by Rachel Lee
"It's just a nosebleed," Caroline repeated.
"That's what it looks like," Declan agreed. "But just in case."
He pressed gently at her sinuses, his face betraying nothing as she groaned. When he touched the bridge of her nose, the groan intensified into a short, sharp cry.
"You have a broken nose," he said. "You'll have a couple of black eyes by tonight. Are you sure Dr. Cross or the dog didn't bump you?"
"Yes," she replied. "They were…I mean…no, they didn't touch me. I told her. It felt like I got punched from the inside. Damn, it hurts."
"I'm sorry," Declan said, still gently probing the nasal ridge. "Yes, I'm afraid it's broken. You'll need to get over to the hospital and have it set. They'll pack and tape it, and drain the septum so your nose will stay thin and pretty. But you should be fine."
"Dr. Evans is a good ENT," Markie said. "I'll call him and let him know you're coming."
"So much fuss," Caroline said. "It's just a nosebleed. Really. I'll be fine."
"Just in case," Declan said.
Markie knew what he was thinking. Liability. It was an ugly thought intruding on a treatment procedure, but it was there nonetheless. She would be paying for Caroline's treatment. That was a given. But if she treated the woman with caring, concern and professionalism, perhaps she wouldn't find herself in court over a broken nose.
She spent the next fifteen minutes making phone calls, walking Caroline to Declan's car, convincing her that it wasn't safe for her to drive, then finally instructing the staff to dispose of the cat's remains. Declan returned in time for lunch.
"Is she okay?" Markie asked.
He nodded. "Rick Evans is good. She's stable. She'll be fine."
"I must have bumped her when Kato knocked me down. That's all I can imagine."
"I don't think that was it," Dec said.
"No?"
"No."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
His voice was quiet. "She'll need cosmetic surgery. The cartilage in her nose was all but gone."
* * *
Eyes.
Wendy looked at the drawing again, picked up another colored pencil and added a few strokes, changed pencils and added a few more. Finally she put the pencils down.
Golden eyes.
The ringing of the phone disturbed her concentration. She picked it up.
"Darling."
It was Tim. For some reason, his voice no longer sent a chill through her. But a tiny voice whispered that there was no reason he should know that…yet.
"Hello, love," she said.
"Are we getting together tonight?" he asked.
"Hmmmmmm," she purred, knowing he wouldn't detect the falsity. "It's possible."
"I'd like that."
His voice had the eager tenor of pleasure imagined. The thought struck her that he was, in many ways, a child. Promise him some sex and he would walk right into the mouth of a volcano. To think she had imagined him a man.
"By the way, is Gary home?"
"No, he's not. He said he was going to pick up a few things on the way home."
The undertone in Gary's voice when he'd called had made her sex throb. She still wondered what he had in mind. The possibilities were…endless.
"Give him a message for me," Tim said. "Tell him there's been another…incident. We need to talk."
Such a boy, she thought. Trying to talk in little boys' codes. As if women wouldn't know or want to know such things.
"Yes," she said. "I'll tell him."
A faint click flitted down the line. The question answered itself almost immediately. You've been caught, little boy!
"Thanks," Tim said, hesitation in his voice. He'd heard it, too. "Tell him to call me, okay?"
"I'll give him the message," she answered.
As she hung up the phone, a dark smile emerged on her face. Tim would have an interesting day. She doubted she would even have to come up with a reason to avoid their meeting tonight. Dawn would probably take care of that. Yet another of Tim's lies. It served him right.
Just then the door opened and Gary entered. She turned to catch his eyes, to see if they held the same dark pleasure that had thrilled her so thoroughly last night and teased her so casually when he'd called. They did. Without even thinking, she found herself on her knees, holding the drawing out to him.
"Golden eyes," she whispered.
* * *
Tim stormed into the sunroom, which Dawn had turned into an office for her charity projects. She was sitting at her desk, pencil poised over a checklist of some sort.
"You were listening to my phone call," he said.
She turned to face him, her face eerily calm. "Excuse me?"
