Honeysuckle.
The cut went deep, but he knew it had to be. His eyes opened quickly. The blood spurted up like a fountain, surprising Lindy. She gasped, but more at the unexpected spray of red than in horror at what she was having to do. His eyes squeezed shut again.
Honeysuckle.
He remembered how he'd always loved the smell of the thickets of honeysuckle that grew in southeastern Oklahoma, where he'd grown up. It grew wild and thick near the creek bank where he and Jake had played, along with their two younger brothers, Sam and Ramie. He kept his mind fixed on the scent and the memory, his teeth clamped tightly on the gauze.
But he couldn't hold onto it. Lindy carefully pulled the wound open, and he felt her reach for something. He didn't have to wonder what. Seconds later, the cold points of metal tweezers entered the hole in his flesh, and he wondered how he could have been fool enough to believe he could remain silent through it all.
His breath hissed inward as he inhaled sharply. His body reflexively strained up as Tommy tightened his grip, pushing him down as hard as he could, and still, it wasn't enough. Jesse quelled the insane urge to throw the boy off, to drag Lindy and Nash to safety—and to hell with the others.
Just to hell with them.
He groaned, forcing it to the back of his throat as soon as he remembered Rod Macklin was with them…somewhere. It would only take a word from him to bring Hardin's warped punishment down on the others.
He watched through slitted eyes as Lindy leaned close, her face taut with concentration as she tried to see through the layers of bloody flesh. The steel pincers went in again, and he cursed.
Honeysuckle and what else? A subtle, spicy scent he'd been aware of as Lindy sat close by. He would never be near that particular perfume again without recognizing it as hers.
He closed his eyes again, letting his mind drift as Lindy probed. At the creek, where it widened, there had been an old tire swing. Their father had put it up in a big black oak tree for them, from a limb that grew over the water. Their mother protested, saying it was dangerous, but Talon Nightwalker had insisted.
"Lena, why'd you have a passel of boys if you're gonna keep 'em babies? They're growin' up. Let 'em have some fun."
His mother had laughed and given in. Jesse could see the uneasiness in her expression, though she never forbade her sons to go. As Jesse opened his eyes, he could see that same disquiet in Lindy's face. She wasn't afraid; and though he knew he had no claim, no right, he still felt proud of her for that.
The worry was understandable. It was not there for herself, but for him. Only for him.
His mind twisted back to the creek again, to his brothers and their childish games. He was a hawk, sweeping over the countryside, looking down at the four brothers as they laughed and pushed and ran. The hawk dove, rushing through the wind.
The tweezers went in deep and closed around the bullet. Jesse groaned through the packing. Every muscle in his strong body was drawn taut, like corded steel under the skin.
Tommy held him with equal rigidity, though his strength was no match for a man as powerfully built as Jesse.
But Lindy was careful.
"It's slippery," she whispered. "I don't want to lose it." She began to bring it up slowly. "Hold on…just hold on…" she murmured.
"Hold on, Ramie! Don't let go yet." The tire swing was sailing toward the water, but Ramie was young, only four.
"Jake—what're you doing?" Jesse could see himself turning incredulous eyes on his older brother, disbelief at Jake's judgment in sending their baby brother out over the water alone written all over his face and in the tense set of his body. He whirled and began to run, knowing he'd never make it in time. Ramie wasn't a good swimmer yet. Ramie had promised Jake he'd hold on…he wouldn't let go…he just wanted to swing.
But Jesse knew his little brother. He wanted to be one of "the big boys." Jake should've known…should've known…
Ramie's release, his defiant look, was the last thing Jesse saw as he flung himself into the water and began to swim toward where his little brother had hit the creek with a splash that sounded painful.
Jake had stood, frozen, on the shore, only moving when he saw six-year-old Sam headed for the water to help Jesse find Ramie. He grabbed him and held him back, as Jesse dove time and again, searching the murky water for their baby brother.
