by Sarah Wynde
“Places where bones have been broken in the past. Both bones of her right arm in multiple places, her collarbone, the ribs at least a few times, and her jaw, ouch. Plus the hand. And maybe a bone in the foot. Most of them happened a long time ago, but it wasn’t one bad accident. You can tell from the levels of calcification that they occurred at different times. The hand was recent.” She looked at Zane thoughtfully. “Your girl has lived a dangerous life.”
“My girl?” Zane’s surprise showed. “She’s not mine. This is only the second time I’ve met her.” He didn’t mention the number of times he’d thought of her in the month since her interview. It was more than a few.
“Oh, right.” Natalya busied herself with the keyboard again, looking embarrassed.
“Okay, sister mine, what do you know that I don’t?”
She grinned at him. “Well, there’s that entire medical school curriculum, for one thing.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. You saw something, didn’t you?”
“And you know I prefer not to talk about those things. The future is ours to control. Anything I see is just a possibility.”
Zane sighed. His sister had inherited his father’s gift—the only one in the family to do so. Max might call himself a serendipidist, but the rest of the world would have called him a precognitive psychic. Not always, not consistently, and not always accurately, but sometimes, and often when it counted, he could see the future.
So could Nat. But unlike their father, she tried not to act on her knowledge and not to share it. Her exceptions were random—Akira’s two-year contract had to have been one of them, Zane suspected—but rare. And once she decided not to talk, nothing short of an act of God would get her mouth open. Zane wasn’t even going to try.
“So how do you think she broke all those bones?” he asked, nodding toward Akira.
Natalya glanced in that direction and frowned. “You could ask her. But . . .”
Zane raised his eyebrows when she didn’t continue. “Go on.”
She was quiet again.
“Come on, Nat. Tell me what you know.” This was right in front of him, if he only knew how to read the scans.
“This might fall under doctor-patient confidentiality,” she finally said.
“I’m in the room with you, watching the scans, and she knows I’m here. She could have gone to a perfectly nice hospital, and she didn’t, so tell me what you see.” He didn’t often dig his heels in, but he felt almost annoyed that Nat knew more about Akira than he did. Bad enough that she wouldn’t tell him what her gift revealed, but he knew he ought to be able to figure this out for himself.
“Ribs, jaw, spiral fractures on the arms? And that hand . . .” Nat pulled up the image of the skeletal hand again, and looked at it, shaking her head.
“What about them?” he asked. He glanced back through the window. Nat’s typing had caused the table to slide out of the machine, and Akira was sitting up.
“If this was an emergency room, and she was here with fresh injuries, I’d be sending in a social worker before I let her leave. And probably a police officer, too,” Nat said, before adding with a sigh, “But since all I’ve got is you, go bandage her abrasions.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Akira waited restlessly. The metal table, the dim light, the feel of the cotton hospital gown against her skin—all were bringing back memories, and while she was trying to feel grateful for Zane’s concern and Natalya’s helpfulness, mostly she just wanted out. Quickly.
The door to the room opened and Zane entered, trying to balance a few boxes with one hand while pushing the door with the other, not looking at her. He was unsmiling, Akira noticed, his brows drawn down over his blue-gray eyes, his face somber.
She frowned. She felt all right—bruised and stinging, but not seriously hurt. “I’m okay, aren’t I?”
His brows went up, almost startled. “Oh, yeah, you’re fine.” He smiled, but Akira could tell that it was slightly forced. “Nat has delegated me to bandage your scrapes,” he adding, holding up his supplies.
She looked down at the abrasions, turning her arms out to show them to him. They were just brush burns, really, not deep or bleeding, but the skin was raw and red. “I hope you have some big Band-Aids.”
He grimaced sympathetically. “Nat gave me gauze and tape. GD’s not a hospital, but we do a fair amount of medical research here so we’re well stocked. Nat could probably handle anything short of the zombie apocalypse.” He dropped the boxes on the table, opened them and took out what he needed, then moved to stand in front of her.