"Excuse me?" he said, mimicking her. "You were on the goddamn extension! I heard the click!"
"So you called your girlfriend," she said. "Big deal. I reached for the phone to call a sponsor and heard you were on the phone. I hung up. I don't see why you're getting so bent about it."
He wanted to wring her delicate neck, right then and there. It would be so easy. He was bigger and stronger and had a workingman's strength. She was soft, despite her twice-weekly tennis lessons. He could almost hear the crack of vertebrae separating. Five seconds, ten at most, and it would be over. He would be rid of this infuriatingly cool, calm excuse for a woman.
But not yet. There were others ahead of her on the list. And having Annie do it would be infinitely more satisfying. He'd heard the rumors of how she worked, what she did. The idea of Dawn shuddering in agony while Annie tore her apart from the inside made his loins twitch. It would be so perfect.
"Don't listen to any more of my calls, bitch," he said, before slamming the door of her office.
Oh, yes. Annie would do it so well.
* * *
Declan called his office first and heard what he'd expected to hear. Yes, his afternoon patients had called to cancel. He wasn't surprised. They'd been routine appointments, follow-ups on previous treatments, annual physicals and the like. Things people wanted to put off until someone had an answer for what was happening on Santz Martina. He gave his nurse instructions to call in refills for a couple of routine prescriptions and hung up the phone.
"So what now?" Markie asked.
She, too, was closing her office for the afternoon, double-checking the animals in the kennel, catching up on treatment notes from the morning clients.
"Now we pay a visit to Loleen," he said, once again dialing his cell phone. He put the instrument to his ear and listened to the ringing. Be there, Jolly, he thought, hoping against all logic that the undertaker hadn't closed up shop. He probably had. There was no reason not to.
"Hello?"
A surge of relief passed through Dec. "Jolly?"
"Yes. Dr. Quinn?"
"Yes. Jolly, this is going to sound strange, but…I need to find your grandmother."
"Loleen? Nothing strange about that, Doc. She told me to wait for your call."
Doesn't that just figure? Dec thought. "I should say I'm surprised, but…"
"You're learning, Doc. Learning to see from the inside. As Grandmother would say, 'Praise de Lord, it about time.'"
"Where can I find her, Jolly?"
"She's waiting for you at the ruins. You know where they are?"
He knew. It was on the real estate welcome tour, part of the patter he'd been given when he'd been thinking of buying a house. Own a piece of a mysterious Caribbean island, only ten percent down, low interest rates, great climate, excellent schools.
"Thanks, Jolly."
"No, Doc." The cheery island lilt was gone from his voice. "Thank you."
Markie and Kato piled into his car, and he headed up the winding road that climbed the knobby ridge overlooking Martina Town. In the rearview mirror, he watched Kato sniff the air. There was none of the grinning, eyes-half-closed, ears-flopping, tongue-lolling, happy-dog-in-a-car mannerisms about him. He was scenting with deadly earnest.
Markie's face was drawn and pale.
Her hands fidgeted in her lap. Her eyes held a dark, haunted look. "She came for me, Dec."
There it was, out in the open at last. The unspeakable, the unthinkable, they had both been avoiding. He made one more push to deny it, vain though it was.
"We don't know that," he said.
"Kato knew. That's why he jumped on me. He kept me out of the way." She paused and turned those haunted eyes to him. "She wants me, Dec!"
He couldn't pretend anymore. He would only be lying to himself. "I won't let her take you. Kato won't let her. Somehow, I don't know how, we'll keep you safe."
It was, he thought, an empty promise. A statement of intention with no firm idea of the method to back it up. And she probably knew it. Hell, there was no probably to it. She had to know. The look in her eyes said so.
Once again, here he was, the doctor. One step removed from God. Making promises he could only hope to keep. So many times he'd done that. So many times he'd said, "We'll take care of you, you'll be fine," when he knew there was little or nothing he could do. So many times he'd seen patients look up at him, eyes full of betrayal, as their lives ebbed away. Too soon. Too often. Too many. And he was doing it again.
