Heat of the Night
Page 33

"I will return for what is inside you," the woman hissed, leaping to safety with preternatural strength when Connor lunged blade first after her.
"You fucking bitch!" Stacey screamed, reaching for the gun and falling to her back.
Connor tackled Rachel and twisted along the ground with her. Stacey struggled for a clean shot, but as the unbearable chill moved up her arm and into her brain, she knew she was going to pass out.
Just as blackness began to narrow her vision, Rachel reared up and provided a perfect target.
Aiming between her spread legs, Stacey fired one round after another, emptying the clip into Rachel's brutalized body. The woman jerked with each impact, then fell to the ground.
Laughing.
As Stacey lost consciousness, that laugh followed her into oblivion.
Chapter 15
"How are you doing, champ?" Connor asked, as he settled onto Stacey's couch next to Justin and handed him an oversized mug of hot chocolate.
"I'm freezing." Dark shadows rimmed the boy's dilated eyes and his skin bore unhealthy pallor—
signs of shock. A lock of brown hair fell over his brow, making him appear lost and far younger than his fourteen years.
"I'll get you another blanket."
The front door was open, making the chill worse, but McDougal's men were still clearing out and Justin didn't want to go to his room. He preferred the heavy foot traffic and the drone of the ignored television, because it made him feel safe to be surrounded by so many people.
"Thanks, Connor."
The gratitude on Justin's face hit Connor hard. The Elders would pay for what happened tonight.
Dearly.
"You're welcome."
Pushing to his feet, Connor moved toward the hallway and Justin's room. The boy had been given a dose of propranolol in the chopper and he would continue to take the medication four times a day for the next ten days. The "pill to forget"
was still experimental, but clinical trials offered hopeful results and Connor had his fingers crossed the drug would work its magic on Justin.
The boy would still remember the events, but the emotions behind the memories would not be there. His recollections would be detached from his feelings, making him an objective observer more so than an emotionally scarred victim.
Healers in the Twilight would help with the rest.
Connor was just opening the bedroom door when Aidan stepped out of Stacey's bedroom.
"How's she doing?" he asked, his gut tightening.
"She's stable, although still unconscious." Aidan stepped closer. "There's something in her brain, Bruce. It's small—about the size of a grain of rice—but it's foreign. There's no telling how her body will react to it over time."
Reaching a hand out, Connor braced his weight against the wall and sucked in a deep breath.
"Fuck… man." He gazed at his friend helplessly.
"Do we know what it is?"
"She's talking in her sleep—" Aidan winced, "—in the language of the Ancients."
" What?" Running a hand through his hair, Connor groaned. "How do we get it out of her head?"
"Medically, we can't. Not here in this plane, not without killing her. Humans don't have the technology."
The door to the bedroom opened and a man peaked out. "She's conscious."
Connor straightened. "Can I tell her son? Can he see her?"
"She's lucid," the man said.
"Tell her I'll be there in a minute, okay?" Connor looked Aidan. "I have to get Justin."
Aidan nodded and Connor hurried back to the living room.
"Hey," he said, nearing the sofa. "Your mom's awake."
"Can I see her?" Justin sat up from his reclined position and set his half-empty mug on the coffee table.
"Yeah, come on." Connor helped dig him out from under the three or four blankets he had on and walked with him back to Stacey's room.
They entered the darkened space as quietly as possible. Beside the bed, various monitors beeped and flashed with lights. Stacey lay bundled in the middle, a tiny, fragile form that made Connor's chest tighten.
"Hi, baby," she whispered to Justin, holding out her arms to him. Justin immediately climbed up beside her and began sobbing. Stacey joined him, wrapping her arms around her son and pressing her teary cheek to the top of his head.
The sight made Connor's eyes sting. He looked away and found Aidan by the door. His friend gestured him over and Connor went, glad to be distracted from the emotion of the scene behind him. Emotion that was killing him inside, twisting through his gut like a knife.
"I spoke with her briefly," Aidan whispered. "She says Rachel intends to return for that thing in her head. Whatever it is, they think it's safer with us than them."
Connor's entire body tensed. "Or else they think we'd destroy it if it weren't inside something we couldn't bear to lose. Tell me McDougal's men found Rachel."
