by S. M. Butler
“Call if you need me. And, Ysabeau, for the love of all that is holy, don’t get too close to that man!”
Ysabeau pushed Deo out the door.
Bringing the cool cloth to the American, she wondered how she could heal a man and not touch him. She couldn’t listen to Deo. She had to make him better so he could save all of Ysabeau’s patients. Starting with sweet little Talitha.
Chapter Four
‡
January 6, 2010. Six Days…
Consciousness slipped through Luke’s fingers. It was a slow-motion fall into darkness, splintered with pain. The only saving grace? He wasn’t alone. The lullaby woman hovered over him, administering to his needs, keeping him safe. She had soft, cool hands that felt good on his skin. Part of him wanted her to bite his ass again so he could drift away without pain.
The other part of him knew his daughter needed him. “Help me.” He struggled to sit up.
“You’re safe here.” Lullaby woman placed a cool cloth on his forehead. She gave him something to drink that smelled like papayas.
“I need…” His tongue felt thick, his thoughts disjointed. “I have to…” He couldn’t quite remember what he needed. Pain shot through his body like a cannon, nearly taking off his head. He moaned in agony.
“You’re in a lot of pain. This will help.” Something bit his butt-cheek again. “Do you remember why you came here?”
He frowned. “Here?” He had no idea where he was or how he got here.
“Port-au-Prince, Haiti.”
Blinking, he tried to make sense of her blurry, blurry face. Warmth was spreading from his hip through his veins. The pain was easing back and making a mess of his comprehension skills. What was the question again?
“You came to the clinic. Remember?” she went on.
“Close…clinic,” he slurred.
“Is that why the Guardians sent you here? To close the clinic?” The lullaby voice was suddenly too loud. It hurt his head.
“I need…to…call.”
“I’m sure you do, but the Guardians can wait a while. At least until the results are better.”
He didn’t have the strength to frown. Pain killers were swimming in his brain.
“You’re sweating. I’ll get you another cool cloth. Lie back, rest.”
He sensed her rise and walk away. She was mad, but he couldn’t work out why. His thoughts were mush, and sleep was pulling him under.
Giving in, he settled back down. A low noise rumbled through his sleepy brain. He didn’t have time to register that the sound was coming from him. He snored.
*
Ysabeau stared out her living room window, her insides shaking like an Ason rattle. A boy rode by on his bike, a blur she barely saw through the haze of her own torment.
Why’d I trust the Guardians? A secret philanthropic group? I should’ve seen this coming.
Yet she didn’t. She had handed the Guardians every ounce of faith she possessed, trusting them to help her because they were the only ones willing to fund her trial. Her only hope.
She glanced over her shoulder at the man snoring on her couch. “Close…clinic,” he’d said.
And just like that, mysterious men miles away from Port-au-Prince crushed her faith and hope in their invisible hands. Her patients’ lives were nothing more than dust, soon to be swept under the rug. It felt like she’d jumped into bed with murderers.
She rushed to the bathroom and vomited.
When she’d gotten herself under control, Ysabeau walked back to the living room and sat on the edge of her coffee table. She watched the American while he slept. What kind of a man would do what he did for a living? The Guardians paid his salary just as they paid hers. How would he feel if she traveled to America to destroy him? And killed eighty innocent lives while she was at it?
Narrowing her eyes at him, she whispered, “Not this time, Guardian. I will stop you. Count on it.”
His bruised face contorted in pain. Nightmares? Did her dying patients haunt his dreams too? She hoped so.
Leaning closer, she was surprised to feel her pulse quicken, just as it had every time she’d gotten too close. Deolina was right; evil was handsome. Even with a swollen face, it was easy to see that he was one of those ruggedly beautiful men. Too bad he had no heart. Or soul. She shook her head. It was as if Baron La Croix, the sexy Spirit of Death, was lying on her couch. Was that what Deolina was so afraid of—falling under the spell of a Loa who teased humans with sexual delights until they died?