As he took her right arm in his warm hands, Akira closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. This was not going to feel good. She couldn’t prevent a wince at his touch, but pressed her lips together and stayed silent while Zane cleaned the abrasions and applied an antibiotic ointment lightly, first on one arm, and then the next.
“All done,” he said. Akira took a deep breath. The antibiotic must have had a numbing cream in it, because the stinging pain was starting to fade.
“Pretty stoic, aren’t you?” Zane asked, handing her the tape to hold. Akira shrugged. What was there to say to that? They were just scrapes, after all. He unfolded the gauze and began positioning it on her arm, a slight awkwardness revealing his unfamiliarity with the job.
“So, are you an extreme sports fan?” His question almost sounded casual, but Akira looked at his bent head warily. Extreme sports?
“No. Why do you ask?” she replied.
“My sister tells me you’ve broken quite a few bones in your time.”
Akira glanced at the window that opened onto the room with the computer screens. Hmm, she supposed the scan could have shown that, couldn’t it? “I guess I’ve broken my share.”
He reached for the tape, and she gave it back to him. Casually, he ripped a piece off with his teeth, before asking, “But not skateboarding? Or maybe some mountain climbing? Skydiving?”
“No.” Did she look like a skateboarder? She smiled a little at the idea, trying to picture herself flying off a ramp and spinning in the air.
Finished with her first arm, he looked up, catching her gaze and holding it, his eyes intent. “Is there someone I can kill for you?” he asked.
Startled, she lost her smile. “Excuse me?” He’d said those words with such seriousness.
“Is the person who beat you still alive?” he asked the question patiently, without anger, not looking away.
She bit her lip. And then she pulled her eyes away from his, almost by force of will, looking to the side to get away from his focused stare without dropping her gaze. “It’s not that simple.” But then she realized that the easiest answer was also at least mostly true. “No.”
“Good.” He nodded, then patted her arm gently, setting it down and reaching for the other one.
She felt a rush of warmth for him. His question was possibly the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Sort of. It was also just the tiniest bit scary. Zane didn’t look like a killer, but did she know what a killer would look like? “What would you have done if I’d said yes?”
“Called my brother,” he answered, looking up at her with a wry grin. “I admit, it’s not my area of expertise, but if you were in danger, Lucas would take care of it.” He finished the sentence sounding grim, before turning back to the gauze and tape.
“I’m not. But . . . thank you. I think.”
“He does draw the line at murder, though,” Zane continued more cheerfully. “Knowing Lucas, he’d come up with some complicated plan that would require middle of the night road trips, secret rendezvous, untraceable cell phones, and way too much thinking. But at the end of the day, you’d be as safe as the universe would allow.”
“Does he work for General Directions, too?” she asked. Did he have something to do with why that security guard looked so over-qualified to be sitting in an office building on a weekend? What did this company do exactly, anyway?
“Yep. He’s on the road most
of the time, though. He does a lot of our government work.” Zane finished smoothing down the tape on her second arm, just as the door opened and Natalya entered, carrying a prescription pad.
Smiling, but with a mild note of reproach in her voice, she said, “You could have let her get dressed first, Zane.”
Zane looked momentarily surprised and then, as if for the first time, seemed to notice what Akira was wearing. Her hospital gown was the typical loose-fitting, light-weight cotton, white with a pattern of tiny flowers, but a cool breeze where the ties gaped in the back, revealing her bare skin. Natalya had told her to take everything off, and she’d thought nothing of it, but under Zane’s gaze, she suddenly felt very aware of her lack of underwear.
“I’m sorry, I was thinking more about what was under—I mean, I was thinking about the scan—” he stuttered to a halt, taking a hasty step backwards. “I’ll just . . . I’ll wait outside.” He gestured to the door, and then made a quick exit, dropping the tape on the table.
“I think I embarrassed him.” Natalya sounded surprised, looking after him. She turned back to Akira, who could feel her cheeks turning pink with heat as a flush of warmth raced through her. “And I embarrassed you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Akira shook her head, trying not to blush even harder. “It’s fine, really.”
