by Nancy Gideon
The two men regarded one another with reassessing candor. Finally, Cobb said, “I assume you can keep her out of trouble for a while.” When Louis nodded, he turned to Stacy. “Thanks for the nip and tuck, Doc."
"Thanks for the nick of time, Cobb."
He saluted her with his forefinger and hobbled toward the door.
"You should get x-rays,” Stacy called after him. “You might have broken ribs."
"Wouldn't be the first time. Good night, Doc. Be here bright and early to pick you up."
When the door closed behind him, there was a moment of awkward silence. Then Louis made a welcoming gesture with his arms. Stacy was burrowed against his chest in an instant.
"I was so scared,” she blurted out as delayed shock finally chipped away the last of her calm veneer. There was no need to pretend any more. Not with Louis.
"He can't harm you. He won't harm anyone, ever again. Nothing stands in our way now."
Something in that phrase triggered a memory she'd repressed in all the confusion. That of Louis callously goading Quinton to kill her. Slowly, she backed out of his embrace, careful to let none of her upset betray itself in her expression. Her tone was deceivingly quiet.
"And you will be human again. That's the important thing, isn't it?"
Perhaps their supernatural bond made him extra intuitive, or maybe he was just sensitive to her moods. He frowned. “An important thing, yes, but not the only thing. What's wrong, Stacy?"
"You told me once that you would do anything to escape your curse. I guess I really didn't believe you until now."
His concerned scowl deepened. “What do you mean?"
Holding back her heartbreak, she said with a brutal frankness, “I have only myself to blame. After all, you told me that you expected those who loved you to make sacrifices for your sake. I imagine it's a hard habit to break, especially when it's so conveniently in your favor."
Incredulity was soon replaced by shock and injury as his features, for once, plainly revealed his dismay. Sensing the depth of the pain her accusation caused him, Stacy would have wished the words back, except she had to know the truth.
He was quick to conquer his emotions. His face returned to that handsome mask, but his tone was rife with anguish. “I would not have sacrificed your life to save mine. I cannot force you to believe that."
How she wished she could accept that somberly delivered sentiment. But before her was a creature who had lived for centuries off cunning and deceit, doing awful and unimaginable things in order to survive to the next setting sun.
Louis saw the distrust darkening her heart against him. He tried to explain, and in doing so, hoped to erase that look.
"I could see Cobb readying to strike even as I spoke the words. Between us, we would not have let Alexander hurt you in any way. You were in no real danger."
Her expression tightened in disbelief. No danger? He was asking her to deny the terror that even now etched shadows beneath her eyes and sent tremors through her limbs.
But she didn't have to believe, not of her own volition. He could make her. He could have used his vampiric charm to beguile her from her distrust and misery. He could have, but he respected her too much to employ such trickery. She would have to make up her own mind about what kind of man he was, for without that faith, there was no point in continuing. And he wanted things to continue with Stacy Kimball, very badly.
She was being genuine in expressing her fears. He could be no less when calming them.
"Do you know the difference between me and Quinton Alexander and others like him?"
She shook her head, willing to listen while reserving judgement.
"They revel in what they are, in the power they have over humankind. They feed with a conscienceless abandon because they feel themselves superior and answerable to no one, not to man nor God. They are evil, soulless beings who wallow in darkness and despair."
"And how are you different?” A clinically asked question that contrarily held limitless possibilities.
"For centuries, I have struggled against the nature of the beast inside me. I have not always won, but I have never given up the fight. I have never forgotten that I was once a man who had hopes and dreams and desires, all stolen from me in a moment's folly. Though they were out of my reach, I never stopped yearning for them, for the humanity I'd lost but never forsaken. I have a soul. I have a God. I have had one wish; to be reunited with those I've loved when I leave this world. If I remain in this unchaste state, that will not happen. That is why your work is so important to me."
"So that you can be with your wives on the other side. I see.” She was trying so hard to be neutral but was failing wretchedly.
"No, Little One, you don't see.” He tenderly stroked back her hair, his gaze warming as he beheld her confusion. “That is why your work is important to me. Not why you are important to me."
He watched her silken throat move in a jerky swallow and pressed on, determined to break through her self-imposed barriers. Only then would they be free to love one another.
"You claimed that I took advantage of those who loved me. Are you among that number, sweet Stacy?"
Her response was pure defensive bluster. “Of course not. I think of myself as your doctor."
"Then we are about to break several of your physician's codes."
Her ripe lips mouthed a protest that went unspoken as his kiss claimed her. After a token denial, more for her own sake than his, she gave in gracefully, taking fully from the well of his regard.
"I think of you as my doctor only as a distant second to a very, very desirable woman."
Those murmured words created a meltdown within her.
"You are important to me, Stacy Kimball, not only because you can give back to me that which I have lost, but because you have restored in me that which I have forgotten. I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to taste a woman's kiss, how delightful it was to banter intellects then surrender souls. Though I longed for humanity, I'd forgotten what it was to be human until you woke my heart to joy. That is why I cherish you, my love."