As if she could be that lucky.
She sighed. She hadn’t been romantically involved with a man in…huh. She struggled to remember the last date she’d had. It had to be more than two years ago. Even if she could get past what happened with the bad man, who had the time to date? The clinic took all her passion and energies. It was her life, her great love. No, she didn’t need a man to give her happiness—she frowned at the Guardian—just funding.
But there were times, like now, when the burdens she carried threatened to drive her straight into the ground. She wished she had a man to ease her pain, make her swoon with pleasure, and laugh with. How nice it would be to have someone to come home to.
The man on the couch tossed. Sexy Loa? Hardly, he was just another handsome man determined to hurt her. Her mind flashed on the bad man. No. She slammed those memories shut. She didn’t think about him…ever.
Thrashing in his sleep, the American entangled himself in the afghan Grann had knit for her sixteenth birthday. She reached out to keep him from falling off her couch and held onto his bare arms a beat longer than she should. The heat from his skin warmed her palms and sent a ridiculous zing to her core. A hiss escaped her lips, and she let go. She had no business having any sort of chemical reaction to this man.
Well, that proves it. I need to start dating again. When this medical trial is over… She swallowed hard. It could be sooner than she ever thought possible.
The man jerked as if he was running to catch someone. He made a strangled cry. She reached out to touch his face and pulled back a tear. The wet crystal on the tip of her finger took her breath away. What sort of evil man cried in his sleep?
“Please, don’t go!” he said in a voice choked with grief and loneliness.
Ysabeau knew he wasn’t talking to her, or dreaming about being attacked in the alley. This was a far deeper pain. Her heart thawed around the edges. The Guardian’s dreams sounded an awful lot like hers.
She said softly, “You’re not alone.”
“Soli!” He cried out.
“Shh.” Ysabeau wiped his brow with the cloth and tried to console him. At that moment she saw something she’d never seen before.
His aura was all wrong.
Ysabeau didn’t have visions like Deolina did, or read Tarot cards like Grann could. Her talent was small and limited. Grann had taught her to see auras, the hazy colors projected by all living creatures. Calling it “a person’s halo,” Grann swore you could “see” a man’s insides by studying the halo on his outside. Auras, like rainbows, were varying shades of multiple colors, but the true nature of a person usually presented itself to her in a single dominate color.
The deep red glow framing the Guardian’s body was not unusual. People with red auras were strong and courageous. All the reds she had ever met were men who lived in solid, concrete worlds. Some of them were soldiers. Brave heroes. None of them accepted the spiritual realm or believed in halos. She wasn’t surprised that this man who tried to single-handedly fight off four gang members had a red halo.
That would have been normal.
Flashing over the red glow like a hot flame was an unmistakable electric blue. Decidedly not normal. A dark blue aura normally came from a nurturing, loving person with a deeply spiritual soul. Ysabeau had seen plenty of blue auras from the nurses she worked with and spiritual leaders like Gran. All had suffered great loss and personal tragedies and yet still gave of themselves for others. None of them had demonstrated electric blue f
lames like this one.
No, a blue aura from this man didn’t match him. One aura stacking over another, especially the very rare electric blue? Very strange. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.
Ysabeau swallowed hard.
Deolina saw danger in this man’s future, and it had scared her enough to contact Gran, even though the two of them had agreed, (in Deolina’s words) “to stay the hell away from each other for the safety of all souls, living and dead, in Haiti and beyond.” If the two of them were conspiring to protect her from this guy then…fear prickled up her spine…He’s trouble.
But she had to keep him close, didn’t she? The lives of her patients depended on her, and she depended on him. Gently, she touched the lump on his head, and let her finger trail down his cheek to his full lips. It had been so long since she had kissed a man. So very long.
She realized what she was doing and snatched her hand away.
Deolina was right. She should run.