"They didn't." Aidan's countenance was grave.
"They've been searching the area since you left.
There's no trace of her. Despite her injuries, she managed to escape."
"Fuck!"
"Watch the language," Stacey admonished.
He turned to look at her. She stared at him with glistening eyes and puckered her lips in a kissing gesture. A low sound of longing rumbled in his throat.
"I don't know what to do," he said, facing Aidan again. "I don't know where I should go, or what I should do, or how I should feel."
"You do what I did," Aidan said. "You forget the
'shoulds' and you jump."
Connor snorted. "Nothing is ever that easy when it comes to women."
"I didn't say it was easy. But if you want her, make it work. It's worth it to be happy."
Happiness. Connor wanted it. He wanted it with Stacey. "Right." And just that quickly, he decided.
"So, before McDougal's men totally clear out, let's get a security system out of them.
They've got to have top-of-the-line shit. I want this house locked up so tight Ft. Knox will be jealous. I'll be gone a lot. I need to know they're protected."
"Great idea." Aidan smiled, opened the door, and gestured him out first. "Let's get my money's worth."
Stacey woke with a violent, skull-crushing headache.
Both palms pressed flat to her temples, she rolled and writhed, groaning. She bumped into Justin and he mumbled a protest. Whispering an apology, she rolled the other way and fell off the side of her bed. She hit the floor on her knees and cried out, biting her lower lip to stem any more noises. A quick glance at the clock showed it was nearly three in the morning. The way her head felt, she doubted she'd live to see the sunrise.
She crawled a few feet, then rose by necessity. It was too jarring to move on her hands and knees.
How she made it down the hall, she'd never know, but it was colder in the open space of the living room and the chill eased the burning of her skin.
"Stacey?"
Connor's deep brogue curled around her spine and coursed down like warm honey. Relief flooded her and nearly brought her to the floor again.
"Where are you?" she gasped, afraid to open her eyes. The moonlight slanting upward to the ceiling from the shutters was too much light even from behind hastily closed lids. The full brunt would only increase the feeling of having an ice pick piercing straight through to her brain.
"Here," he rumbled, "I'm right here."
Warm arms wrapped around her, cradling her to a hard, nude chest lightly dusted with hair.
"I'm so glad you stayed."
"I'm not leaving you, sweetheart. Even when I'm not here, I won't really be gone."
"My head hurts," she whimpered, tears coursing down her cheeks.
"The doctor left some medicine for you. Let me—"
"No!" She clung to his waistband, recognizing by touch that he wore sweats. The thought of him here, sleeping on her couch, protecting her, made her feel loved and safe in a way nothing else in her life ever had. "Don't leave me."
"Sweetheart." His lips pressed to her forehead and some of the pain eased. "It kills me to see you crying."
"Do that again," she begged. "Kiss me again."
His mouth touched her skin, this time against her closed eyes and lashes, kissing away the tears.
The throbbing in her head lessened.
Tilting her neck back, Stacey captured his lips with her own. The instant she tasted him, her blood heated and began to flow, her heart rate picked up. Miraculously, the debilitating pressure eased.
"Stace," he mumbled into her mouth as she grew more fervent. "What are you doing?"
"I want you."
She felt the surprise move through him, then the desire he couldn't control.
"You're nuts," he said, but his hands were on her hips, his fingers sliding beneath her cotton shirt to touch the skin of her back. His touch was soothing, calming.
The more he touched her, the less her head hurt.
"Make love to me," she pleaded.
"Justin… ?"
"The laundry room has a door."
"You shouldn't—"
"Now, Connor!"
"Aw, fuck." He picked her up and carried her to the back of the house. Stepping into the laundry room, he kicked aside the basket that held the door open and pushed the portal closed. He sat her down atop the old desk she used as a folding table and stared at her with a bemused smile and hot gaze. "Now what?"
In the back of her mind a sharp squealing noise resembled tires burning rubber. "Don't stop touching me."
Setting his hands on either side of her hips, Connor caged her to the desk and nuzzled his lips against her neck. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."
She reached for him, embraced him. Beneath her palms she felt hot, silken skin stretched over rippling, flexing muscle and she melted inside. She moaned when his teeth nipped her earlobe. "I need you."