could tell he was visualizing it. But then he frowned and looked serious again. “What were you doing near the men?”

  “I thought—I mean, you had—there were three guys on you! I couldn’t just stay back…”

  “You should have,” he snapped, his eyes suddenly livid and very alert. “People like that don’t play around. You could have been hurt.” He paused and suddenly looked very pained. “Or killed.”

  “You could have been hurt or killed,” I rebutted. “What was I supposed to do? Let that happen?”

  He looked at me very succinctly, “That would have been better.”

  I could feel my eyelids peel back as I looked at him and shook my head. “Evan Lewis, that was stupid! If you haven’t noticed, I have reasons why I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “There are reasons why you should,” he whispered and looked away.

  “Well, I didn’t have to fight one of the guys,” I continued, ignoring his idiotic statement.

  He turned back, his face filled with some emotion I couldn’t describe, “But you would have, wouldn’t you?”

  My own emotions were knotted up about throat level, ready any second to overflow. “I—I really like you, Evan, more than anyone I’ve ever met. I couldn’t stand by and watch you take on three guys.”

  His face was turning pale and a moment of agony filled his eyes. “We’ve got to go,” he whispered hoarsely.

  I looked at the rest of the group and it was obvious that everyone had decided it was time to head home. I said my good-byes, but at Evan’s urging, I waited until the last of the vehicles got on the bridge and started driving away.

  “I need you to drive me to my house, Leese.”

  I cringed inwardly, going to his house at one in the morning, alone just the two of us was way up there on my list of ‘not-good-ideas.’ “I don’t think that’s…”

  “That’s fine then—let’s get you home…” His face was becoming whiter.

  His right arm move slightly, and that’s when I saw the fresh red blood.

  “Oh my god, Evan! You’re bleeding!” I grabbed at his black tee-shirt, seeing the slice in the fabric. The material was wet and when I turned my hand over it was stained with blood. “I’ve got to get you to a hospital,” I said grabbing the shifter.

  “Leese,” he responded firmly, holding my hand in an iron grip. “I’m not going to a hospital.”

  “Oh, yes you…”

  “Annalisa,” he stressed, not allowing me to engage the car. “Take me to my house and I’ll see how bad it is.”

  “It’s bad enough. You’re bleeding all over the place.”

  “I don’t think it’s too deep. My lungs are fine,” he said, assessing his wounds. “Please,” he finally crooned. “I need to go home.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, “But if it’s bad, you’re going to either let me take you to the hospital or call an ambulance.”

  I could tell by the look he was giving me that there was no way he was going to the hospital, so when he agreed, I knew he was lying.

  “Turn left. My house is on the island.”

  I pulled into a drive that led down to a house on the beach. It was a single story Mediterranean-style home. He pulled out a clicker from the glove box and the garage opened and the light came on. It was a triple-car garage, but was completely devoid of anything inside. I drove in cautiously, but I couldn’t control my pulse when he hit the button for the door to close behind us. At that moment, I was scared—truly scared. It wasn’t the wound on his side that had me frightened, but somehow I had the feeling this is what he had been working toward all along. He and I were utterly and completely alone together.

  My hands were shaking as I turned off the key and went around the car to help him out. He already had the door open and I could see the pained expression on his face as he tried to stand. “Come on,” I whispered, slipping myself underneath his arm. He winced, but then I felt his weight as he leaned on me for help.

  He unlocked the door to the house, and we stepped into the dark interior.

  “Light switch—your side,” he croaked.

  I felt the wall until I touched the panel and the lights came on. The house was large and beautiful. We were walking into the area by the kitchen, and beyond that it opened into a great room. I could see a pool just outside the sliding doors. He put his keys on the granite counter top and was guiding me toward the hallway. Another light switch and I could see we were entering the master bedroom. I had this urge to slip out from under his arm and run, but I couldn’t do that to him. As much as I felt the need for self-preservation at that moment, I knew he needed me.

  Through the bedroom and into the master bath and I found the light switch. As we were bathed in florescent lights, I looked up into the face staring back at me in the mirror—it was of someone who was terrified.

  He let loose of my shoulder and grabbed a large black shaving case on the counter, unzipped it, and spilt the contents onto the vanity. It wasn’t what I expected to see. There were hypodermics, small vials, needles and stitching thread, a scalpel, scissors, alcohol and betadine pads, gauze wrap, pads and tape.

  “Jeez,” I uttered without thinking. “Does this happen often to you?”

  He gave a bitter laugh and looked at me in the mirror. “Go wait in the living room.”

  “No, I can help…”

  “Absolutely not,” he snapped, but then winced again in pain. I could tell he didn’t want to take his right arm away from his side.

  “Evan, you’ve got to let me help. You can barely stand up,” I said, gently pushing him to sit on the edge of the tub. He tried to resist but realized it would be easier if he sat down.

  I started to grasp his shirt, but he stoutly refused. “Leave!” He growled out the words so deeply that it sounded more like an animal than a human.

  I went down to my knees in front of him, grabbing the scissors as I did. “That tee-shirt is going to have to be cut off,” I whispered.