Chapter Five
‡
January 8, 2010. Four Days…
Luke’s eyes opened. Well, at least the left one did; the right was swollen shut. His head hurt like a sonofabitch. Gingerly, he reached up and touched a sore lump poking out of his temple. He’d grown a horn overnight. When he moved, his ribs screamed with pain.
Gently, he fingered the wrap around his middle. Were his ribs broken? Had they punctured a lung? To find out, he breathed a little deeper and concluded that his lungs were okay. From past experience, he knew his ribs would heal too. He let out a slow breath. He was alive.
The good eye surveyed his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. The room was dark, but not pitch-black. Moonlight? No, make it light from a streetlamp, filtered in through a lacy curtain. His eyes—rather eye—adjusted to the shapes in the room, bringing them into focus.
He was lying on a couch with a knit multi-colored blanket wrapped around him. By the couch was a substantial table, a real toe-breaker if he got up in the middle of the night and forgot it was there. Next to the table was a high-backed chair, probably wicker, filled with…
Luke squinted his eye. Someone was curled up and asleep on that wicker chair. Lullaby woman? The light from the streetlamp dripped across her face. Without moving his battered body, he studied her. That was no woman. He was one-eyeing an angel in a white tank top and shorts. Her blanket had slipped off and fallen to the floor. If he had more strength and could actually feel his legs, he’d get up and cover her.
The angel rested her head on one slender arm. Her dark hair was short and thick. He took a guess at what color her eyes were under the shadows of her long lashes. Even from here, he could see that her skin was flawless and smooth. A flashback of those cool hands on his hot cheeks brought a momentary lapse of craziness. What would she do if he hobbled over there and cupped her cheeks in his hands? Would her skin be as soft as it looked?
He really was crazy. Was the angel a hallucination?
She made a cooing sound in her sleep, and he knew he couldn’t make up something that amazing. Not even in his dreams. It was comforting having lullaby woman nearby. In the morning he would talk to her and find out where in the hell he was.
For now, exhaustion and pain were swamping him. He needed sleep.
*
Mid-morning Ysabeau got up and checked on her patient. The American was sleeping soundly. Quietly, she tiptoed into the kitchen and got his medication, a glass of water, and a stethoscope she’d brought home from the clinic.
Sitting on the edge of her coffee table, she gently lifted his arm and checked his pulse. It was strong and slow. Perfect. She warmed the end of the stethoscope in her palm before pressing it to his bare chest. His breath sounds were good. Clear. His heart was strong and…picking up speed…lots of speed.
Glancing up, she saw that the American was studying her.
She swallowed loudly. “Bonjou?”
He didn’t say a word. His gaze slowly raked over her until his eyes met hers.
“I’m Dr. Morno.” She cleared her throat. “Ysabeau. How do you feel?”
“No shit.” His lips twitched. “You’re Dr. Morno?”
“You came to see me four days ago.”
“Four days ago? Dammit, I’ve got to call—” His blue eyes flashed with anger. “They took my cell phone, didn’t they? My luggage, computer, everything?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“My secret pouch?” He reached for his neck and touched his dog tags. He seemed relieved they were still around his neck. He patted his chest. His hands slid down to the wrap around his ribs. “Where are my clothes?”
“I…I threw them out. Your suit was beyond repair.” She cringed remembering how it was soaked in his blood. “Your shoes and belt are behind the couch.”
“What about the pouch that was hanging around my neck? It had my wallet, passport, Visa. My ticket home.”
She shook her head.
“Sonsofbitches!” He pounded the couch with his fist and then bristled with the pain from his movements.
“Please, don’t exhaust yourself. We can call the U.S. Embassy and get you another passport. Credit cards and tickets can be reissued, as well.”
He tried to sit up. “I have to…” He panted with the effort. “…to call someone.”
“The Guardians?” She worked to control the quiver in her voice. This couldn’t be the end.
“My daughter. When I’m traveling, I call her several times a day. She’s probably worried sick by now.”
