by Mallory Kane
Rider fought to keep his grip on his prey while he recovered his balance. "BeeDee," he whispered, shuddering. He couldn't see anything through the smoke and debris. Behind the clinic, where the explosive had probably been placed, red and yellow flames flared then quickly died down as he watched.
BeeDee was relatively clean, for an explosive.
Pain ripped through his hand. "Shit!" She’d bitten him. He almost smiled as he jerked her arm behind her, eliciting an angry cry. At least she wasn't a whiner. He admired her courage. She was brave, tough when she had to be.
A thought tickled the edge of his consciousness, almost a memory. He stiffened, but before he could explore the turn his thoughts had taken, he was jolted back to the present by the sudden pain of a small foot stomping on his.
"Hey," he grunted and jerked on her arm.
"Ow!" she groaned. "What did you do? Where's Moira? Oh my God!" Her whole body began shivering as the wail of the sirens split the air and voices shouted incoherently over the noise.
"Shut up, Doc." He bent her arm just a little further up her back, drawing a quiet cry from her. "Don't move or your arm will break."
She fell quiet and her body, though still trembling, no longer resisted him. He breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't let up the pressure on her arm. He needed some time. Time to figure out where the BeeDee had come from. Time to wonder why he'd pulled her out of the clinic, rather than just running. Part of his brain reminded him that he didn't want her to die that easily. He wanted her to understand why she was dying.
Rider wondered why his reasoning, which seemed sound, didn't fit with his emotions. He was too relieved. Saving her felt too good. It was almost as if the act of saving his angel doctor had healed something inside him, had canceled out some of the fear.
Where had his conditioning gone? It seemed like every time he touched her, a little more of the armor the TAINCC had built around him was stripped away.
"Where's the fire?" a jolly voice echoed through the alley as a car door slammed shut. Then there were other car doors, other voices, footsteps crunching on asphalt. As screaming fire trucks pulled around to the back of the clinic, Rider took several steps backward. Dragging Kristen with him, he glanced behind him down the dark alley.
"Where does this go?" he whispered in her ear.
"I don't know. Let me go!" Kristen began to squirm in his grip. "I can scream!"
He efficiently sent another ripple of agony down her shoulder through her body, knowing from experience exactly how much it hurt, though he was careful not to really injure her. "Oh, yeah? Try it."
He waited for her to draw a breath, then right in the middle of it, he tugged a bit more on her arm. The breath exploded in a gasp of distress. "I said, where does this alley go?"
"It—comes out on—Lombard," she grated through clenched teeth.
"Where are your quarters, Doc?"
"My quarters?" She sounded genuinely bewildered.
Oh, yeah. Not quarters. That was military—or TAINCC—terminology. "Apartment, house. Where you live."
"Ha, no way!" she spat.
She drew in a long breath as if preparing to scream, so he gave her another taste of broken shoulder. Then he felt around in her jeans, making a determined if futile effort to ignore the enticing curves underneath the denim, and tugging on her arm again when she tried to kick him. In her back pocket was a slender wallet, and in her front pocket was a set of keys, which he hung on his finger by the ring while he flipped open the wallet. A license of some kind and a picture I.D. No address. Good picture, though.
He worried a slip of paper out with two fingers. Some sort of invoice, with her address. "Damn," he breathed. "You live on Lombard. Why didn't you say so, Doc? Come on." Without loosening his hold on her arm, he gently propelled her ahead of him.
"Hey! You!" A voice boomed behind them.
Rider stiffened, then pushed her faster. She stumbled, running, urged on by his brutal grip on her arm. His ribs hurt abominably as he ran.
"Hey, over here! After them!" The voices were closer, and beams from flashlights stung their heels. He ducked into the shadow of a building and slipped inside a utility door, pulling Kristen up against him. "Don't make a move, Doc, and I'll let up a little."