This time, she came into his arms without reservation or regret. Her kiss matched his for its hunger and impatience. Her hands were just as eager in their removal of his clothing as his were with hers.
Naked and entwined, they fell atop her frilly bedcovers, enjoined at the lips, at their hearts and then, with a glorious thrust, their bodies. Hot sensations possessed him, he who had been cold and barren of feeling for so long. He needed her on so many levels he could no longer separate them. Sustenance was no longer drawn just from her tender throat but from the heated way her femininity embraced him. She was salvation, not only of the body but of the spirit. The soft, urgent little sounds she made when they were enjoined to the fullest called to a part of him so shadowed with neglect he'd nearly forgotten its name.
Its name was love.
He loved her. And he loved her with all his heart, with all his strength.
After the tension and the fear and the horror of the past few hours, finding release in Louis's passionate embrace was beyond paradise. Here, Stacy found safety at last. Here, she could respond naturally, emotionally, even irrationally. And she loved it. And she loved him. Wildly, feverishly, without reluctance or remorse, in the room where she'd invited no other for the purpose of passion, in the heart where she'd allowed no one but him to linger, with the body she'd given but never surrendered. Until now.
Her cries echoed the rocketing emotions bursting free at last.
As Stacy drifted in the sacred circle of his care, one idea formed then would not be dismissed until she spoke it aloud. She gazed up into the magnetic green eyes glowing verdant and deep with sated pleasure.
"Louis, if for some reason I am not successful—"
"Hush, now. You mustn't talk of that."
She kissed the fingertips he pressed to her lips then brushed them determinedly aside. “If the experiments don't show promise or if I—if I don't have time to start
over again, I want you to promise me something."
"And what is that, my love?"
My love.
The endearment would have derailed her thought process had the subject been less vital.
"Louis, if it becomes clear that I will not live long enough to finish what we've started, I want you to promise to make me as you are."
His recoil was emotional as well as physical.
"Please,” she cried, cupping a hand behind his head to still his retreat. “Hear me out. I have given this a lot of thought, and it makes sense."
"Nothing about your death makes sense."
His argument made her smile tenderly. “But it does. It will give me the time I need to perfect a serum to restore both of us to a normal existence."
He frowned darkly. “And if you cannot?"
"Then I won't suffer the way my mother suffered.” She touched his cheek. “And neither of us will be alone."
"Stacy—"
"Please don't tell me I'm acting illogically or emotionally. I am neither of those things. This is a very rational decision, and if you'll listen—"
He couldn't listen. He silenced her explanation with another kiss. A kiss speaking of all that went unsaid between them. She could taste his reluctance, his admiration, his fear. And his love for her. Yes, his love. She turned her head away at last, breathing quickly, faintly into the wild rip and ebb of desire.
"Promise me, Louis. Promise that you will do it."
He cupped her face between his palms so their gazes met and mingled with a tender intensity. “I promise you, I will not let you go, in life or in death. Does that satisfy you?"
"Yes, Louis. That satisfies me."
And he went on to satisfy them both until the lateness of the hour and the approach of dawn forced them to part.
Stacy managed a few hours of fitful sleep, dreaming alternately of Louis's vow and Quinton Alexander's threats, both weighing on her future with drastically diametric results. Behind that restless slumber was the strain of knowing she had to perfect serums that would serve both of them, allowing them to enjoy that future together, be it finite or eternal. And when she woke alone, aching and exhausted in every bone, she dragged herself from the bed determined to follow the course of action their desperate situation prescribed.
She had no time left.
A monster, Quinton Alexander, was in Harper's hands. Her remission was at an end. Damning factors conspiring against her chances for success. But she wasn't a quitter. And she had every motivating reason to push herself beyond the sake of health and personal safety.
That reward was happiness with Louis Redman.
Staring at the shattered shell of her computer took a degree of starch from her resolve. She couldn't run her numbers and projections here. So, she would have to do the necessary analyses at the lab, quickly, as covertly as possible.
And then she would have to deal with Quinton Alexander.
Louis was right. They couldn't give Harper the potential to develop such a weapon against the natural order of humankind. Their purpose wouldn't be for the good of man or the future of their world. They would squander the knowledge and twist it into something so deadly and unstoppable she couldn't allow her imagination to explore the ramifications of such destructive magnitude.
Quinton Alexander would have to be destroyed.
Then she and Louis would disappear.
There was no other answer, no other scenario.
Harper would not let her go voluntarily. And if they discovered the truth about Louis, if they hadn't already learned of it from their vindictive guest, he would never be safe. He would be hunted down, captured like a test animal and kept in a coffin cage. He would be studied and bled, and eventually he would die horribly at their hands, his redemption unmet, his soul unsaved.
That couldn't happen.
Focused on that determination, she met Frank Cobb on the stairs. The side of his face looked like Doctor Frankenstein had put him together from spare parts.
"You look like hell,” he told her first.
"And you, hell warmed over."
That was the extent of their small talk on the way to the Center. Frank had things on his mind and so did she. Their silence was oddly companionable, as if they were old, battle-scarred veterans heading back toward the front.