After what seemed like an interminable time, Jesse's fingers touched Ramie's wrist, and he pulled him to the surface. While Jake stood by helplessly, Jesse pumped the water from Ramie's lungs, breathing deep gasps of air himself as he did so. When Ramie coughed and sputtered, rolled over and vomited water, Jesse sat him up, then stood him up, walking with him to make sure he "worked."
Then, he plowed into his older brother and beat the hell out of him.
Why had he forgotten that?
He gasped as the bullet came out, dislodging Tommy's grip and nearly dumping him in the floor. At the last moment, Tommy compensated, pushing Jesse down just long enough for him to be able to remember where they were and what they were about. He took a deep shuddering breath, feeling as if he had almost drowned again. The same feeling had engulfed him as he'd searched those dark waters so desperately for Ramie, his oxygen-starved lungs exploding with relief as he'd broken the surface and towed his little brother back to the shore.
I've got you, Ramie. I've got you, brother.
"I got it, darling," Lindy said softly. "At least, that part's over."
Jesse nodded, unable to speak around the gauze.
Tommy's fingertips released from his wrists, and he gingerly stood up. Lindy laid the tweezers and the bullet in a glass bowl. "Do you need a break, or should I just get it over with?" Jesse held up a thumb and index finger, still breathing rapidly as he tried to get control of the pain.
She smiled and reached for a damp cloth, sponging his forehead and neck. As she did so, his breathing began to even. She glanced down at the towels she'd placed to catch the steady flow of blood. "It's not slowing down much." She frowned.
Jesse's mind fragmented in unfamiliar directions. It wasn't just from the pain, but from something even stranger. Darling? She had called him "darling," and he knew that was no dream. A damn good thing he had the gauze in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, long and full and deep, with no interruptions, no worries, and no end. The packing put an end to those wild fantasies.
It also prevented him from saying too much. Which was also a damn good thing, because he was on the verge of telling her exactly what he was thinking. How much he wanted her, and he didn't care who heard it—an eighteen-year-old kid or…or Rod Macklin.
Looking up, he saw his own thoughts mirrored in her expression. His breath caught from something entirely different than the earlier pain.
Yeah. Good thing he had a mouthful of cotton. He closed his eyes, shutting out the temptation to say what he wanted.
"You want me to go get the knife?" Tommy's question broke into Jesse's thoughts.
Lindy's low-voiced answer eluded Jesse. Tommy's hands closed around his wrists once more with a vise-like grip. Jesse's head buzzed and throbbed. Everything focused again, just for an instant. Sure, sharp and clear, there was no mistaking the touch of Lindy's lips brushing across his bruised cheek, no doubt of the scent of her—warm, and nearer than she should've been for safety's sake—and no misunderstanding the sweet words she whispered into his ear.
"I love you, Jesse Nightwalker."
The hot blade came across the wound for an agonizing three seconds. Jesse surged upward with an incoherent curse of pain.
Quiet, he reminded himself harshly. Hardin had said no noise.
Tommy held him effectively for that short space of time, not letting him go until the blackness took him. Then there was nothing but the hum of faraway voices, the fading feel of Lindy's hand on his, and the memory of the love in her eyes as he drifted deeper into the welcome darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Ryan jerked the phone out
of his belt clip and flipped it open. "Lucas."
"Yes. I know."
Hardin's tone was slow and easy, dripping with confidence. More than ever, he hoped Jim would come back with positive news about the tunnels. It had begun to seem like their only hope.
"How're the kids?"
Hardin chuckled softly. "So far, so good. But I'm sure that's about to change."
Ryan glanced at Hollowell.
"What does that mean?" He tried to ignore the slight shaking of his legs, but he knew he had to sit down. Walking to one of the nearby cruisers, he propped himself against the hood, hoping his voice kept steady.
"What it means is, they're about to witness something they'll remember for a long, long time."
"Don't you think they've had enough to remember about this day?"
"You can never make too many memories, Ryan."
Ryan could hear the laughter in Hardin's voice. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus on Hardin's words.
"I have a lot of…fond…memories. That cop, Masefield, and his wife, for example. I imagine their recollection of the time we spent together wasn't nearly as sweet as my own, but then, they didn't have long to think about it, did they? God rest their souls."
