Through the Night

by Janelle Denison

  The sound of loud clanging, like someone opening and closing the metal cell doors, along with a cacophony of muddled, angry voices, reverberated through Valerie, startling her and kicking her heartbeat up another notch.

  Again, Paul and Chase didn’t seem to notice, but there was no mistaking the feeling of being surrounded by turmoil and chaos. And with only the three of them in the building, the sinister chatter and presence of corruption were more pronounced for her. There was nothing to dilute the strong negative energy hanging over the place, and Valerie could only imagine the horrors the penitentiary had seen in its day.

  “Here we are,” Paul said, and unlocked the metal door to Capone’s old cell before sliding the heavy gate open.

  The loud clanging sound matched the one Valerie had just heard in her mind, but this time it was real. While Paul and Chase waited outside the small, nine-by-five room that seemed more like a cage, she reluctantly stepped inside. The cubicle was still furnished with an old cot, and there was a toilet and sink, and small folding table and chair.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she sat down in the middle of the thin mattress, folded her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes. In order to weed through all the disjointed paranormal activity inhabiting the prison, she put herself in a meditative state and focused on the spirit of the man they’d come to visit.

  Normally, she had to touch a person to get a reading, but the emotions contained in these three walls were so concentrated and compelling that she didn’t need human contact. Sensations seeped into her pores—sorrow, grief, remorse—and in time, she connected to images of a man strumming a musical instrument, the chords of the song he was playing a mournful, stirring melody. Immersing himself in the tunes was something that gave him joy in an otherwise dismal, bleak place.

  “He loved music and he played the banjo,” she murmured, glad to know that there had been some kind of pleasurable diversion during his time in prison. That he’d had some kind of escape, even if only for a little while, from all the anguish and pain.

  “They did allow Capone to keep a banjo in his cell, and he played for the other inmates,” Paul said, confirming what she’d seen.

  “And he wrote lyrics.” In her mind, she could see him penning words on a musical writing sheet and could feel his passion as he wrote each verse. Capone might have been a notorious, ruthless mob boss, but the man had a sensitive side. “It’s a beautiful, tender love song.”

  “He titled the song ‘Madonna Mia,’ and he wrote it for his wife.” Again, Paul backed up her mental impressions.

  “Anything about the cane?” Chase asked, obviously eager to learn something about his prized possession.

  Eyes still closed, she pictured the ivory top piece Chase had shown her, and waited to see what happened. After a while the impression faded, and a draft of cold air swirled around her, leaving her with nothing substantial to offer Chase.

  She glanced at him and shook her head, hating to disappoint him. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t pick up on anything related to the cane.”

  They left the cell and Paul escorted them to another part of the prison—Cell Block D, where Capone had spent time in solitary confinement. One step into the dark, isolated room, and she nearly dropped to her knees as shrieking, piercing cries echoed in her head. She cringed as a knifelike pain stabbed at her temples. The terror and deprivation lingering in this chamber were so intense, so debilitating, they nearly sucked the life out of her and caused her to panic.

  She quickly backed out of the room, her wide eyes reflecting her own horror as she stared at Chase. “There’s way too much going on in there for me to even try to pinpoint anything specific.”

  “Can we try one more place?” Chase asked, though his kind tone told her that once again he was leaving the choice up to her. “Capone spent his last months in the infirmary because of his syphilis, and like Paul said, there have been reports that he was always rambling about his life and the things he did as a gangster.”

  Dread swelled inside her, and she did her best to push it back. “I’ll try.”

  He gave her a grateful smile. “That’s all I can ask.”

  Minutes later they arrived at the prison hospital ward, and if Valerie thought the isolation cell had been filled with torment, this place was equally oppressive. The magnitude of suffering and misery was so intense, nausea rose up in her throat, and a burning, prickly sensation tightened her scalp. Screams of abject agony ripped through her brain, adding to all the sensory overload in her system, and she pressed her hands to her ears to block the awful sound, but it wouldn’t stop.

  Her insides churned, her vision blurred with tears, and she took a frantic step back and slammed into Chase’s broad chest. Her legs buckled, and he caught her elbows before she lost her balance. “I can’t,” she rasped, shaking her head wildly. “I can’t do it. I have to get out of here. Now,” she pleaded.

  Chase didn’t hesitate or ask questions. As quickly as possible, he had her out of the building, and as soon as they were outside, she gulped fresh air into her lungs, which did nothing to help the headache pounding in her skull or her queasy, upset belly. Knowing she was going to lose her breakfast, she found the nearest bush and emptied the contents of her stomach.

  Chase was right by her side, his expression etched with guilt and worry as he secured an arm around her waist and helped her to the tram. She could hear him through the pounding in her head asking if she was going to be okay, his voice filled with panic, but she was so inundated with another wave of nausea and such excruciating pain that she couldn’t form a coherent word.

  Her other symptoms persisted, increased in strength even, and by the time they made their way back to the dock, then inside the boat to get back to the mainland, Valerie thought she was going to die. She’d broken out in a cold sweat, and her entire body shook uncontrollably. Her skull felt as though it were being split wide open with an ax by the full-fledged, brutal migraine that had taken up residence in her head.

