by Rebecca York
She went with the doctor into a scrub room.
“I guess you get some unusual cases,” she said.
“Yes.”
She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have to report a gunshot wound?”
“Technically. But in this facility, we have often bent the rules.”
“Okay.”
When Valero didn’t say anymore, she donned a gown and mask and waited for the doctor to scrub his hands and put on gloves. Then they both stepped into a small operating room.
Luke had his eyes fixed on the door. As soon as he saw her with the box, he seemed to relax.
She hurried to his side and reached for his hand, holding tight as the doctor walked to the other end of the table. A drape made it impossible for her to see what was happening down there, and she was grateful for that because she didn’t want to watch the bullet being dug out.
But she saw the pain on Luke’s face as Valero worked.
Luke stayed absolutely silent, but the way he gripped her hand told her that the procedure hurt.
It seemed to take centuries, but finally she heard the doctor make a satisfied sound. Coming around to Luke’s other side, he held up the bullet in his gloved hand. “Here it is.”
“Thank you,” Olivia murmured, and Luke echoed the sentiment. His brow was covered with sweat, and his skin was gray, but the bullet was out.
“It’s going to take time for that to heal,” the doctor said.
“I can speed the process—with healing techniques I have learned,” the patient said, and she knew it was Zabastian talking.
The doctor answered with a little shrug.
He and the nurse transferred Luke to a gurney again and wheeled him into a smaller room. She stayed by his side, still clutching the box.
Finally, Luke was settled into a hospital bed. He lay still and pale against the pillow, with his eyes closed. When she sat down in the chair beside him, his eyes blinked open again and focused on her.
Frank came in and asked, “How do you feel?”
“Not so bad.”
“Oh sure,” Olivia muttered.
“Thank you for staying with me.”
“I’ll do what you need me to do.”
When she pressed her hand over Luke’s, he turned the hand over and knitted his fingers with hers. “Help me stay awake.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Help me.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me about your life.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to hear more about where you grew up,” he whispered. “You said in Catonsville?”
“Yes. In an old house with a big yard. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we had a lot of love. And all the neighborhood kids were always at my house. Sometimes we’d have six or seven of them for lunch. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and canned soup.”
“What did you play?” he murmured, and she wondered how long he could stay awake.
“We’d make forts on the porch, with a couple of sheets over two card tables. And in hot weather, we had a lemonade stand. And a wading pool in the backyard. We’d move it to a place in the yard where the ground had sunk in a little, so we’d have a deep spot in the pool.”
“Um.”
“And we’d squirt each other with the hose.”
He made a barely audible sound. “What did you do in winter?”
“School.”
“For fun.”
“My mom taught me to bake cookies.”
She thought Luke was going to sleep, but he asked, “What kind?”
“Chocolate chips were my favorites. I also liked molasses.”
“You don’t like oatmeal raisin?”
“They’re good too.”
She wanted to ask questions about his childhood, but she knew he was in no shape to keep up his end of the conversation.
He murmured, “Christmas?”
“We’d go out in the country and cut down our own tree. And it was always so big we had to move the furniture around the living room. Then Dad would get the decorations from the attic. We made a lot of them ourselves—some from bread-dough clay.”
“What’s that?”
“A formula with a lot of salt. You can’t eat it. But when you bake it, it gets hard. Then you can paint the surface.”
“Um.”
“We made some ornaments out of real eggs. Mom would make a hole in each end and blow out the insides. After they dried, we’d glue on lace and paint on a base coat, then rub them with gold polish. And we'd put gold cord through one of the holes.”
“Um.”
“We made other ornaments out of felt for the lower branches, so the cats couldn’t break them or tear them up.”
“It sounds like a good family time.”
“Yes.”
“And what do you want for the future?” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.
She went rigid. Was he asking about them? Or the personal plans she’d made? And how much did she dare to say?
“I want my own business. I want to be my own boss. I’d do that if I could afford it.”
“What . . . kind of business?”
“Antiques. I know the field. That’s one of the reasons Carl Peterbalm hired me.”
“And he wants . . . to get into your pants,” Luke muttered. Apparently the medicine had undermined his ability to censor his speech.
She laughed. “Yes. But he didn’t even get close.” Without elaborating, she went back to her own plans. “But I’d need a shop and also inventory.”
She got caught up in talking about what she’d been dreaming of for years—until Luke made a sharp noise, and her gaze flew to him. Then she saw he was snoring.
“So much for fascinating you with my daydreams,” she said in a low voice, then looked up to see Dr. Valero in the doorway.
“He wanted to stay awake,” she whispered.
“He needs to sleep.” The doctor gave her a considering look. “And so do you.”
She looked from the doctor to Luke. “What did you give him?” she asked.
“A minimal dose of painkiller. To help him rest so his body can heal.”