She nodded, the movement wafting her warm, spicy scent toward him. That scent drew disturbing visions before his eyes and gave him a decidedly uncomfortable tightness in his loins. The imprint on his thigh burned like fire and a stomach-churning nausea hit him. He shook his head and eased off the pressure on her arm.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she carefully flexed her shoulder, but to her credit, she didn't try to run or cry out.
Footsteps crunched near them and voices were lowered to urgent whispers. After a while, the footsteps retreated. "Which way?" he asked.
"Which way what?" Her voice was edged with panic, her breath still coming sharp and fast. She occasionally rubbed her arm as if she wasn't quite sure it would work.
"Come on, Doc. Don't go stupid on me. I've got a good cure for stupid."
"You're crazy if you think I'm taking you to my apartment." She twisted her neck around to look at him. "What did you do to the clinic? Is Moira dead?" Her voice broke a little on that question.
He swung her around and gripped her shoulders. "I said which way?"
She lifted her chin. His admiration for her grew along with his irritation. She was either very brave or very dumb, he didn't have time to consider which. He had to rest, had to have some time to figure out what was going on. He shook her. "Where, damn it?"
Fear widened her eyes as she stared at him, her lower lip trembling slightly.
Rider had to tear his gaze away from her mouth. It was too vulnerable, too tempting. He was just about at the end of his patience and his strength. Slowly, deliberately, he ran his hand up her arm and past her shoulder to caress the nape of her neck, ignoring the stinging in his thigh and the stirrings in his loins.
"I could kill you with a flick of my wrist," he whispered, his heart racing. He demonstrated with a quick, harmless motion.
She winced and gasped, but never took her gaze from his. "Go ahead," she said. "It's what you came for, isn't it?"
A wrenching nausea closed his throat. "Damn right it is," he grated, clenching his jaw against the pain and sickness. He tightened his fingers around her neck, pleased when she stiffened.
"Then do it," she said through lips white with tension, her eyes watching him sharply. "But I'm not taking you to my apartment. I'm not a fool."
He forced a harsh laugh. "Oh yeah?" he asked, his voice cracking, his fingers paralyzed, refusing to obey his will. What was the matter with him? He wanted to kill her—needed to. So why couldn't he?
She stood rigid, her eyes squeezed shut, waiting like a doomed empress for execution. Her bravery shamed him, and his whole being resisted the feeling. He searched for anger to wash out the sensation of her touch. When he flexed his fingers, she flinched. Then he flipped her wallet open in front of her eyes.
"Take a look here, Doc. Forty-four fifty-three Lombard, Apartment Seven. Shouldn't be too hard to find, should it?" He turned her around and wrenched her arm up her back again. "Let's go. Just two lovers out for a late stroll."
She moaned softly as he gently prodded her forward. At the edge of the alley, he found a street sign that read forty-four hundred Lombard. "Well, how about that," he whispered against Kristen's hair, ignoring her scent that was tied up with poignant longing somewhere deep inside him. "We're even on the right block." He bent her arm just a little more. "You ever tried to catheterize somebody with one arm, Doc?"
"Okay!" she gasped, her voice strained and small. "Okay. It's that building there. Please!"
He let up just a little and guided her across the street and into the building. They climbed the steps to her apartment, she leading the way and Rider struggling up each step behind her. Between the ache in his ribs and his head, the exhaustion of days of starvation, and having to keep a death gr
ip on her arm, he wasn't sure if he would make it without passing out. If she had any sense, she'd figure out how weak he was.
He executed the last steps in a near stupor, and so was caught off guard when he almost stepped on a cat.
Kristen gritted her teeth against yet another jarring pain. She was so dazed, so confused by all that had happened, she couldn't even tell if it was his pain or hers. Each time he'd prodded her by tugging just a bit harder on her arm, she had thought she would pass out. With each step he took, the pain in his side stabbed her as efficiently as it stabbed him. And under it all, like an underground stream, ran the anger and fear.
When Sam yowled, Rider jerked backward, let go of her and snapped into a crouch so fast she was taken aback, his arms up in a peculiar gesture, which, combined with the menacing look on his face, terrified her. His cobalt eyes glittered madly as he glanced around without moving his head.