She blinked. A father calling his daughter several times a day didn’t match her image of the devil incarnate, or sexy Loa. “I’ll help you to the kitchen. There’s only one phone.”
“Thanks…give me a minute.” Sweat ran down his face. He exhaled through his teeth.
“Here, drink this. Slowly,” she warned as she gave him the glass of water.
He tried a few slow sips, but his thirst was great and he gulped the rest down. She was mesmerized by the tendons, muscles, and the Adam’s apple that worked while he swallowed. A woman could spend several delicious moments kissing that neck. She shook the thought away with a mental shrug. What was she thinking? Damned handsome man.
“Thanks, Dr. Morno.”
“Ysabeau. I read your dog tags, Luke Carter.”
“I still wear them, but I’m not in the Navy anymore.” His voice took on a business-like edge to it when he added, “I work for the Guardians.”
Her insides twisted. “I know.”
“Where’s the phone?” He struggled again to get up. The afghan fell away from his chest, and he realized how naked he was. “That’s right, no suit.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ysabeau went to her closet to find something, anything that would cover Luke’s large frame. “Sorry, this is the best I could do.” She held her robe out for him.
“Pink. I’m sure it brings out the color in my swollen eye.” He grinned. “Very manly.”
“Especially the lace.” His smile was contagious. “I’ll buy you some clothes tomorrow.” She helped him get his arms into it. He held it closed with one hand while she helped him get to his feet.
He teetered and finally made it to standing. “Crap, I’m pathetic.”
It unnerved her to see him look so distraught. That sort of expression she saw on her sick patients. “Lean into me.” She gripped his arm to steady him.
When he draped his arm over her shoulder, she was very aware of how strongly male he was, even in his weakened state and in her pink lacy robe.
He cocked his head and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Amber! I guessed it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Watching you sleep last night, I imagined your eyes would be the color of golden amber.”
Dimples too? Lord, he was cute, and dimples got her every time. Heat rose to her cheeks. She was flustered when he smiled at her like that. “Hang onto me, we’ll take it slowly.”
There was no doubt about it. The Amer
ican was trouble.
And she was in it deep.
*
The beautiful lullaby woman got Luke situated on a barstool and left him to make his calls. His head pounded. He leaned against a white tiled countertop and willed the small kitchen to stop spinning. Overhead, a large-leafed fan stirred warm air that smelled as sweet as orange blossoms.
He caught his reflection in the shiny toaster on the counter and did a double-take. Leaning closer, he tried to see himself with his one eye. His face was a swollen black and blue mess. That was one scary face. Pushing the toaster away, he dialed his home number.
Danny picked it up on the first ring. “Where in the hell’ve you been? I’m going nuts here. Why won’t you answer your cell?”
“Hey Dan, can you bring it down a notch?” He gripped his splitting head. “I’m in Haiti.”
“Still? You were supposed to come back days ago. I waited for three hours in the airport to pick you up!”
“Yeah, that’s not down, Danny. Click that volume a couple more notches. My head is killing me.”
“You’ve got a hangover, man? While Sunny and I are dying a thousand deaths you’re partying it up in Haiti?”
“I got my ass handed to me by Haitian street thugs. Trust me, it was no party.”
“No! Are you serious?”
“Geez.” Luke held the phone from his ear. “Softer, man, much softer.”
“Sorry,” Danny whispered. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live.” Thanks to Amber Eyes. “Don’t tell Sunny I’m hurt, okay?”
“What’ll I say? She’s pretty worried about you.”
Luke massaged his temples. Danny didn’t know a thing about kids. “Say that it’s taking longer than expected. Keep it simple. Is she there?”
“She’s at the mall with her friends.” Danny said. “That’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, she said you let her go all the time.”
“It’s fine.” Now, Luke’s heart hurt too. He missed his girl something awful. “I’ll call her cell.”
“She left it here on the counter.”