The truce held until the steel elevator doors closed behind them.
"Have you got Alexander secured?"
"I can't discuss that with you."
Stacy gaped at him. “What do you mean?"
"Just that. It's a need to know situation, and you don't need to know."
"I don't—That psychopath nearly killed both of us, and you're telling me I'm no longer involved?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
"Look, Cobb—"
"No, you look, Doc. The threat to you is over. Your involvement is over. If you've got any questions, I'm sure your sour-faced supervisor will be all too thrilled to handle them for you. Until then—"
He broke off to catch Stacy in mid-swoon.
"Doc? Stacy, are you all right?"
She lacked the strength to lift her head from his broad shoulder. “Just pushing too hard, is all.” Her voice was as thready as her energy. That weakness obviously scared Cobb to death.
"Maybe you should pack up your troubles and take a long vacation."
She struggled to step back, supporting herself on the waist-high rail at the back of the elevator. She must have looked truly terrible to shake him from his stoic manner. For that, she had no remedy or excuse. Her smile wobbled. “Soon. Soon I'll be able to. Until then, I've got work to do."
He said nothing, his concern relayed in the tightness about his mouth and the frequent glances slanted her way. Then the doors opened, and the time for chitchat was gone.
At the first security checkpoint, she was met with a firm rebuff.
"I'm sorry, Doctor Kimball,” the guard told her flatly. “Your clearance has been revoked."
"But my work is down there, my lab, all my equipment."
He wouldn't budge. “You'll have to speak to Dr. Starke, ma'am. I can't let you pass."
Dawn breaking upon her naivete, Stacy whirled on a stoic Frank Cobb. “You knew about this."
He didn't blink at her accusation. “I wasn't sure."
"What's going on here, Frank?” she demanded, fighting down the first prickles of panic that shortened her breath and gave her voice a slight but betraying vibrato. “Why am I being kept from my work?"
"I can answer that,” came a sweetly acidic drawl.
Stacy confronted Phyllis Starke in an unrestrained fury. She'd had enough of the woman's petulant ego to last a lifetime, and a lifetime that wouldn't last beyond the foreseeable future if she couldn't get past her. “What's going on here? What game are you playing?"
"I thought you were the one who liked games. This is no game, Stacy. I assure you.” Starke's smile was pure malice. “I've taken over your project."
Chapter Twenty
Panic brought a sweat to Stacy's brow as she rode the elevator up with Cobb. He was her escort back to her old lab where she was to begin at once on a new project of less strategic importance.
Don't faint. Don't faint.
Sickness swirled in black and red polka dots. She fought to keep her breathing even and her balance stable. And Cobb kept a covert eye on her while pretending not to. It was his alarmed attention that woke her to her situation. He was expecting another episode of weakness, for her to come unglued, with him there to pick up the pieces.
Well, he was wrong.
Sucking a deep, vengeful breath, she hissed, “She won't get away with this. I'll go to Forrester."
"The order must have come down from him. He's the only one who could invalidate your clearance from the private sector.” He softened his tone as if that would soften the reality of the blow he delivered between her eyes. She swayed but refused to buckle completely. Not in body. Not in spirit.
"The
y won't get away with stealing my research."
"It's their research, Doc. They own it all."
She denied his fatalistic claim with a fierce rebuttal. “They don't own me. That was my project. Louis gave Harper the funding with the stipulation that I do the work."
"I think your little project has gone far beyond Harper's interest in Redman or his money."
"What do you mean?” When he didn't answer, she gripped his arm. “Frank, what do you know?” Then more fearfully, “What do they know?"
His discomfort became a deadly calm. “I guess it's no great secret. Some brass from D.C. is flying in tomorrow to meet with Forrester. It's going to be a whole new ball game after that, with all new players. Sorry if they pulled the rug out from under your career, Doc."
"It's not my career I'm concerned with, Frank, it's my life."
Her gritty statement caught his attention, but she became equally close-lipped as the doors opened on the regular lab level. As she stalked down the hall between the row of fishbowls, Herb Watson stuck out his head, unable to resist the opportunity to vent his glee.
"Hear you got kicked back upstairs, Stacy. Gee, that's a tough break."
Even before she could wince away from his nastiness or begin to think of a suitable return barb, Cobb went toe to toe with him, growling, “Wipe that smirk off your pasty face before I take great pleasure in doing it for you."
Blanching, Herb slithered back into the safety of his own sterile corner.
"That wasn't necessary, Frank,” Stacy chided halfheartedly, secretly warmed by the unexpected chivalry. “You probably scared him out of the next five productive years of his life."
"No great loss, I'm sure.” And he took her arm with gentle deference to guide her on their way.
"Dang you, Cobb,” she grumbled. “Just when I'm ready to wish you off the face of the Earth, you go and do something noble and ruin everything."
"Sorry not to live down to your expectations."
Stacy stood in the doorway to her lab, looking about in dismay. Everything was in meticulous order, except everything was new. Nothing in the lab was hers. Not the CPU, not the virgin notebooks, not even the coffee cup.
And this time there were no flowers of welcome. She was officially off the team.