  Chase led her down to the enclosed part of the boat, sat on a padded chair, and pulled her onto his lap. Weak and spent, she went willingly, sliding her arms around his neck and curling into the heat and strength of his body as if she belonged there.

  Unable to swallow back a sob of pain, she buried her face against his throat, hating the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes, as well as how helpless she felt. Relying on anyone for anything wasn’t something she did easily or willingly, but at the moment, she didn’t have a choice. She was just grateful that Chase was there to comfort her.

  Very gently, he tipped her head back, his brow furrowed in a deep frown as he brushed away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Jesus, Valerie, why didn’t you tell me you’d have this kind of reaction?” he demanded gruffly.

  “It’s never been this bad.” Then again, she’d never openly subjected herself to such a cursed and haunted environment. And, dammit, she’d really wanted to do this for him, wanted to give him that lead he wanted so badly to complete the rest of the cane.

  She shuddered from the brisk elements that had seeped deep into her pores, and when he slipped his hands inside her jacket, then beneath her sweater to help warm her chilled skin, she moaned her appreciation. His external temperature was like a fever, and she couldn’t get close enough.

  He caressed his flattened palm up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her, creating familiar sparks of electricity. “What can I do to help make it better?” His worried gaze searched hers.

  His touch was helping immensely, restoring her circulation and making her burn in ways she might have welcomed had her head not throbbed so damn badly. “I have some meds in the room, but it’s going to take time for the migraine to ebb. Just get me back to the hotel so I can lie down in a dark, quiet room.”

  “We’ll be there soon,” he promised.

  After that, the rest of the trip back to San Francisco was a blur. She let Chase take care of her, mainly because she had no choice. She couldn’t think strai
ght, and he was there to support her when she just wanted to collapse in a heap and let the pain consume her.

  When they reached the hotel, he picked her up in his strong arms as if she weighed no more than a feather and carried her from the taxi and into the lobby, then up to their room. Once there, he set her on the bed and tugged off her jacket, then found her migraine prescription in her toiletries bag, and the cold compresses for her head.

  He made her lie down, covered her with the blankets, and drew the shades to block out the late-morning sun now streaming through the window. Then he returned to the bed, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and pressed those talented fingers of his to her temples.

  Normally, she couldn’t stand physical contact of any kind when she was dealing with a migraine of this magnitude, but she remembered the magic he created with those hands when he’d massaged her feet on the plane, and it was so easy to succumb to his skillful touch.

  But even as she gazed up into his dark green eyes, she knew that the light caress of his fingertips was more than just a means to soothe and heal her aching head. His touch connected them in ways she never would have thought possible: deep, emotional ways that defied a normal physical response. Anytime his hands were on her skin, he made her feel, and right now every stroke of his fingers enveloped her with his warmth, his caring, his tenderness.

  The realization of just how deeply their bond went caused a stirring of panic, one that told her she was letting him way to close. But right now, she didn’t have the strength to pull away from him, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to. Not now. She was utterly exhausted and at her most vulnerable, and he was going out of his way to make her as comfortable as possible.

  She couldn’t be more grateful that he was there for her, and managed to whisper her appreciation. “Thank you.”

  “Shhh. Close your eyes, breathe deep, and relax,” he murmured, his husky tone flowing over her like a hypnotic spell.

  She did as he ordered, moaning softly as he managed to hit all the right pressure points, alleviating the worst part of the pain. A temporary comfort, she knew, but she’d take whatever relief she could get. Tomorrow, when she was in a better frame of mind, she’d regroup and shore up her defenses against this man who made her want too much.

  Between his gentle ministrations, his seductive voice, and the migraine medicine finally kicking in and making her drowsy, she welcomed the black void of nothingness awaiting her.

  * * *

  Chase sat on the bed next to Valerie for a while longer, until he knew for certain that she’d fallen into a deep sleep, finally free from the insufferable migraine that had sapped every ounce of her energy and strength. But even then, he found it hard to leave her side.

  He still couldn’t believe that she’d endured all the weird paranormal elements at Alcatraz for him. He had no idea she’d suffer such an adverse reaction, and he couldn’t stop the guilt that plagued him at how badly she’d been affected. As much as he wanted the information on the cane, he never, ever would have knowingly jeopardized her health and mental well-being that way.

  He adjusted the cold pack on her forehead and brushed a few wispy strands of hair away from her face, his chest pulling tight with a tenderness he rarely experienced. Normally, he’d cut off the emotion before it had time to fully develop, but there was no stopping something that felt so natural and right with Valerie. Especially after what she’d just been through.

  Chase wasn’t a dote-on-a-woman kind of guy in any situation, but seeing her so weak and pale and in such excruciating pain had scared the shit out of him—and made him feel so damn helpless when he hadn’t been able to ease her agony. All he could think of at the time was, Please don’t die on me, and knew that panicked thought had stemmed from his failure to save his best friend when he’d lain dying beneath Chase so many years ago.