The old familiar bloodlust swept through Ryan at Hardin's casual words, his silky tone. But, of course, he knew that was what Hardin was hoping for. Swallowing hard, he fought back the gut response and gave a sardonic laugh. "Haven't you ever done anything else memorable in your sorry life, Hardin? Or, was killing those two people it?"
"Well…I did let those kids and the old man go earlier. I guess you could put that on my tombstone rather than…'cop killer.' Remember, Ryan, you were the lucky one. I still have the three little pigs left in here."
From somewhere in the background on Hardin's end, Ryan heard a yelp of pain, then a man's agonized cry.
"Hardin! What the hell's going on?"
"Seems Leon's getting a bit anxious, Ryan. He likes to cut on things when he gets that way. He has a true affinity for Officer Johnson…"
There was another gut-wrenching scream, followed by the sound of children crying.
"Hardin…" He fought to make his voice calm. It was bad enough dealing with a crazy on a good day, but his being sick on top of everything else wasn't helping. "Hardin, I'm working on your money." That was the truth.
"It better not take long, Ryan. I'm just not sure how long Leon's going to be satisfied with cutting on Tony. He may get restless…decide to start on one of the women…or the kids."
"Damn it." Ryan raked his hand through his short red-gold hair in frustration. "The money is coming."
Tony Johnson screamed again, and Ryan's skin crawled. "You have to stop this!" The sound of the terrified children filled the line between them. "Hardin?"
"No," Hardin answered after a long thoughtful moment, "no, I don't think I do have to. I don't have to do anything. You get me that money, Ryan, and soon, or there'll be more dead bodies for your men to come haul off. We're getting a little…impatient. Meanwhile, we'll be…making memories…in here."
The line went dead, and Ryan cursed roundly, shutting his phone with a snap. He couldn't wait any longer.
* * * * *
Lindy glanced over her shoulder when the door opened. Tabor Hardin strolled in and spoke softly to Macklin. The two men laughed, setting Lindy's teeth on edge. She finished wiping down the tweezers and knives after rinsing them in the washbasin, ignoring Hardin and Macklin.
Tommy wasn't so cool. He sat at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, every muscle in his body tight. Lindy turned to glance at him briefly, but he obstinately refused to look at her.
Hardin came forward, stopping a few feet from the bed. "Well, well. Success. Looks like you are quite the doc, Miss Oliver."
She lifted her head, stopping her movements, but didn't look at him. After a moment, she resumed cleaning the surgical implements, ignoring Macklin's snicker from where he sat at the door.
"I said—"
"I heard you." Lindy cut Hardin off short.
He was quiet, his eyes roving over her appreciatively. "You know, Miss Oliver, I could make things a lot easier on your man, here. If I wanted to. If…someone persuaded me just right."
Lindy couldn't help glancing at Jesse, cursing herself at Hardin's chuckle. He stepped close behind her, reaching to finger a lock of auburn hair. She went stiff at his touch. She didn't need to see Tommy to know he was practically twisting in knots. She felt the moment Jesse came awake, aware of what was going on, as if they breathed the same breath, shared the same heartbeat, knew the other's thoughts.
She had to back Hardin down. Now.
Lindy turned slowly to face him. "You," she murmured softly, "are a liar, Mr. Hardin. You will not, as you say, make things easier for Jesse no matter what bargain you and I might strike. You will do what you have intended from the beginning." She cocked her head to the side, trying to keep her racing heart inside her chest. "Nothing is going to stop you from trying."
"Except…you." Hardin's lips curved up.
Lindy leaned forward, arching a brow, deciding on deliberate crudity for added emphasis. "I hardly think a strange piece of ass is going to change your mind. Revenge is your motivator."
He shrugged. "There are other things—"
"No. Not for you. You're about as narrow-minded as they come." She picked up the basin of pink-tinged water and started for the bathroom to pour it down the sink.
"Narrow-minded?" The anger was quickly replaced with a hint of laughter. "Me?" Hardin stood beside the night table, hands on his hips, his expression disbelieving.