He’d told her to rest too. But she said, “I promised to guard the box.”
“You can keep it with you. Nobody’s getting into the building to steal it.”
She nodded. “I understand. But Luke will be anxious if the box and I are missing.”
“We’ll pull a bed up beside his. You can sleep there.”
“Thanks.”
Olivia gently untangled her hand from Luke’s. She intended to stay awake. But as soon as she slipped off her shoes and lay down on the bed the staff had wheeled in, fatigue washed over her.
The world went away—until she awoke with a start, disoriented and frightened.
Her head swung to the side, and she saw that Luke had made a strangled sound as he woke suddenly.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” she said as she scrambled off her bed and leaned over him.
“The box?”
“Right here.” She picked it up from the bedside table and showed it to him. “Frank Decorah said you could trust these people.”
He sighed and settled back in the bed. His face was haggard and unshaven, but he looked like he was feeling better.
Moments later, the door opened, and Dr. Valero came in.
“How long was I asleep?” Luke demanded.
“Eight hours.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Too long.”
“You needed to heal. Twice that long would have been better.”
When Luke started to protest again, the doctor kept speaking. “How are you feeling?”
Luke took a breath as he considered the question. When he flexed his leg, he looked pleased. “It’s . . . not so bad.”
The doctor unwrapped the bandage, inspected the wound and looked shocked. “It looks like you got this several days ago.”
“I heal quickly,” Luke said.
After the doctor cranked up his bed, Luke inspected the room. “Is there a bathroom anywhere around?”
“Yes.” Dr. Valero pointed to a door at the side of the room. “Right over there.”
He and Nurse Sanchez helped Luke ease off the bed. Olivia held her breath as she watched him stand with the help of a cane the doctor had provided. It had four short legs at the bottom, which gave it stability.
Luke was still shaky, but she was shocked when she saw him put weight on the leg. Giving her a look of triumph, he started toward the bathroom.
Frank, who had appeared in the doorway, cleared his throat. “Maybe you want to slip out and clean up,” he said to her.
“Do I look like I need it?”
“It’s been a long night. I can keep the box while you take a little time for yourself.”
Olivia considered the offer. Frank had gone to a lot of trouble to monitor the situation.
“I’ll take good care of it.”
Olivia handed over the box. Frank made an appreciative sound as he took it in his hands and turned it, looking at the carvings. She wished she knew as much about the object as he obviously did.
“Go take your shower.” He pointed to a ladies’ room down the hall. “And you’ll find some changes of clothing there.”
The “ladies’ room” was actually built like a luxury bathroom in a private residence—with a marble counter, an enormous shower, and a separate soaking tub. Not only were there a variety of toilet articles, she also saw several outfits in the walk-in closet. She would have liked to pamper herself. But she stayed only a minimal amount of time to make herself presentable.
When she stepped into the hall again, dressed in slacks and a comfortable knit top, Beth was sitting in a nearby chair.
“How did you get here?” she asked.
“The Decorah people brought me.”
“I’m glad.”
The two friends hugged.
“Frank was tracing your phone calls. He and Brand came to my house. We talked. . . about the warrior.”
“You told him?”
“Yes. I thought he needed to understand what was going on.”
“Right.”
Beth changed the subject. “How are you?”
“Pretty good—thanks to Frank.” She looked around. “Where is he—and the box?”
“Down the hall in the lounge with Luke.”
Beth gestured to the left, and they both hurried to a comfortable sitting room where Luke was lying on a hospital bed, although he’d dressed in a tee shirt and loose fitting sweatpants. The box was on the table beside him, and his hands were wrapped around a mug.
He looked up with a feeling of relief when he spotted her.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” she said.
“That’s fine.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Chicken soup,” the doctor explained. “It’s part of the healing process,” he added with a grin.
Frank was also eating—sandwiches from a plate on a side table.
Olivia’s stomach rumbled, and she flushed.
“Help yourself,” Frank said.
“Thanks.”
Olivia took a tuna salad sandwich and sat down next to Luke’s bed.
When Brand came in, she asked, “Where’s Carl Peterbalm?”
“In another part of this building—sleeping comfortably.”
Luke looked up from his meal and focused on Frank. To Olivia’s surprise, when he spoke, his voice was hard. “Something you haven’t explained. Why were you monitoring the shipment of antiques?”
“Because I know that what the Moon Priests do is vitally important.”
Luke stayed focused on the man who had brought him to this private clinic. “How do you know?”
Frank’s tone was steady. “I have sources of information that must remain confidential. If I could share them with you, I would. But I’m duty bound to keep them private.”
“Sending me to Peterbalm’s could have gotten me killed,” Luke said.
“I realize that now,” Frank said. “I’m sorry. I knew the box had been stolen, and I wanted to recover it. I didn’t know that men were prepared to do anything to get their hands on it.”