She ought to be doing something, she thought. If he didn't hurt so much, if he weren't broadcasting his every sensation to her like radar, maybe she could put her thoughts into some order. Maybe she should run. She gauged the distance to the stairs. She'd have to run past him, but he didn't look like he could catch her right now. While she was trying to decide what to do, Sam jumped into her arms, startling her. She buried her nose in his soft fur, swallowing a disgusting urge to cry.
"Put it down."
She looked up, sensing a terror from her captor that was ridiculous, given the circumstances. "This is my—"
"I said put it down." He leaned against the wall, his face as gray as the faded paint, his eyes filled with horror and anguish.
"What's the matter with you?" Kristen gasped, a dizzying haze blinding her. She clutched Sam and swallowed against the dreadful sickness. It was coming from him, all of it. She glanced at him, propped against the wall, his body shivering and his face ashen. He was about to collapse.
Gathering every shred of will she could, Kristen did her best to shield herself from his emotions. She bit her lip and shook her head, trying to shake off the haziness, trying to force herself to think coherently. Rider coughed and gagged, and splayed his fingers on the wall for support.
Tearing her gaze from him, she glanced at her apartment door. He was between her and the stairs, but she was closer to the door, and on the inside of that door were a deadbolt and a chain. A few feet beyond was a telephone. But the door was locked and Rider held the key. Her gaze dropped to his right hand fisted against his rib cage, her keys protruding between his fingers. He had closed his eyes, breathing shallowly.
Kristen assessed him. He was almost unconscious and suffering from shock. She knew, not only from his appearance, but because she could feel the blood in her own body pulling in, pooling in her body core, trying to protect her from the sensations his body was broadcasting. Her fingers and toes were growing cold and numb, her heart rate was speeding up—all symptoms of shock, and all coming from him. She breathed slowly, deeply, using the calming techniques she'd often instructed panicked patients to use.
Carefully, never taking her eyes off his face, she stretched her arm up and retrieved the spare key from over the door facing. Not original, but then she didn't have much worth stealing anyway.
Ignoring a strange compassion for him that tried to push past her good sense, she slid the key into the lock and turned it. Slipping through the door, she slammed it shut. She reached for the deadbolt. Just as she was about to flip it, Rider crashed through the door and fell on top of her, his weight knocking the breath from her lungs. She gasped and struggled, but he easily pinned her hands.
"Don't give me any trouble, Doc," he grated through clenched teeth, his body heavy on hers. "I'm not having a good day." Sam darted across his back and he cried out, every muscle in his body cramping.
With a peculiar satisfaction, she felt the deep shudder go through him, saw the pale horror on his face. "I don't—believe it. You're—afraid of—cats?" she wheezed, wishing he'd take his considerable bulk off her.
He shook his head. "Shut up." His voice cracked, and sweat ran down his face to soak the neck of his I.
Kristen felt sadness and regret. She couldn't look away from his anguished gaze, and somehow, through it, she saw a glimpse of the man he might have been—brave, honorable, but weighted down with loss and sorrow.
"I'm sorry," she choked, struggling to breathe against his weight. "I've lost someone too." She wasn't even sure why she said it.
He recoiled, his eyes lit with the insane glitter that frightened her so. "You—Deviant!" he spat in her face.
"What?" she cried.
"Get the hell out of my head! I ought to kill you right now!"
Kristen turned her face away, but still his rage and hate blasted her, as strong and blistering as the heat from the explosion. The explosion! Had he caused the explosion? But then, if he had—if he were trying to kill her as he kept saying, why had he jerked her outside, away from danger?
"Who are you?" she whispered, "and what did you call me? Deviant? I don't understand."
But he wasn't listening to her. A terrible fear began to build inside her. She hadn't really believed him. Not even when he'd put his fingers on her neck and forced her to tell him where her apartment was. She wasn't sure what she'd thought she was going to do, but now she knew with a sick certainty that he wasn't just another harmless kook she'd picked up. He really was going to kill her. She felt the conviction, the dogged determination that drove him past exhaustion, past the pain, past everything good she sensed inside him.
