by Tina Donahue
His hands dropped to his lap. They shook so badly, he clasped them together. “No.” His tone said he refused to believe such a thing. “I gave her a boost, that’s all.”
“Same difference,” Zeke argued. He leaned forward, ready to face what had been eating him for too many hours…the only explanation of what was happening to Liz. “You brought her back, and she was fine until she healed your ankle. When she poured her gift—her life force into you—that drained it from her, didn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
Zeke shook his head, not believing this. “How can you say that? You’ve known from the beginning that those with the gift could go beyond healing. They could also reanimate. You kept that secret from Liz until last night. How many others have you brought back from the dead? What happened to them? Tell me. I’m worried about Liz.”
Munez drew in his narrow shoulders and spoke with reluctance, obviously disturbed by the subject. “Liz is only the second person I’ve brought back.”
Zeke stared, unable to comprehend such a thing. “How is that possible? You’re talking about not reanimating Carreon’s lieutenants, correct? Surely, with the rest of your people, the ones who aren’t a part of his inner circle, you—”
“I didn’t want to use my gift on them either. If they had known what I discovered by accident, I was afraid Carreon and his men would find out. The fighting would have escalated beyond anything we could have imagined, becoming impossible to stop. Why would he restrain the carnage at all if he knew I could bring his men back from the dead?”
“Whoa.” Zeke waved his hand. “Back up. You discovered the extent of your gift by accident? How? When?”
Sadness swept over Munez’s features, aging him further. “I was eleven when my sister became ill with what was later diagnosed as high-risk neuroblastoma. Brutally aggressive. At first, my parents asked me to heal her, take away her fever and constant pain, get rid of the swelling in parts of her body. I did repeatedly. But the tumors kept returning.”
He shook his head in memory. “My parents didn’t understand why my gift hadn’t worked. They became so desperate they tried conventional medicine next, something they’d never done before. The doctors did all that they could. Nothing helped. Benita came home to die. She was only five years old when she passed. I refused to believe it and fought my father when he tried to pull me away from her body. Before he could stop me, I laid my hands on her and healed as I never had before, pouring my life force inside.”
Munez paused, his focus turning inward as though he were reliving the moment. On a shudder, he continued. “My little sister gasped and opened her eyes. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen. My parents began to sob. They knew then that not only could I heal, I could reanimate.”
Zeke rested his hand on the older man’s and forced himself to ask what he feared knowing. “What happened to your sister?”
Please, she had to have survived. She has to be alive now. Healthy. Cured.
All of Munez’s breath escaped on an edgy sigh. His body seemed to deflate with it.
“What?” Zeke insisted.
“The cancer she’d had went into remission and didn’t come back.”
Zeke’s smile felt jittery, weird. “That’s great. How old is she now? Where is—”
“You don’t understand,” Munez interrupted. “You didn’t let me finish.”
All of the muscles in Zeke’s face went slack. He struggled to swallow. He wanted to flee to avoid hearing the rest. His legs wouldn’t cooperate, refusing to allow him to stand.
The doctor continued, “We thought everything was going to be fine, and for a few days it was. Then new forms of cancer—not metastasis from the neuroblastoma—invaded her skin, eyes and mouth. I’d always been interested in medicine, and I sensed that when I’d healed the first problem, I had simply created others. Because of her age, her cells were already dividing rapidly. My power accelerated that process in ways none of us had considered. That’s why I never again healed a child and warned Liz not to do so either. Eventually, Benita’s suffering was so great, my parents allowed her to slip away forev—”
“No. That can’t happen to Liz.” Zeke squeezed the man’s wrist. “I won’t let it happen, dammit. You have to do something.”
He regarded Zeke’s hand on him. “It’s different with my daughter. It has to be.” Desperation tinged his words. “Liz wasn’t ill when I brought her back. She’s an adult, her cells aren’t dividing at the same rate as a child’s. You’ve been with her for the last several hours. You would have come for me if anything had happened to her.”
