Touch

by Rose Wulf

  Angela dropped her makeshift weapon and rushed back to Vaughn. “Hang on,” she whispered urgently as she held her hands over his bleeding wound. “Just hang on.” The warmth of her power filled her, burning bright and almost hot before spilling out through her palms and engulfing Vaughn’s torso. She didn’t know how much internal damage Geoff’s shot might have caused. Healing the outer wound wouldn’t make a difference if there was something inside that needed patching. She let her eyes close as she focused on her one and only goal—saving Vaughn. There was no point in thinking about the next step, whatever that was, because it wouldn’t come at all if she failed the first one.

  Vaughn…

  She really needed to tell him.

  With him already unconscious, it was hard to tell when Vaughn slipped into the healing coma. But his chest was rising and falling at a steady rate, and though the motions were shallower than they should have been, she figured that had to be something. It had to count as a good sign. She had to have gotten to him in time. If she hadn’t … if she’d reached him too late to do more than stall the inevitable…

  “Wow,” a new voice declared with a whistle. “This looks like a mess.”

  Angela’s heart plummeted to her stomach. She knew that voice all too well. It was Eric. And to think I dared hope this would be a good day.

  “Bitch,” Geoff slurred from somewhere behind her, “hit me.”

  “Yes,” Eric replied. “I see that.”

  What? Geoff was talking to Eric? That didn’t even make sense. But then nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

  “Need a little help, Angie?” Eric taunted, an arrogant smirk in his voice that undoubtedly matched the one she couldn’t see on his face.

  “Sure. Feel free to take that scumbag with you when you leave,” she said without a backward glance in their direction. Vaughn was her priority. Her only priority.

  “He did leave a mess,” Eric replied. And then he said the most obscure thing. “Moron, I thought I told you to be subtle. What’s subtle about a gun?”

  Shocked, Angela slowly turned her gaze sideways, over her shoulder. Ice formed somewhere inside her as she caught sight of the two. He’d been speaking, of course, to Geoff. It was as if they knew each other. As if Eric wasn’t surprised to find Geoff there at all. And, as she watched, Eric scooped up the gun and held it out to Geoff, who was still on his knees cupping his bleeding face. It seemed she’d broken his nose.

  Something prickled in the air around her, raising the hair on her arms and the back of her neck. Her eyes went wide when she realized what that something was. The only thing it could really be. She opened her mouth to call out, not wanting to witness any more violence that day—or ever again, really—but she was too slow.

  Geoff’s hand closed around the grip of the metal gun. The electricity in the air flared, Geoff’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. He writhed and jerked uncontrollably for several long, gruesome seconds. Then Eric made a sound of approval, stepped back, and Geoff collapsed in a smoking heap on the grass. The gun still in his hand, most likely melted into his flesh.

  Just like that, Geoff Solberg was dead.

  “Now then,” Eric said, turning and tucking his hand into his pocket, “we should get going. I’m sure someone called the police after the gunfire.”

  As if echoing his words, the distant blaring of sirens reached Angela’s ears. She was sure her brother was en-route. She was equally sure he wouldn’t get there soon enough.

  “Cat got your tongue, Angie?” Eric asked, lips twitching at the corners. He came to a stop at Vaughn’s feet and cast a cursory glance at Vaughn. “I’ll give you one chance to come with me.”

  Finally finding enough of her voice to respond, Angela glared at him and snapped, “Why would I do something as stupid as that?”

  Eric nudged Vaughn’s nearest exposed foot with the toe of his loafer and declared, “Something tells me his irritating resistance to my lightning won’t be so impressive right now. Want me to test that theory?”

  Her stomach fell to her feet. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind he’d do it if she didn’t give in, and soon. She needed to stay with Vaughn, to keep healing him until the ambulance was practically parked, in order to assure his survival. But if she didn’t cooperate with Eric, the point would be moot. Eric would surely kill him.

  The sirens were rapidly getting louder and, in her peripheral vision, Angela saw Eric’s hands slip free from his pockets. “Well? What’s it gonna be?”