But he would be damned if he would just stand by and let it happen now. Yes, he'd had his failures. Times when not all the training, experience, skill and equipment in the world could change the inevitable course of a body's losing battle with injury or illness. In med school they'd called them "negative outcomes." In the trauma surgery suite, he'd tried to use that same, dispassionate language. In the family lounge—in the eyes of mothers, fathers, wives, husbands and children—he'd seen it for what it was: a cruel euphemism. He'd ridden that roller coaster, and it had taken him down into the depths of his soul.
Okay. That was then. This was now.
"We'll keep you safe," he repeated.
He needed to believe that.
* * *
Wendy smiled as Gary looked at the drawing and nodded.
"Wolf's eyes," he said.
"Yes. Wolf's eyes."
He reached out and cupped her chin. "You did well, my pet."
She lowered her eyes, feeling the steady pulse in her loins. Her voice was a grateful whisper. "Thank you."
"You know what the wolf eyes mean?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"It means we've found it. We've found Annie's treasure."
She looked up, smiling. "You're sure?"
"It all fits. The vet has a wolf. Everyone knows that. Annie must have been looking around." He paused. "Of course…"
His voice trailed away, and she studied his eyes.
"Yes?"
He dragged a finger across his chin. "This means the wolf can see her. Is that possible?"
"Dog owners have long imagined that their pets have some extrasensory capacity," she said. "There's some recent research to support that. Some dogs will wait at a window when their owner leaves work and heads for home, even if the owner leaves at an unexpected time, as if the dog can sense that he's coming home. And a wolf hybrid is, well, one step closer to its wild roots. So yes, I'd guess it's possible that the wolf can see her."
It felt good that, even as servile as she felt—and that was exactly how she felt, how she now realized she'd longed for years to feel—he still respected her education and insight. It was, she thought, the perfect combination: love, respect and a firm, dominant hand that made her feel sheltered, cherished and owned. Why hadn't she found this with him long ago? Why had she wasted so many years with lonely fantasies and so many months with a man whose eyes had never really said I love you?
Those were questions she would ponder in idle moments for years to come. But the answers really didn't matter. She had found her happiness now.
"You've been a good girl," Gary said.
The words hit her like a live wire. She shivered and smiled silently. She didn't need to say it. She knew he could see it. But she said it anyway.
"Thank you, Gary."
His fingers trailed over her face. "And now, my pet, I have a surprise for you."
His other hand reached into the plastic bag at his side. She saw the gleaming black leather as he withdrew his hand.
Yessssssss.
* * *
Loleen was sitting on a pile of rubble as Dec pulled up to the ruins. Her eyes were closed, the rattle shaking almost soundlessly in her hand. Her lips murmured a prayer he could not understand.
"Loleen?"
Her eyes slowly opened, and he gasped.
Her irises were an icy white. Tiny black pupils, contracted in the afternoon light, seemed to bore through him.
"The doctor comes," she said.
"Yes, Loleen. We're here."
She nodded. "And the woman and her wolf, who share their minds."
Now it was Markie's turn to gasp. "How did you…?"
Loleen smiled. "It's what we see, child. It's what we've always seen. That's why my Jolly brought you the pouch. It wouldn't have worked for anyone else. You will need it now."
"It's…gone," Markie said. "The humidity. The leather was rotting."
Loleen's eyes widened. "Not good. Dat's not good, no. You need protection. De bad wam come."
"Excuse me?" Dec asked. He'd picked up a smidgen of island Creole, but not enough. "I don't understand."
"Annie come," she said quietly. "Someone stir her up bad. Bring her out. Send her for you."
"What do you mean, send her?"
Loleen shook the rattle softly as she talked. "Annie hate. All her life she hate. Hate her father. Hate her brothers. Hate her husbands. Hate her slaves. Her black heart full of hate then. An' full of hate now. Only she don' know no one now. She linger in de earth, like dust in de corners. You look and see, it just a little dust here. A little dere. But you gather it all up an' blow…it fill de air. You choke on it. Someone gather her all up an' blow."