“Like in the Jeep? She wasn’t close to okay there. You saw how she slumped over, as though she’d passed out. It wasn’t until you touched her shoulder that she came to, revived, whatever you want to call it. I want to know why.”
Zeke released the man’s wrist and jerked his chair closer to the bed. Its legs scraped the stone floor. He kept his voice low in case anyone passed in the hall. “I’ve gone over this dozens of times in my head. The only thing I can come up with is what I said before. By healing you, she depleted her own strength.”
“If that’s true, it would have happened right away, not minutes later.”
“Like Benita’s other tumors?” Zeke countered. “You said she was fine for days. Maybe there’s a delayed reaction after someone’s reanimated. I don’t know. Do you have a better explanation for what happened to Liz in the Jeep?”
He bowed his head. “No.”
Zeke’s belly continued to churn. What kind of fucking gift did Liz and her father have if it didn’t always work? If no one could predict its outcome?
It’s as useless as yours.
Too many times Zeke’s visions were inscrutable, providing clues he hadn’t a hope in hell of deciphering. How often had he wanted to simply give up? This time, he couldn’t. Not when it meant Liz’s life—having her at his side.
He recalled last night, how he’d taken her repeatedly to ease his fears, as though his love alone could—
His thoughts paused as something flashed in his mind, then skittered away. What, damn it? What?
And then he had it. One of the reasons he’d been so impassioned last night, his longing for Liz so insatiable. On an unconscious level, he’d sensed the solution even then. “She poured her healing gift into me, saving my life,” he said, then hesitated before continuing.
“Yes?” Munez prodded.
“Is it possible that my touching her would transfer some of her life force back—her unique life force—with that filling her again rather than having yours or any other healer’s pouring into her?” That having his cock deep inside would return some of what she’d given to him?
“I don’t know.”
Zeke kept himself from snapping, Then what the fuck do you know? Lashing out at the man would accomplish nothing. Liz’s father didn’t want her harmed any more than Zeke did. “Until we figure this out, she is not to heal anyone, understand?”
“Of course.” He touched Zeke’s forearm. “Do you want me to tell her?”
“We’ll both do it.” How, he wasn’t certain. He didn’t want to freak her out, but he couldn’t allow her to repeatedly deplete her strength with her father having to bring her back again and again.
That was, if he could.
The room spun with Zeke’s newest worry.
“What is it?” Munez asked.
Zeke hauled in a breath that did nothing to calm him. “How many times can you reanimate someone? Does it work more than once? Are there any repercussions to doing it repeatedly?”
Would the individual develop cancer or some weird disease no one had ever heard of and couldn’t cure? Would there be brain damage?
“I don’t know,” Munez murmured.
God, God, God. When Liz had stirred last night, taking her first breath that proved she lived again, Zeke thought they were home free. Not even close.
He pushed out of his chair and backed up to the door. “I’
ll get Liz. After we speak to her, I’ll have one of my men bring you a fresh set of clothes and take you to the dining room to get something to eat.”
Not giving the older man a chance to comment or question him, Zeke left the room and hurried to his own. Empty. One of his tees and a pair of navy boxers lay on the bed. Liz must have decided not to put them on when Jacob arrived with clothes from one of the younger women.
Zeke headed for the dining room, suspecting they were still there. He stopped just outside the doorway when he saw them.
Liz’s back was to him, her food barely touched. Jacob sat facing her. He stared at her hands for what seemed like minutes, although Zeke figured only a few seconds had passed. Then, as if Jacob couldn’t stand it any longer, he regarded her face.
Zeke’s heart caught. Love, the kind he’d never seen from Jacob for any woman, flooded his brother’s features. He looked at Liz with such yearning, there was no mistaking what he felt.
What Zeke had warned him against.
“Don’t test me on this,” he’d said before the battle with Carreon’s men. “I’ll fight you for her, and I’ll win. She loves me.”