  Another tear escaping, Angela reined in her power. The golden glow that always accompanied her healing faded away and she sat back. His bleeding had slowed, but he was still bleeding. He was still too far from healthy for her to stop. “Okay,” she whispered through trembling lips. “I’ll come quietly.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chaos had erupted on Angela’s front lawn. One minute, Dean had been dragging himself into the fire department for his shift, lamenting his daughter’s inability to sleep like an ordinary human being, and then the calls started coming in. He couldn’t think of much harder news to hear at the start of his day than there had been gunshots at his baby sister’s new house. By the time he’d pulled onto the main road, swerving around cars that weren’t pulling over fast enough, three separate reports had come in. All saying the same thing.

  Someone with a gun had gone waltzing up to Angela’s door. Dean was amazed he hadn’t burned his Camaro down yet.

  He wasn’t even first on the scene. A fire truck pulled in right behind him, having taken advantage of the path he’d plowed, but Nick Bradford—local deputy—was already parked at the curb and stepping from his cruiser. He was parked directly behind a vehicle Dean was fairly certain he recognized. It belonged to Geoff Solberg. And more sirens were rapidly approaching, most likely an ambulance or another cruiser.

  “Dean, wait!” Nick called, barely catching him by his shoulder. He retracted his hand a beat later, shaking it, and asked, “Man, do you need a doctor? You’re burning up.”

  Dean scoffed and looked away, scouring the scene for his sister. He’d opened his mouth to reply, as he was used to having to lie about his body temperature, but his gaze landed on the two bodies scattered between him and the door and he froze.

  It took him a full second to realize that both were male.

  The first body was Geoff’s, and a gun was clenched tightly in one hand. Geoff was slumped unnaturally, and judging from the lingering traces of electricity in the air, Dean figured it was safe to assume either Eric or Jacob was responsible. Dean didn’t so much care if Geoff—who he assumed had brought the gun—was dead. He had bigger priorities.

  Nick had taken advantage of Dean’s distraction to make his way up the drive, gun in hand. “Police!” he called as he passed another glance at Geoff’s body. “Anyone home?”

  But Dean wasn’t patient enough for Nick’s more cautious, trained approach. He sprinted forward, ran around the deputy, and nearly fell as he ground to a halt. The other body was Vaughn’s. “Shit,” he grunted, adjusting course and dropping to Vaughn’s side. Vaughn was bleeding from the torso, his shirt partially lifted, and Dean could only assume Angela had tried healing him.

  Tried, but failed.

  His fingers found Vaughn’s pulse point and he held his breath as he waited for the answer. His breath rushed from his lungs on a relieved exhale when he felt a beat. She didn’t fail. She was interrupted. “He’s alive! Get the ambulance out here!”

  One of Dean’s colleagues jogged up to the other side of Vaughn and pressed a cloth to Vaughn’s wound. “Do you see any other shots?”

  Dean studied the younger man, the man he knew his sister cared very deeply about, and felt a twinge of relief when he saw no other obvious signs of injury. “No,” he said. But how the hell do I get him to Mom for healing? More importantly, where the hell was Angela?

  As soon as the ambulance took off with Vaughn, Dean rushed into the house. Hoping to find some kind of clue as to A
ngela’s whereabouts. The bastards were big on taunting notes, so maybe they’d left another one to dangle in Dean’s face. There had to be something. That was what he’d thought, but he’d come up empty.

  In a matter of minutes, Chief Bradford had shown up and firmly ordered Dean to go home. Effectively removing him from the case. Dean was angry about it, but the tiny part of him that could still think rationally wasn’t surprised. So he did as he was told—in a manner of speaking.

  It probably hadn’t even been an hour since Dean had arrived on the scene at Angela’s when he slammed into his parents’ house.

  “What are you doing here?” Madison demanded from the couch where she was stretched out, phone in hand. “Your brothers are all out looking for Angie.”

  “I’d probably be arrested if I was caught driving around town right now.”

  “You could probably get away with riding shotgun,” Christopher pointed out, keys jangling from his hand as he stepped into the room. Lillian moved around him and sank heavily into her chair.