Her eyes fixed on Markie. "An' blow on you, child."
Markie shook her head. "But I thought her body was burned to ash. The ashes spread all over the island. So she would never again be, how did you say, gathered up."
"Yes," Loleen said, nodding. "Dey do all dat. But her gold. Dey took away her gold and bur' it in de ground. Her body, dey burned, 'cept da bones. But her black heart always in her gold. She wan' it back. She wan' it all back. Dey fin' her, dey promise her dat, and she come and do what dey wan'." She paused for a moment, shaking her head, mouthing a silent prayer. "Den she do what she wan'."
Slowly, Dec nodded. "So what do we do?"
Loleen offered a faint smile. "You fin' who stir her up. You fin' dem by her black heart in dem. You fin' dem and take away dat black heart. Den you fin' her gold an' you destroy it. You t'row it in de mountain and burn it up. Dat's how you stop her. De only way."
"But how will we know who they are?" Markie asked.
Now Loleen looked at Kato.
"You already know, child. De wolf know. De wolf see her. You follow de wolf. You fin' dem."
"And then?" Dec asked.
"And den," Loleen said, her eyes once again boring into him, "den you gon' know ta do, Doc. You gon' know when it be time to know."
Her voice became a hoarse whisper. "Den you have to fin' de heart ta do it."
22
Dawn told herself she hadn't known. She told herself she'd been too busy with her projects, with Brindle, with the conscious effort of ignoring Tim's infidelity, acting as if nothing were wrong. But she knew that wasn't true.
She'd known.
Tim refused to hire a maid service. Too ostentatious, too much like his father, he'd said. Not that it mattered, really. He wasn't around all that much, and it took little effort to keep up after herself and the dogs. So of course she dusted his office from time to time. She'd glanced at the maps and notes, even if she told herself she hadn't. She'd known.
Now Tim was gone again, to who knew where, probably to his boat to meet with Wendy Morgan. Although, in truth, the woman hadn't sounded thrilled at the prospect of meeting
him. Maybe she'd finally figured out that Tim didn't love her, not in any meaningful sense of that word. Maybe Dawn was figuring that out, too.
So she'd gone into Tim's office and taken a closer look at his papers. One of them was a photocopy of an old college term paper. She'd read it. And the feelings she'd kept pent up for so long came bursting out. First shock. Then horror.
Then anger.
She considered calling Abel, then decided against it. Running to Tim's father seemed childish, and besides, she didn't know if she had time. Instead, she called Markie Cross. The phone rang. Rang again. And again. Then Markie's answering machine kicked on.
At least she could leave a message.
"Markie, it's Dawn Roth. If you're there, get out. When you get this message, get out. Get away. And stay away—"
The connection was cut off.
She toggled the receiver. No dial tone.
A moment later, she heard Brindle howl.
* * *
Wendy stood in front of the mirror and looked at the faint welts on her bottom. Some part of her said she ought to feel anger or hurt. Instead, she felt pride. She ran her fingertips over the raised skin and felt the warm tingle.
Arms slipped around her, and she glanced up at Gary's reflection in the mirror. His eyes were kind and soft.
"You like?" he asked.
"Mmmmmmmm…yes," she said. "It felt so good."
He trailed tender kisses over her shoulder. "I think I like this, Wendy."
She turned into his arms and met his eyes. "I know I like it, darling."
Tears brimmed in his eyes. "Welcome back, love."
She slid her arms beneath his and gently dug her nails into his back, clinging to him. "Oh, Gary…"
The words died away as she felt the presence again. The chill swept over them, and they clung tighter.
"Not again…." Gary whispered, before his eyes began to harden.
Wendy felt the tug within her chest. Was it Gary she had rediscovered, or Annie within him? And if she clung too hard to Gary, would Annie's jealous rages turn on her? She wanted the hard Gary, the Gary who took her, claimed her, made her his. But she didn't want to share him with the savage ghost of a homicidal psychopath.
"Bitch," he said, his eyes fixed on her.