She didn't answer as she stepped into the blue-tiled bathroom and dumped the bloody water into the toilet, then flushed it down.
"And selfish."
"Anything else?" Sardonic amusement lurked in his tone.
Lindy headed for the bedroom door, intending to put the basin in the kitchen sink. "Oh, the list goes on, Mr. Hardin. Aside from the obvious—murder, kidnapping, torture—your suggestion of what I might do with you to help Jesse's situation is just icing on the cake."
"No hope for me, huh?" His words were teasing, almost, but beneath them, Lindy could hear the faint echo of true curiosity, as well as the double meaning. It gave her pause, and she looked more closely at him, knowing this was a dangerous game she played.
But, there was no other way out. She would do whatever she must to save Jesse, and that realization surprised her with its intensity. When had he become so important to her? She brushed that thought away; all that mattered was that he had.
"Only you can decide that, Mr. Hardin. You are responsible for yourself…and everything that happens here."
Lindy went through the door, noting the way his expression changed and became darker, more thoughtful. She set the basin in the stainless steel sink and ran it full of water, giving it a shot of dishwashing detergent before hurrying back into the hallway. She felt uneasy, leaving Hardin alone with Jesse for very long. She knew Tommy was no match for Hardin or Macklin, and it was unfair to leave him in their company without someone to buffer their interaction.
As she re-entered the bedroom, Macklin and Hardin were talking in low tones.
"I want you to spell Leon a while and let him sleep some," Hardin said. "Keeps him from actin' so damn twitchy and gettin' crazy with that bloody box cutter of his."
"You know, Tay, I'm gettin' real tired of Jackson and his problems. It's always somethin' with him."
"Yeah, I know," Hardin answered. "Anyhow, you come on out, and let Leon get his beauty sleep for a few hours." He turned and looked pointedly at Lindy. "Looks like Miss Oliver could use one, too," he added sarcastically. "And she and Jess…they ain't goin' anywhere."
Lindy stopped and watched him, wondering at his words. Odd that he would say something like that—uncalled for and uncharacteristically observant of her looks.
So, I'm not looking my best right now, but it's been a hell of a day.
&nb
sp; "You!" Hardin motioned to Tommy. "C'mon. You don't need to be in here, either. You come on out here where I can keep an eye on you."
Tommy thrust his chin out defiantly. "Jesse might need me."
Hardin's lips twisted. "Jesse might need me," he mocked, looking at Macklin.
Macklin grunted and started for the door.
"Get your ass out there," Hardin said, jerking a thumb at the door.
Quickly, Lindy put her hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Go on, Tommy." She lowered her voice. "Maybe Caspar and Johnson could use some help. Whatever you can do for them…"
"Yeah. Okay." Tommy reluctantly stood up to go, giving Hardin a baleful glare as he walked by.
Macklin roughly pulled Tommy into the deli by his arm.
"Hey, don't—" Lindy began, but Hardin interrupted.
"Ah, hell, he ain't gonna hurt him. Quit worryin'." He glanced at Jesse. "You got enough to stress over in here, don't'cha?"
"Wait!" Lindy pushed her hair back and moistened her lips. She was unsure of what to say to him. She clamped her lips shut to keep from blurting out something she would later regret.
Hardin stood at the door, looking back at her, as if he might stand there as long as it took. He was in no rush.
"What—What are you doing?" she asked finally. "I mean, why?"
"Just giving you some time…before it's my turn."
She raised a questioning brow.
"With Jesse," Hardin was quick to explain. "Surely, you haven't forgotten his…offer." His lips curved in a self-satisfied grin as he spoke. "He's yours for the evening, Miss Oliver, but at midnight, he becomes mine."
Chapter Nineteen
Hardin shut the door behind him, quickly noting Jackson's dour expression. The old bitch was trying to clean up the rookie—no easy feat from the looks of things. Jackson had worked him over, and good. As the old woman began to clean the long furrows Jackson had cut into Tony Johnson's chest and belly, Jackson strode back over to the bar, standing with one leg cocked on the metal railing.
Sweet Danger Page 15