  “You’re goin’ out?” Dean asked, turning his attention to his father.

  “Every eye counts,” Christopher said plainly. “Lillian’s staying home with Madison. They’re sharing phone duty.”

  “Go, Dean,” Lillian instructed, her tone distracted and strained. Her cheeks were pale and her shoulders were tight with tension. Tension no one in the room could ease. “Go find your sister. Bring Angela home.” A tear escaped his mother’s eye and she looked away again.

  Dean inclined his head. “I will.” He flicked his gaze back to Madison. “We’ll keep in touch. Text me if Nate or the others find anything.”

  “Of course,” Madison promised. Her free hand was curled over her swollen belly, as if she could protect her unborn daughter from the pain of the latest situation.

  Dropping a hand to Dean’s shoulder, Christopher said, “Let’s get going.”

  They had turned to leave, headed straight for the garage, when the front door burst open and a familiar, unexpected, unusually distraught voice called out to them. “Lillian!” The voice belonged to Vanessa Prescott, Vaughn’s mother.

  Lillian was on her feet immediately and she was practically at Dean’s side when Dean stepped into the hall to see what was going on. Was she upset because of what had happened to Vaughn? She certainly had every right to be.

  “Please, Lillian, Vaughn needs to be healed,” Vanessa explained, voice strained, as Dean and his mother approached her.

  Dean watched as his mother’s expression became somehow more pained. “Vanessa,” she began. “I would, but the hospital is too public. My family—”

  “Is perfectly safe,” Vanessa interrupted. Behind her, Bruce and a younger woman were climbing the front steps, a sedated-and-bandaged Vaughn slung over their shoulders. “We convinced the hospital that we’re elitist snobs who prefer having our son treated in the comfort of home by a private, expensive family surgeon. The moment he was stable enough for travel, they let him come home.”

  “Get him to the sofa, quickly!” Lillian instructed, moving aside to give everyone more room.

  Dean grunted and moved around Vanessa, taking Vaughn’s weight from the woman he assumed to be Vaughn’s aunt, Riley.

  “I’ll do everything I can for him,” Lillian promised as someone closed the front door and Dean and Bruce hauled Vaughn as quickly as they could down the hall.

  “Thank you, Lillian,” Vanessa said.

  Madison straightened a bit, watching them set Vaughn on the other sofa, and gasped, “My God.”

  “Move back,” Lillian instructed, practically pushing everyone out of the way.

  Dean and Christopher did as they were told and moved several paces back. They were joined by Vaughn’s family, all eyes glued to the golden glow that had already begun emanating from Lillian’s hands.

  Seconds ticked by before Vanessa released a breath and looked over at Christopher. “I heard Angela’s missing?”

  “Yeah,” Dean replied. “One of the Matthews took her, I’m sure of it.”

  Sighing, Christopher added, “And we’d really better get out there to help your brothers with the search.” He turned a strained but sincere smile to their guests. “I’m sure Vaughn will be fine. I’m sorry we can’t offer you better company right now.”

  “Nonsense,” Bruce cut in. “Vaughn would be the first one on the hunt if he were able.” He paused, glanced toward his healing son, and returned his focus to Christopher and Dean. “I think I’ll hit the streets and help you search.”

  “Me, too,” Riley added. “I’m not good at sitting still, anyway.”

  Christopher inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  Remembering something Angela had told them once, now several years earlier, Dean looked back to his sister-in-law. “Madison, is anyone near the city?”

  “I—no, not that they’ve told me,” she replied with a flicker of confusion.

  Dean returned his attention to his father, then, and said, “Angie said once she caught Eric and his old man in the city. Maybe they’re still holed up there.”

  “It’s worth a look,” Christopher agreed.

  ****

  “Are you ready for her yet?” Eric demanded impatiently from the driver’s seat of the car.

