If Angels Burn
Page 43

He tore off his shirt and wrapped it around her.
Alex kissed him again, a kiss of gratitude as she worked her arms into the sleeves and did up the buttons he hadn't popped off. There weren't enough; she had to tie the ends under her breasts. By that time he had her plastered against the car again, one of her legs hooked around his hip.
Now, before he shoves you back on the hood.
She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him, rolling them both around so that he was between her and the car. The unbuttoning and unzipping took a few seconds, during which time his mouth did things to hers that damn near killed her. She broke free and went down on her knees, hauling his pants down with her.
No man in the world will turn down a blow job.
Thank God, he wasn't wearing underwear. Alex got his pants down to knee level and looked up. Few cocks deserved being immortalized in marble, but his was so long and hard and beautiful that she wanted to summon a sculptor immediately.
Cyprien's hand caressed her hair, urged her face closer. She rubbed her cheek against his thigh, closed her eyes, and prayed she'd be fast enough.
"Alexandra?"
Alex jumped to her feet and ran around Edith's duplex. Her yard wasn't fenced, and neither was the neighbor's in back of hers. She was halfway through the second yard when she heard Cyprien fall and curse.
No man in the world will turn down a blow job, Alex thought as she dodged through yards and around houses, putting as much distance between them as she could.
And no man, not even Cyprien, could chase a girl with his pants down.
Chapter Eighteen
"Alex never told me you were a priest," Leann Pollock said to John as she led him into a small, somewhat untidy living room.
"I don't think Alexandra talks about me very much." John was glad. He needed information, and if Leann knew how Alex felt about him, she would probably kick him out of her house.
"She did when we worked together. She mostly talked about how you had to live on the street when you were kids. It was great that you looked after her." She shifted a stack of newspapers from the seat of an armchair to the floor. "Excuse the mess. I'd like to hire a housecleaning service, but people keep telling me horror stories about the ones they've tried."
Leann Pollock was a petite redhead with tired eyes. She was still dressed in her office clothes—a somewhat wrinkled light pink suit—and John saw a half-eaten microwave dinner sitting next to stacks of files and papers on her dusty dining room table.
She followed his gaze. "I can't cook, either," she admitted. "What I really need is a wife." She winked. "Too bad I like guys so much."
John would have smiled, but Leann's easy sense of humor reminded him too much of Alex. She was also just as dedicated to her work. On the coffee table, he spotted a book on epidemiology, a graph chart comparing the growth rate of contagions, and an open cardboard box filled with microscope slides. Next to the slides were a pair of used chopsticks and an empty box of Chinese takeout.
Maybe a little too dedicated, he thought, looking from the slides to the food container. "Alexandra told me that you do disease research at the CDC."
"My field is pandemic contagion. I saw a lot of cholera and typhoid when I was overseas, and I got interested in the control factors." She went to sit down and hesitated. "Are you sure I can't get you something to drink, John? I've got mineral water, iced coffee…" She made a vague gesture.
"No, thank you." He waited for her to sit before he added, "Have you heard from Alex?"
"No, not a word." She kicked off her shoes and nudged them under the coffee table with her toes. "You said she was at a medical conference, didn't you?"
Tell a lie, Audra said in John's head, and you make yourself that lie's slave. "She still is. I only thought she might try to call you between lectures."
"Oh, okay. I guess she's been too busy." She reached into a large leather tote bag sitting next to her chair and took out a bulky envelope. "This is everything Alex was looking for. All the CDC's archive stuff on known fourteenth-century plagues, the archaeological forensics, maps, etc."
John accepted it and thanked her. "Just out of curiosity, how were there unknown plagues?"
"A lot of people in history have been wiped out without us knowing precisely what killed them," Leann said. "This time period Alex is researching was when we lost almost a quarter of the world's population. Historians blame the Black Death, but at the time there was lousy record keeping and practically no medical science to speak of, so we're not sure everyone died of plague."
Why on earth was Alex closing her practice to do disease research? "What else could it have been?"
"From some of the descriptions written by monks—they were pretty much the only people who could write in the fourteenth century—we think some of the outbreaks might have been anthrax and a third, as of yet unidentified virus. The Black Death just got the blame for all of it." She made a comical face. "Alex told me that she's looking for the third unknown. She thinks it was a carrier."