“And if you hadn’t sent Luke to my office, I’d probably be dead,” Olivia interjected.
For long moments, none of them spoke as they all absorbed the reality of the past few days.
Finally, Frank looked at Olivia. “There’s something else I’d better tell you.”
“Something else bad?”
“The guys who were after the box broke into your apartment and made pretty much of a mess.”
Olivia groaned.
“We’ve had a crew putting it back together.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Right. But we didn’t want you to come home to a mess—or a shattered sliding glass door. If you find some things broken or missing, you’ll know why.”
Olivia nodded. “Thank you.”
Frank shifted his gaze to Luke. “Can you tell me about the warrior?”
Chapter 13
Olivia’s gaze flew to Luke. “Is it all right to talk about that?”
“You already told your friend Beth,” he answered, and she knew Zabastian was speaking.
“When we were on the run—because I thought we needed help.”
“She told Decorah what she knew.”
“Maybe I made a mistake,” Olivia murmured.
“No. These people have helped us. They can know more, but they may not believe what I have to say.”
Olivia looked around at the group. When Luke didn’t speak, she said, “Some of you already know the spirit of an ancient warrior was locked in the box—to protect it if that became necessary. He came out and joined his mind with Luke’s. I realize that sounds crazy. I had trouble believing it at first. But I've spent enough time with Luke to know it’s true. Luke is more than he was before.”
“The box is very ancient,” Beth added. “I can vouch for that.”
“How ancient?” Brand asked.
“The Moon Priests constructed the box more than two thousand years ago,” Luke said, his voice daring anyone to challenge him.
Beth added, “After Olivia told me about the box and the warrior, I did some research. The Moon Priests were very advanced for their time. They were monotheists. They also believed they had a sacred mission from God to keep mankind on the right path.”
“They didn’t just believe it. It is true,” Luke cut in swiftly. “The box helps stabilize the world. But it cannot stay in the temple. It must go out into the world from time to time to recharge its power. It was stolen a few months ago, and it arrived here in a shipment of stolen antiques. I must return it to the Master of the Moon as soon as possible. I have no time to waste.”
Olivia knew she was hearing Zabastian’s urgency.
“Where is the temple?” Frank asked.
“I do not know! I was about to find out—when the Poisoned Ones broke into our hiding place. He looked around the room. “Do you have a computer nearby where I can get back to the Moon priests Web site?”
“An ancient cult with a Web site?” Brand asked.
“They employ what is available.”
“You can use my desktop,” Dr. Valero said. “The connection is very secure.”
Luke pushed himself off the bed, and Olivia watched him carefully.
“It’s better if you use the cane for the time being,” the doctor said.
Luke scowled, but he took the cane, leaning on it as he followed the doctor out of the room. When Olivia got up, he shook his head.
“You stay here—and answer their questions.”
“Is that an order?” she asked.
Instead of giving a snap answer, he appeared to be considering the question carefully.
oOo
Smith, Jones and Brown cruised slowly down a residential street in their rental car. They had hidden in the attic of the house, hopi
ng they wouldn't have to shoot their way out.
Apparently the police had been convinced that the only fugitives were the man and the woman—so they'd left very quickly.
The trio emerged when the coast was clear.
After their recent confrontation, they were somewhat the worse for wear. Any other men would have been in the hospital. But they had the stamina—or the desperation—to keep going.
Unfortunately, they had lost Peterbalm, the man who had received the stolen shipment of antiques. Somehow he had escaped from the trunk of his car. Now they were considering what to do.
Brown looked around as though he expected an angel of the Lord to descend from the heavens and smite them. In fact, that was a lot like what he was thinking. Although the terms were different, he knew they were in serious trouble.
“If we can’t find Garner and the woman, we have to find the temple and intercept them.” Smith said.
“That’s dangerous,” Jones objected.
Smith shrugged. “It may be our last opportunity to acquire the box.”
“How do we find the temple?” Brown asked.
Smith pointed to the backseat. “We have the computer. We can duplicate Garner’s search.”
“You can do that?” Brown asked.
“I have computer experience,” he said, and Brown heaved a sigh. So much for certainty. Still, it was their only option, barring driving around the city looking for the man and woman.
“They had help getting away,” Jones said.
“You’re sure of that?” Brown challenged.
“Somebody’s hiding them,” Smith said.
“Peterbalm switched sides?” Brown asked.
“He’s disappeared, too. So we can’t exactly ask him,” Smith snapped. He looked back at the computer again. I need a place where I can work on this machine.”
“Where?”
“A hotel room,” he said. “Someplace close so we can get there quickly when I find the location of the temple.”
oOo
Olivia heard Luke soften his voice, as if remembering that men didn’t give women orders in today’s world—unless they were paying for the privilege, like Carl Peterbalm.