  His hand gripped mine, stopping me from what I was intent on doing. “I can’t let you do this,” he replied, softer this time with less growl.

  I looked at him for at least two or three seconds, just staring into that handsome face so filled with pain, anger and what appeared to be out-right fright. There was something he didn’t want me to see, and I had a feeling it wasn’t the cut on his side.

  “Evan,” I said in a whisper, “You’re gonna pass out in about two minutes if you try to do this yourself—then I’m just going to come right back in here and do it anyway. So you can either be conscious and let me help, or you can be out and let me help. It’s your choice.”

  He swallowed hard and released my hand. I pondered for a moment the best way to cut the shirt and then I realized I had to cut from the neckline out to the end of each sleeve to get it to drop and then once right up the center and he’d be out of it. My hand worked quickly to cut through the fabric, and within a matter of moments I was peeling it carefully from around his waist. I gave a gasp as the shirt hit the floor.

  The slice was about six inches long and appeared deepest toward the front. It wasn’t the gash that took my breath away, and neither was it the fact that his chest, abs and arms were so beautiful that I could have cried, but it was the other marks on his body that held me nearly frozen. He had a second gunshot scar along his left side, numerous scars that looked similar to the one he’d just obtained, and then I saw the tattoo. I must have looked like a wide-eyed child as my gaze met his. My fingers came up without thought as I reached out and touched the image of a chain and lock piercing across his heart with the word ‘Untouchable’ inscribed above it
.

  His hand met my fingers and held them there against his chest as he tried to say something that wouldn’t come out. Then he raised my hand to his mouth, closed his eyes and kissed my finger tips.

  Had it been any other situation, I think I would have been locked in the trance as he held my hand to his mouth. But no matter what questions, and worse, no matter what answers I got out of him tonight, I had to help him.

  I pulled away gently and dampened a washcloth. He didn’t say anything as I cleaned his side, wiping away the blood. Then I grabbed the betadine swabs and washed the edges of the wound. “I—I can’t do stitches,” I remarked softly. The slice had quit bleeding and seemed to be trying to congeal. He stood slowly and looked in the mirror.

  “We’ll use the glue,” he stated pointing to one of the small tubes on the counter. “Then we’ll bandage and tape it. Just do it exactly the way I tell you. And, Leese,” he said, causing me to look up at him. “Don’t glue yourself to me.” And then he smiled and sat back down. It was the first hint of humor I’d heard in a while.

  “Yeah, I can see where that could get awkward.” It felt good to finally smile.

  He explained how to match the edges of the wound and hold them carefully together as the glue was applied. It was amazing to see how quickly the glue held. It only took about two minutes for me to seal the cut. He then had me wipe it off again with antibacterial, place a thin strip of gauze over the slice and then he tore off and handed me three inch strips of tape to place vertically along the cut as he explained that the glue wasn’t really meant for such deep wounds, but it would work as long as the tape was able to keep the skin from stretching. Then it was a larger amount of gauze and then the wider tape around the perimeter to finish the job.

  He stood up, still wincing a little in discomfort, but his face looked like it had more color than when I began. I started picking up all the medical supplies and placing them back into the bag.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he whispered warmly against my hair.

  I was facing the sink as he stood beside me close enough to feel the heat coming from his bare chest. I looked into the mirror and realized that I was standing next to a man—there was no boy in him. His sleek arms reached out and wrapped around me, his mouth sought my neck as he began to kiss and caress my throat and shoulders.

  “Stay with me tonight, Leese,” came words so hot and determined they felt as if they had the power to actually take hold of me.

  I couldn’t think, though I know there were words tumbling around inside my head. By this point he turned me to face him as he pulled me hard against himself. His mouth moving toward mine, his fingers twining like lace at the sides of my waist and the only thing I could hear was the slamming of my heart against my chest.

  “N—n—no…” I was struggling to pull away, but his grip increased. “Stop it, Evan! I’ve got to go home.”

  The more I resisted, the stronger he became. His right hand came up to the base of my throat and was beginning to tighten. I wasn’t able to take in a breath. I knew how to stop him, but I didn’t want to do it; just one hit to the bandage on his right side and I’d be free. And then it happened. As I tried to free myself, my body went totally limp and he had to struggle to keep me from hitting the floor. My eyes fluttered. I could see the pain on his face as he tried to lower me slowly. There was a blackness that was blocking my sight and then nothing.

  When I came to, he was seated on the floor beside me, holding me. “Leese? Leese? Snap out of it. Are you okay?”

  I blinked a few times, not really sure where I was.

  “Leese, say something,” he pleaded.

  “I want to go home,” I mumbled.

  He took a deep breath and then moved the hair away from my face. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “What happened?” I asked, the fright of what occurred before everything went black returned.

  “I guess you passed-out, fainted—geez, you just went down like a rock. I thought I—I thought I killed you.” His face was contorted as if he was really torn at the moment as to what to do.

  The tears came up without any warning and spilled down my temples. “Please, Evan—don’t hurt me, please. Please, take me home.”

  “How did you know I was going to hurt you?” he asked, his fingers caressing my face as he held my head up with his left hand.