She'd gone too far this time. She'd finally rescued a stray that had turned on her.
He gripped both her wrists in one hand and yanked them over her head, sliding his other hand underneath her nape. His eyes were glazed, his breathing shallow and fast as his fingers tightened around her neck.
"Kill you right now," he whispered, sweat dripping off his face onto hers. He squeezed until Kristen thought her neck was going to snap. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, truly afraid for the first time in her life.
She centered herself, searching for the calm inside her that made her a good doctor, and tried something she'd never tried before with anyone, even Skipper. She tried to connect with Rider, to reach inside him, down past the unyielding determination, down to where he lived, tried to touch his soul with compassion as he touched hers with hatred.
His whole body went rigid and he rolled off her, clutching his middle, curling up on the floor like a fetus. The agony that gripped him seared through her, even after he no longer touched her. She took quick, shallow breaths, trying to minimize the tearing pain.
She couldn't move, she was paralyzed by his pain and terror, so she closed her eyes and flowed with it as she taught her cancer patients to do. She focused her attention on the man beside her. Had she succeeded? Had she reached something within him? It was a strange notion, that the empathy she struggled with every day could be turned around, could become a tool or even a weapon. Of course, everything about this whole insane experience was strange, to say the least.
She had never known anyone who affected her like this fugitive from a mental ward. His every emotion ripped through her like her own. She could no more separate herself from him than she could separate her soul from her heart.
Skipper had been a part of her consciousness, closer to her than any other person, but Rider was insinuating himself into her more deeply than Skipper had ever been. Rider was becoming entwined with her soul.
Skipper had told her that when she found her soul mate it would be like finding the rest of herself. She had protested, saying she didn't know how she could ever be closer to anyone but him, her brother, but Skip had been insistent.
"You'll know," he'd said. "You'll know. I can't wait until you find him. I can't wait until you unleash all that love you've got so bottled up inside you that you hide from the pain of the world."
But Skipper was gone, and Kristen had never found the love he'd promised would be hers. Now this crazy
bum who wanted to kill her was drawing her to him like no one she had ever known, and she was powerless to break the link that joined them.
She could use the link between them. Something had happened in those few seconds when she'd desperately tried to touch his soul. When she'd tried to turn aside his hatred, to find something inside him besides the pain and devastating sorrow. Deep inside him, past all that, she'd found the man he had been. How she knew baffled her, but she knew. The crazy bum who'd kidnapped her and threatened to kill her was a good man, a decent man.
She laughed at herself. He was lying next to her. His hatred of soaked her like his sweat, and she was counting his good points! Kristen swallowed hard and reminded herself that he was determined to kill her, or so he said.
Rider clenched his teeth and waited for the wave of pain and nausea to pass. He knew she was watching him, he could feel her gaze. If she had a weapon she could kill him now, while he was paralyzed under the weight of the pain in his gut. That knowledge sent fear ripping through his frame. And with the knowledge came a wish. It surprised him that there was a small part of himself that wished she would kill him. Death might actually be better than the netherworld in which he'd existed since he'd volunteered. Hadn't it been his motive? Wasn't it a suicide ride, this trip to the past?
So why did it scare him so much to think about it? Why didn't he just get it over with and get on with his own death? He had nothing to live for, back here, hundreds of years away from his own time. Nothing and nobody. All he had was his mission, to wipe out the Mother of all the Deviants.
He glanced at the subject of his thoughts through narrowed eyes. She lay next to him, small and helpless, her body rigid with fear, her eyes squeezed shut. God, he hated her! But right now, the overwhelming feeling inside him wasn't hatred, it was confusion. Things were happening too fast. The clinic, the cat, the mysterious way Kristen's touch seemed to banish all the conditioning and leave him feeling better than he could ever remember. The way she could get inside his head and mix up his thoughts.