“He doesn’t embarrass easily,” Natalya added, looking at Akira with a slight frown.
Akira shifted, feeling acutely self-conscious.
“Well, let me just take a look.” Natalya checked the gauze on Akira’s arms, and gave her some quick instructions for care, ignoring Akira’s uneasiness. She handed Akira a paper prescription for painkillers and added, “We’re a research facility, not a traditional office, so I can’t call it in for you. You’ll have to stop by a pharmacy.”
Akira took the paper dutifully, nodding, but the thought of finding a pharmacy seemed almost overwhelming. She was going to have to call a mechanic to get the Taurus fixed. And a rental car agency to get another car for the time being. Or maybe a taxi service? For just a moment, she yearned to be back in California, back in her familiar world.
“I’ll let you get dressed now,” Natalya seemed to be looking right through Akira. “And don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”
Easy for her to say, Akira thought as she returned to the small room she’d started in, and quickly scrambled back into her clothes, pulling her shirt over her head with a wince of pain. She could feel that her hair was a mess, the wispy dark layers tangled, and she hastily finger-combed it, wishing for a mirror.
A tentative knock on the door interrupted her, and Akira pulled it open. Zane was standing on the other side, one hand up to the door, the other holding his cell phone to his ear. “Yes, Dad,” he was saying patiently. “Let me just see when will work.” He dropped the phone to his side and said, “You want to meet my dad for dinner tonight? We can swing by a drugstore, drop off your prescription, then pick it up when I take you back to your hotel after we eat.”
Akira opened her mouth to protest that he didn’t need to do all that, and then shut it again. No need to be stupid about this—if he was willing to drive her to the places she needed to go, she should just be grateful. Plus, she was eager to meet the mysterious Dr. Max Latimer. “Sure, that’s fine.”
He put a hand under her elbow and led her down the hallway and into the elevator, still talking into the cellphone. That moment of awareness spurred by how little she’d been wearing hadn’t passed: Akira felt the warmth of his touch as acutely as if it were a deliberate stroke rather than a casual familiarity. Her heart was beating a little too quickly, and there was a low-level tingle teasing her stomach. Oh, dear. There were probably a dozen reasons why it was a bad idea to be feeling attracted to this guy, starting with the fact that she had a two-year contract to work for him.
But he was insanely cute, she admitted to herself. That messy hair, the grin, the casual ease in the way he moved? And then there was the sweet way he’d taken care of her injuries, his careful touch and concern. She wondered what he’d be like in bed, whether he was one of those guys that was all about the final moments or whether he was playful and lingering—and then he snapped his phone shut and said, in a businesslike tone, “I’ve arranged for Dillon’s car to be towed and repaired. We’ll need to talk about your lease.”
Oh, right. She was here under totally false pretenses. They hadn’t hired her for her research skills and scientific knowledge; they’d hired her to talk to spirits. And that was not something she was going to do. The tingle in her stomach didn’t exactly die, but she firmly suppressed it as she tugged her elbow free.
“What about my lease?” she asked, as they exited the elevator, and headed out of the building. It had gotten late in the afternoon but the sun was still bright, the sky a clear blue. A tow truck was parked next to the black car, a vaguely familiar dark-haired man in blue jeans and a t-shirt leaning against it, his hands in his pockets.
“Hey, Dave,” Zane greeted him, tossing him the car keys.
The man quickly pulled his hands out and snatched the keys out of the air. “You serious about the rush job?”
“Yep.” Akira, following a few steps behind Zane, saw that Dillon was seated, cross-legged, on the roof of the car. He waved at her, but didn’t say anything. She smiled at him, grateful that he remembered not to talk to her in front of living people.
Dave shook his head. “Kyle says sure thing, then. For triple time, he’d bang more than—” he faltered to a halt, as he noticed Akira, and then continued smoothly, as if he’d never paused, “—he’s happy to fix a dent and get some new air bags installed. And you’re in luck; he can pull the bags from a loaner he’s got. You can get this thing back tomorrow.” He gave the car’s tire a gentle kick.