  “Because, for a minute, you weren’t Evan,” I sobbed. I pushed myself up on my elbows, forcing myself to get some function back in my legs. I rose from the floor and he rose with me.

  “This is crazy.” He was shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He walked into the bedroom, opened the dresser and grabbed a button down the front shirt. Then he went back to the dresser and slowly opened the top drawer. He reached inside but never withdrew his hand. He just kept shaking his head.

  “Evan?”

  He ignored me.

  I slipped quickly from the bathroom and headed for the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He didn’t sound anything like the guy I knew.

  “I’m going home.” My voice was quivering yet confident.

  “I can’t take you home,” he said, still standing at the dresser.

  “Then I’ll walk,” I stated and I stepped out from the room. The walk turned to a run as I entered the great room. Which way? The garage door was closed and I could see a keyed dead-bolt on the front door. It was either out through the pool area, which I didn’t know where I’d end up, or grab his keys and try for the front door before he caught me. I dashed to the counter where he’d set his keys. I’d just wrapped my fingers around them when he stepped into the great room.

  He was straightening his collar and buttoning the shirt so nonchalantly, he looked like he was getting ready for a dinner date. He looked at me and smiled, “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  And that was when the idea hit me. I turned and grabbed the door to the garage. I could hear the sound of him as he started to run for me from across the room. I slammed the door and fumbled my way to the car in the darkness. I found the handle and the light inside came on just as the door to the kitchen opened, sending a shaft of light into the void. I jumped inside and hit the automatic door locks. Opening the glove box and scattering the contents, I pressed the button to open the garage. The lights in the garage came on as the door began to rise.

  He was at the driver’s door as I struggled to make the key fit in the ignition.

  “OPEN THE DOOR, LEESE!”

  The car cranked. I saw his fist draw back getting ready to smash out the window when I found reverse and burned the tires backwards out the not fully open garage door. I heard the roof of the car scrape, but I didn’t care. I floored it backwards until I hit the road. Spinning at a forty-five degree angle, I hit all six gears within six seconds and was traveling more than seventy miles per hour.

  I crossed the bridge, sobbing and crying, feeling like my heart had been ripped completely out of my chest. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with me? Did I do something to turn him into an animal? What was going to happen? Would he get a taxi and be at my house soon? Dear God in heaven, I cried, he knows too much about me. I may have just become that little thing that would send my mother over the edge.

  It was two thirty in the morning as I cut the lights and parked on the street just before the driveway to Matt and Bev’s house. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and realized I was a wreck. I didn’t know if anyone was waiting up for me, but I couldn’t go in like this. I dug for my small purse in all the clutter that had fallen from the glove compartment. I found it and opened it up on the passenger’s seat, searching for my hair brush. I quickly pulled it through my hair, grabbed a tissue and dabbed my eyes, wiping away the mascara. I moved past my wallet and cell phone to find my tinted lip gloss in the bottom of my bag. I put a little on and checked myself in the mirror one more time. My eyes were still wild, like I’d been on drugs.

  “Calm down,
Leese,” I said aloud. “Pull it together and get inside.” I was grabbing up my things when something caught my eye. It was the registration slip for Evan’s car. I picked it up and stared at it recognizing something was wrong. The registration was for a Nissan 370Z, but it wasn’t registered to Evan Lewis. It belonged to a Micah Gavarreen. The car didn’t belong to him? No wonder he was so concerned about me wrecking it.

  Headlights turned onto our street and my heart felt like it instantly exploded. I ducked in the seat, fully expecting the car to stop and I would be trapped, but to my relief, it continued and turned left at the next corner.

  I had dug around so much in my purse that I couldn’t find my house keys. I finally turned it over and they tumbled out. I quickly stuffed my purse full and stepped out into the street. There was a light on in the living room. I tip-toed up the steps and slowly unlocked the door; no one was waiting. I locked the door and slipped off my shoes as I moved silently to my room. I set everything down, feeling like I could finally take a breath—a real breath—one where my lungs actually moved.

  I needed a shower badly, but it was like one of those stupid horror movies coming back to mind. Do you take a shower when you are being chased by a deranged killer? I was sure that Evan wasn’t a deranged killer, but I had definitely done something tonight to cause his male libido to replace his brain.

  I felt the urge to double check that I had locked the front door, and then the urge to check the back door. I was really starting to feel like I was flipping out. Every door was locked. I peeked on Kimmy and she was sleeping peacefully. I went back to my room to get my pajamas and my towel. I couldn’t put my clothes in the bathroom hamper because my jacket and shirt both had blood on them—that would freak out Bev, for sure. I would undress in my room and then wash my clothes tomorrow—or throw them away if the blood didn’t come out.

  I started to undress when I decided my window blinds could be closed just a little bit tighter, but when I went to pull the chain I noticed my window lock was open. I never opened these windows. How did one of my windows get unlocked? My mind drifted back to what seemed like an eternity ago when Evan was walking around in my room. Would he have done that? I locked the window, my head beginning to pound from all the questions. I undressed and headed for the shower.