"I'm sorry, a carrier?"
"You're going to regret getting me started on this in a minute, Father. I can talk plague for hours." Leann rolled her eyes. "In some of the historic epidemics, a select few individuals were infected with a lethal contagion, but for some mysterious reason it didn't kill them and they went on to infect other people, the way Typhoid Mary did. Some scientists think the mysterious reason is a second 'carrier' virus that keeps the first one from killing them."
"Like cowpox keeps you from contracting smallpox."
"No, not exactly. In this case, you still contract the deadly stuff, but the carrier keeps you alive, and infectious." She rubbed the back of her neck. "What Alex is looking for is a carrier that would have to keep someone from dying of both plague and anthrax."
"Did she say why?"
Leann shrugged. "She muttered something about a research paper. If you ask me, she's chasing rainbows. She might be able to prove—theoretically, anyway—the possibility of a single carrier. But a double?" She shook her head. "That's science fiction."
A thought occurred to John. "Did Alex say anything about working overseas again?"
"Not a whisper, but I don't think she would. I mean, Alex never complained while we were in the Peace Corps, but she was worked to death. The Corps can be hard on doctors, because they hardly ever get any. I got the feeling that she was kind of relieved when it was over. Oh, shit." Leann shot him an apologetic look and took another, slimmer envelope out of her bag. "This is a copy of those shot records Alex wanted. I almost forgot."
John took the envelope. "Did she say why she needed these?"
"Only that she had lost her shot records and she wanted to be sure of what immunizations she had been given." Leann suddenly giggled. "I hope Alex doesn't try to use the antibodies in her blood to prove the possibility of a carrier. It doesn't count unless you've lived in the fourteenth century."
"Why would she use her own blood?"
"The State Department was really crazy about immunizations, the year we joined the Peace Corps." Leann rubbed her arm as if remembering all the shots. "Me and Alex and a bunch of other people got special vaccinations before they would give us visas. We were immunized against the same stuff she's researching." At John's blank look, she added, "Plague and anthrax."
Michael did not chase after Alexandra. Once he had untangled himself from his trousers, he ripped them apart and got into the car naked.
He could kill her for this.
The car phone rang, and Michael snatched it from the cradle. "Cyprien."
"You sound upset, mon ami." The voice was light, mocking, a voice from the drawing rooms and ballrooms of an age long past. "Did the rain spoil your hunt, or was it la petite jeune fille?"
He pulled off onto the shoulder of the road and parked. "Come to the house and we'll discuss it."
Lucan laughed. "I have already been to your house, Michael, and helped myself to your hospitality wench. Quite refreshing to use one that still has something of a mind in her head. She was so noisy I had to keep my hand over her mouth the entire time. You simply must give me the recipe."
So it had been Lucan in the house. Michael almost shoved the phone through the windshield. "I am glad that Tremayne has revoked his protection of you, Lucan. It will make killing you so much less complicated."
"You, threaten me?" Lucan chuckled. "Why, Michael, where are all those tiresome morals you have clung to for centuries? Did they fall out of your pockets when she jerked down your pants?"
Michael used ancient, explicit Latin.
"Anatomically unlikely, even with our powers. I did, however, enjoy watching her tie your cock in a knot." He sighed. "I should very much like to test her resistance personally."
"Évidemment. A shame you're a dead man."
"Aren't we all?" Lucan waited a beat. "She burns like a torch, though, doesn't she? For such a small thing. I found myself quite enchanted by those lovely hips, and the tenor of her desire. A passionate woman." His voice dropped to a murmur. "I could make her moan louder than Heather did, Michael. J'ai faim."
He thought white-hot rage blinded him, but it was a flashlight shining in the car. "Hold on." He put down the phone and lowered the rain-spattered window. On the other side stood a uniformed police officer.
"Hot night, sir?" the cop asked.
There was no jardin ring on his hand, Michael saw, only a plain gold wedding band. "What is the problem, officer?"
"This is a no-parking zone." The flashlight's beam wandered over him. "And you're driving bare-ass naked, son."
"I had a slight accident with my clothes."
"Sorry to hear about that. My wife keeps turning all my boxers pink when she does the wash." The cop opened the car door. "I need to see license and registration and, if you got 'em, some pants on your ass, right quick."