  He wasn’t about to let anything like that happen to Valerie. She’d seemingly made it through okay, and he couldn’t be more relieved. But until he knew for certain she was back to normal, he planned to stand vigil over her for as long as it took.

  Chapter Seven

  Valerie slowly, gradually awakened. Her heavy lashes fluttered open over eyes that felt gritty and unfocused. She squinted, confused and disoriented when she didn’t immediately recognize her surroundings.

  Curled up on her side, all warm and snug in her covers, she didn’t move, focusing instead on Chase, who was sitting upright on the bed across from hers. His computer was open on his lap, the glow from the screen the only light in the room, and his fingers tapped softly on the keyboard as he worked.

  With each moment that passed, her foggy brain began to clear and she remembered that she was in a hotel room in San Francisco with Chase, who’d taken charge after her splitting migraine had all but incapacitated her. The worst was over and she was feeling more human again. Now, all that remained was a dull ache—nothing a bit of ibuprofen couldn’t handle, thank God.

  Other vague memories filtered through her mind, of Chase stripping off her cumbersome jeans and bulky sweater at some point and dressing her in her tank top and cotton pajama shorts so she’d be more comfortable, and he’d even been gentlemanly enough not to remove her bra. He’d fed her soup, made her drink water, and made sure she took her medication. He’d helped her up a few times when she had to use the bathroom, and afterwards she’d crawled back into bed and fell asleep again.

  She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat, realizing just how well Chase had tended to her as she’d drifted in and out of consciousness, and she couldn’t help but be grateful for his presence. Nobody had ever cared for her that way, and it was a huge thing for her that she’d let him see her at her most susceptible, given that she just didn’t let people that close.

  He hadn’t noticed that she was awake yet, and she took the opportunity to just watch him for a while. Something on his laptop had his full attention, and the bright screen illuminated his face and masculine profile, and the way his dark blond hair fell haphazardly over his forehead.

  Her gaze lingered on his full, sensual lips, then leisurely traveled lower. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she was treated to a breathtaking view of his broad shoulders and bare, muscular chest, all the way down to a flat, toned abdomen dusted with a light sprinkling of hair that disappeared beneath the cotton sweat shorts he wore. His thighs were strong, lean, and tanned like the rest of his body, and his legs crossed at the ankles—and geez, the man even had great-looking feet.

  He was so sexy, so sinfully gorgeous, he made her all warm and tingly in feminine places, and she had to resist the urge to shift her thighs to relieve the slow, pulsing ache between. Oh, yeah, she was definitely feeling better. Much better.

  Even though she could stare at him in all his naked glory for hours, she decided to let him know she was awake and still alive. “Hey,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse.

  He glanced over at her, his expression reflecting surprise that she was finally conscious, which was quickly replaced by immediate concern. “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m much better. The worst part is over. The migraine is all but gone and I just have a light headache, which is normal after an episode.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand between their beds, the glowing red numbers stating it was 8:49, shocking her with how long she’d been passed out. “I can’t believe I slept all day.”

  “And night,” he said, a grin pulling up one corner of his mouth. “It’s Tuesday morning.”

  “Wow.” She rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling, finding it hard to process the fact that she’d been out for nearly twenty-four hours. “That’s certainly a first.”

  “You obviously needed the sleep to recuperate.” He closed his laptop, set it aside, then stood up. “I kept the room as dark and quiet as possible while you were resting. Will the morning sun bother you if I open the curtains?”

  “Go ahead. I should be okay.” She turned her head and stopped midstretc
h just as he started toward the window, and holy cow, his backside was just as magnificent as his chest. His skin was bronzed, smooth, and taut over muscle, making her wonder what it would feel like to dig her fingers into all those tendons and sinews in the throes of white-hot passion.

  She curled her toes beneath the blanket and released a stream of breath that sounded more like a sigh. Yeah, that was a heady fantasy. She might have made it clear that she wasn’t going to sleep with Chase, but he was still pure temptation and glorious eye candy. And she was a woman who appreciated a man who was physically fit and oh-so virile.

  He gradually slid the heavy drapes open, giving her eyes time to adjust to the sunshine pouring into the room; then he returned to his bed and sat on the edge facing her. This close, she had to force her gaze to stay above his neck. But then again, his piercing green eyes and the intent way he looked at her were just as inviting as the rest of him.

  She sat up in bed, slow and easy, and was relieved when her head didn’t rebel with a jolt of pain. A positive sign that she really was okay. She ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, certain that she looked a mess after what she’d been through.

  If she looked like death warmed over, he was polite enough not to say anything. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I made you eat some soup last night, but that’s about all you’ve had. I ordered up breakfast a while ago. There’s a cart in the other room with an assortment of stuff on it.”

  He’d pretty much thought of everything. “Food sounds good. Are you going to join me?”

  “Sure. I had an omelet earlier, but I could eat a Danish.” He grinned.

  Her mouth felt a bit fuzzy, and she desperately wanted to brush her teeth. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll meet you out there.”

  He left, giving her some privacy, and she headed into the bathroom to freshen up. After taking care of more urgent business, she gave her teeth a good scrubbing, washed the smudged makeup from her face, and brushed her tangled hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.