Now, Jacob felt the same about her, his passion fueled not by sibling rivalry—wanting everything Zeke had—but by deep affection.
When had it taken hold? When Jacob learned Liz had gone back to Carreon’s stronghold, putting herself in danger to protect them? Or had it been when Jacob found out she’d died. That they might have lost her forever if not for her father’s gift.
What did it matter? None of his musings would erase Jacob’s feelings. Ones his brother wasn’t acting on. Jacob kept his hands to himself. He didn’t flirt. He merely looked, until Liz lifted her face to his.
Jacob’s cheeks darkened, making him seem too young and vulnerable. He concentrated on his coffee cup, his hands wrapped around it.
Zeke recalled when his brother’s hands had cradled Liz’s breasts. He thought of his conversation with her father, asking the man if the healing she’d given to others could be poured back into her.
Dr. Munez didn’t know.
Zeke intended to find out.
Chapter Seven
At thirty-four, Maria Guzman was in the twilight years of her profession as a stripper, at least in the better clubs. Her body was still well toned, belly flat, thighs sleek thanks to the rigorous exercise regimen Carreon expected of all his performers. However, there were also faint horizontal lines on her forehead, ones fanning from the outside corners of her eyes and those bracketing her mouth. A heavy smoker known to party hard on her days off, Maria had too many bad habits that were clearly catching up with her.
From reading her file, Carreon learned the club had hired her when she was twenty-three. Her twelve-year anniversary was coming up quickly. She had two children to support, twin boys who were now seven years old.
When she’d returned to the club a short while ago, bleary-eyed yet eager to earn the extra cash, she hadn’t mentioned her kids. She’d dressed for sex rather than a striptease, wearing nothing beneath her long coat, which now lay over Ernez’s chair. Her jasmine fragrance, laced with musk, filled the office.
Upon her arrival, Carreon hadn’t wondered if she’d gotten a babysitter for her boys or whether that person knew she’d been headed here. Ernez had warned Maria not to breathe a word to anyone. If she had, he’d learn about it eventually and then she’d be out of a job, including this special project.
Surely not wanting that at her age, Maria had kept her tongue. She probably hadn’t even said good-bye to her sons before taking off.
Carreon hadn’t considered who would care for them if his experiment didn’t work out or whether they’d miss their mother.
In the office’s harsh light, he regarded the pale stretch marks on Maria’s hips and belly. She’d attempted to cover them with glittery makeup. No doubt hoping whoever was going to mount her in the coming hours wouldn’t notice her imperfections in the rest of the club’s muted lighting.
They probably wouldn’t have if the story Ernez had told her had been true. The patrons would have likely slipped their tips beneath the leopard skin armband Maria wore on her left biceps. Her high heels bore the same pattern. Carreon supposed the heavy makeup on her lids and lashes were to make her appear catlike. Her eyes, an ordinary shade of brown, stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing on this side.
She was as dead as a human could possibly be.
She’d broken several nails when she’d fought Ernez. The backs of his hands bore deep gouges from her assault. The pain hadn’t stopped him from strangling her. In that, he was like Carreon when he’d murdered Liz. The only difference between the two acts was that Ernez had come up on Maria from behind while she’d answered one of Carreon’s innocuous questions, a diversion to keep her off guard.
“You do well today and we might put you and Trinidad together on stage,” he’d lied, noting how Maria kept eyeing Trinidad, curious or jealous as to why she was also here. “Some girl-on-girl action. Would you be interested?”
She’d looked downright eager, wanting to please her boss. “Of course. Whatever you want, I’ll be happy to—”
Her words had ended on a gasp with the black scarf Ernez had looped around her throat, one supplied by Trinidad. Confusion, panic, outrage and finally anguish had danced across Maria’s almost-pretty face. Was the misery because her larynx and hyoid bone were breaking, ending her future? Had she been thinking of the twelve-year anniversary she wouldn’t have a chance to celebrate?
Perhaps she’d been wondering who’d raise her kids.