“Nice,” Zane said approvingly. He pulled open the door of the car and stuck his head in. “Hey, Dillon, Dave’s going to take the car, but it’s only until tomorrow. You want Kyle to—I don’t know, play you music or something?”
He looked over his shoulder at Akira, who was paused by the hood, staring at him. “What’s he say?”
“Uh, who ya’ talking to, dude?” Dave asked, while Akira compressed her lips together. She couldn’t believe Zane. What did he think he was doing?
“Car’s haunted,” Zane answered, straightening. He gestured toward Akira with his chin. “She can see ghosts.”
Akira’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and then she glared. Did the man not have a speck of discretion? At this rate, the entire world was going to know she was crazy.
Dave’s brows raised, but he managed not to let go of whatever skeptical comment was on his tongue, taking a few steps forward and holding out his hand to shake hands with Akira. “Dave Voigt,” he said. “A pleasure.”
“Akira Malone,” she sighed, shaking his hand and wishing she dared give a fake name. But Zane would probably give her away immediately if she did.
“So what’s he say?” Zane repeated.
“Yeah, what’s he say?” Dave grinned at her, and it wasn’t quite a smirk.
Damn it, she didn’t know what to do. She glanced at Dillon, who shrugged. “Talking Heads?” he offered.
She frowned. It seemed like an odd choice from a teenage boy. She’d thought he was a recent ghost, within a few years, but she supposed his casual attire could have been from any late twentieth century era. Still, if Zane was his uncle, and had known him in life, he couldn’t be that old. “Aren’t you kind of young for them? They ought to be from before you were even born.”
She ignored the surprised look from Dave, standing next to her. Zane, following her gaze, realized that Dillon was outside the car. He stepped back and shut the car door.
“My dad’s a big fan,” Dillon replied. “I used to listen to them all the time. And Kyle’ll have ‘em on CD in the garage.”
Well, okay, then. “Talking Heads,” Akira said.
Zane nodded, and for a moment, Dave looked startled
, his eyes widening, body straightening. Then he relaxed and said, “Nice. Your dad must be stoked. Hey, Dillon.”
It was Akira’s turn to look surprised. What the hell was wrong with people in this town? Did they just believe anything they were told?
CHAPTER SIX
Akira argued with Zane for ten minutes, then spent the rest of the car ride fuming.
How could he not understand what a terrible idea it was to let people know that she saw ghosts? It was dangerous!
If they didn’t believe in ghosts, they’d think she was crazy.
If they did believe in ghosts, it would be even worse. She was a scientist, a rational researcher who believed in the laws of logic and the scientific method. Seeing ghosts was a problem. A disability, even. It wasn’t something she wanted people to know about her.
And she’d tried telling him so, but he’d just brushed off her concerns with an airy, “Dave’s seen weirder, and Nat is weirder. Don’t worry about it.”
Weirder! His doctor sister? Natalya had seemed as normal as blueberry pie to Akira. And having her perfectly reasonable anxiety dismissed was infuriating.
Plus, there were the ghosts. Zane didn’t understand the risks, and his easy acceptance of his nephew’s presence didn’t mean that he’d be as ready to believe in the darker side of spirit energy. Hundreds of years of scary stories weren’t all wrong: not all ghosts were like Dillon. But how to tell Zane so without sounding insane? Or would that be more insane?
As he pulled the car into a parking space on the town’s main street, Zane said cheerfully, “You’re a sulker, aren’t you?”
A sulker? Akira had never had a sibling, but she recognized the type. He was a button-pusher. “And you’re a younger brother, aren’t you?”
He laughed as she got out of the car. “I’m serious,” she repeated across the roof, as he walked around to the curbside. “This isn’t something that I want people to know.”
“It’s not like I’m putting it on CNN,” he said reasonably, as she fell into step beside him. They were headed to the restaurant she’d seen on her first quick visit to the town, the one that looked something like a cross between a café and a diner. “I told my sister, and she was bound to find out anyway because of Dillon. And Dave won’t tell anyone.”