  Angela kept her eyes closed, doing her best to focus on her present situation—on Eric’s conversation—and not on what might be happening with Vaughn. I shouldn’t have left him. But she hadn’t a choice. At least, this way, she could tell herself he had a chance of survival. The sirens had almost been to them when Eric had pulled away from her curb, instructing her to keep her head down. She wasn’t sure how long ago that had been. It could have been just a few minutes, but to her, it felt like hours. She was lying on her side in the backseat, entirely out of view of passing cars and largely unable to see where they were going. That was why she hadn’t bothered to watch for street signs.

  “Good,” Eric grunted, redrawing her attention. A muffled thud indicated he’d dropped his phone onto the passenger seat, thereby disconnecting the call. Angela was sure that was bad news for her. There was no doubt in her mind it was Jacob Eric had been talking to, and she could only assume she was the woman Eric had referred to. So whatever they had planned for her, her time was pretty much up.

  This is really it, then.

  Wherever they were going, it would likely be the last place she ever saw. She couldn’t think of any reason at all why her sworn enemies would keep her alive for longer than the time it took to gloat in her face. Her best hope, as crazy as it was, would be to offer to try healing the scars she was certain Jacob still carried. He’d been too badly burned before, and she hadn’t had nearly enough time to heal him the last time Eric had abducted her. The most she could realistically hope for was to buy herself a little more time.

  And then what?

  “You haven’t fallen asleep on me, I hope,” Eric called back to her, the smug arrogance of an early victory already settling in his voice. “I really want you to see what happens next.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to keep my eyes closed,” she retorted. It was a petty comeback, but she really wasn’t in any position to get too snippy. As sure as she was that her final hour had begun, she wasn’t ready to just give up. That wasn’t how she’d been raised.

  That wasn’t what Vaughn would have done.

  A stretch of time and a few turns later, Eric cut the engine and Angela’s stomach dropped a little further. Here we go.

  “This doesn’t have to be hard on you,” Eric said as he opened the back door and reached for her. “But I’d be happy to drag you in by your hair if you make me, so the choice is yours.”

  Angela angled her head to throw a dark glare at her arrogant ex. For the life of her, as she reluctantly twisted around and found her feet, it struck her odd that she could see a nice house behind him.

  “Don’t try to run,” Eric warned, locking a hand around her elbow. “It will only end badly for you. And them. You don’t
want to make me electrocute my neighbors, do you? They’re practically ancient. It’d be a waste of my energy.”

  “You’re a monster,” Angela said. “Why even drag me out here? Why not just kill me on my lawn?”

  Eric shoved her roughly around the hood of the car, toward the front door of a large, very old-fashioned house. “Because, Angie, your death will be monumental. We want to share it.”

  Angela swallowed heavily and stumbled over the single step up. “Share?”

  “Yes,” Eric replied smugly. He reached around her and jerked the door open, nearly catching her nose along the way. “Share, like you might share your favorite toy with your best friend.”

  “And how do you plan on sharing my death?” Angela demanded incredulously. As soon as the words were past her lips, she knew asking had been a mistake. It wasn’t like she actually wanted to know the answer.

  Those mixed feelings didn’t make her any happier with Eric’s response. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough.”

  “Eric?” an unfamiliar, slightly older, female voice called from an adjacent hall they’d just passed. “Who’re you talking t— What’s going on here?” The latter question was more of a demand and Angela turned her head enough to see the speaker when Eric stopped. The woman was probably about her height, a good ten years older than her, with dirty blonde hair piled haphazardly atop her head and cautious, narrowing green eyes. She wore nice, simple slacks and an ivory blouse.

  Eric sighed heavily, as if greatly inconvenienced, and kept his grip tight around Angela’s elbow. “Don’t worry about it, Sarah,” he replied. “Jacob’s aware. He said he should be back shortly. I’m just taking her downstairs.”

  Sarah locked her jaw, clearly weighing her responses in search of the best one. Angela had no idea who this woman was, and though she was obviously heavily connected with Eric and Jacob, she couldn’t help but feel like this woman was a little less dedicated to their insane mission. She already knew screaming would be useless, and Eric would have a home-field advantage here. Her best bet might be this woman.