Now, Maria Guzman lay on the office floor, arms and legs sprawled, breasts and cunt bared. Unlike Trinidad, she hadn’t waxed off her pubic hair but had trimmed it. Those delicate curls looked like a dark smudge against her dusky skin. So unlike her mane that she’d highlighted with reddish-brown streaks. To further enhance her image as a wild animal?
Possibly.
“Bring her back,” Carreon ordered Trinidad, not trying to hide his impatience.
She pressed her palms harder against her coworker’s throat. She’d been at it for five minutes or more and all she’d accomplished was to eliminate the dark bruising around Maria’s neck. Her face’s purplish discoloration had also receded. However, the woman hadn’t breathed, hadn’t returned from the other side.
Carreon recalled those times he’d watched Liz healing his men. With those who’d been nearest to death, she’d had to strip and drape her body over theirs, all of her flesh touching them, their mouths joined in order for full restoration to occur.
“Blow air into her mouth,” Carreon directed. “Lay on top of her. Touch every fucking part of her body.”
Trinidad appeared briefly amused at his unorthodox request, but did as he wanted. She angled her mouth over Maria’s, pouring her breath inside the woman. Her hand went to Maria’s breast, fondling it, then journeyed down her belly to her mound. She slipped two fingers into the woman’s sheath.
Carreon stepped closer, searching for faint signs of life, that Maria was return—
There. Her fingers. Had she lifted them?
He focused on her hand, his frown deepening at how it shifted…because Trinidad’s faint rocking motion had caused it.
“Keep blowing into her mouth,” he demanded, an image filling his mind of Liz having done the same with Zeke. Until her breath had filled him, Neekoma hadn’t responded to her healing.
During the next few minutes, Trinidad’s noisy exhales competed with the music throbbing from the club. A charade put on for Maria’s benefit. Carreon had wanted her to believe his VIP clients were waiting for her in the otherwise deserted bar.
Trinidad’s foot tapped in time with the tune even as she tried to resuscitate her co-worker. Ernez stopped tending to his lacerated hands when he noticed Carreon watching him. Uneasiness swept over the younger man’s face. He ignored his own injuries and watched the two women.
From the other room, the bass clapped suddenly and repeatedly,
sounding like something monstrous striking the building on all sides. A gasp followed it.
From Ernez? Carreon turned back to the young man, glaring at him.
Ernez didn’t notice. He stared at the door as if Satan himself was playing drums on the other side of it. Or perhaps he was worried that a cop might happen by. One they hadn’t paid off, who would be curious as to why music blared within the establishment at this hour, and who might not take kindly to seeing a dead woman on the floor.
More bass. These vibrations were even stronger than the others, registering in Carreon’s belly. They paused for a second. During it, there was another sharp intake of air, though not from Ernez.
Carreon regarded Maria, warning himself not to expect too much.
Her chest actually rose with her next gasp.
He stared, relief, then joy flooding him. Trinidad had actually brought the woman back.
“Turn that shit off,” Carreon ordered Ernez.
He hurried out of the office into the club.
Carreon concentrated on Maria. As quickly as his hope had risen, it now fell. She was breathing, but her eyes were still vacant, her limbs slack. The same as Oscar’s and Anthony’s had been when Liz’s father claimed he couldn’t heal the men.
“The damage to their brains was too extensive because of their wounds,” he’d said. “There’s nothing I or anyone else can do for them.”
Because he’d held back. He’d lied.
“Keep trying,” Carreon ordered Trinidad.
Annoyance darkened her expression.
“Now,” he insisted.
“She’s alive,” Trinidad argued. “Breathing on her own. Exactly what you wanted.”
“Bullshit. I want her back to the way she was when she came in here.”
“Why?” She sat back on her heels, palms on her knees, thighs spread widely, cunt exposed. “I found her annoying.”
He smiled at her cockiness, then sobered just as quickly. “Restore her to the way she should be.”
