Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (36 page)

He willed his hands steady, his mind clear. He had to give this everything he had. “Tony, get rid of this blood on her so I can see what they—”

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He only noticed dimly that the red streaks were immediately gone, leaving behind the obscene bruising and contusions that mottled her skin.

Deep inside his core a fine vibration hummed like an approaching electrical storm. The pulsations traveled quickly from his shoulders through the muscles of his forearms down into his wrists, then sparked through his fingertips inches from Heather’s skin. Every atom of his body was involved, all his focus. All his attention was on the broken woman beneath his hands.

His body was on fire now, an internal heat that pulsed and hummed through his veins, building hotter and brighter. A translucent sheet of metallic violet-colored energy pulsed from each fingertip, connecting to Heather’s chest in a brilliant stream of magic. As much as he wanted to heal the obvious damage to her face, he concentrated on her core.

“Come back to me, sweetheart. Listen to my voice. Concentrate. Jesus—Heather—Please—”

The only experience Caleb had was “resurrecting” family pets. He and his brothers had been fascinated by his skill. He’d tried backspacing time to before Gabriel’s gerbil had been attacked by a cat. It hadn’t worked. He’d found that he couldn’t manipulate time to prevent a death that had already occurred, not even the few seconds they’d need to get the animal up off the floor and out of harm’s way.

“Two-thirty-eight.”

“What can we do?” Rook asked, his voice thick. “Anything? What? Say the goddamned word—”

“There are so many fucking factors involved—I have a finite amount of time to bring her back.”

“He has to bring her back to life before he can TiVo to before the shooting,” Farris told the others quietly. “Three.”

“Crap,” Rook whispered. “And if he can’t?”

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“If I can’t,” Caleb said grimly, “Heather stays dead.”

When his mother’s cat had died after eating poison, twelve-year-old Caleb had brought it back within seconds, and then TiVoed to before the dumb cat had gone foraging. It had worked.

Trial and error had given him the period of time after death that he had to perform the revivification.

He’d brought back Dixie, Duncan’s dog. Under four minutes. For an
animal.

Was it the same for a human? A
pregnant
human? This woman who he…This woman who didn’t deserve to be in the wrong place at the right time. Because of him?

Would the fact that she was human possibly buy him more time?

Less time?

Did it even
work
on a human?

Farris leaned against the wall, his eyes on the stopwatch, not Heather. “You have more than a personal connection with her. That’s a big part of it working, right?”

More personal than shooting a tango, then remembering that he’d forgotten to ask the guy something. In his line of work when someone was dead, Caleb wanted them to stay that way. But not Heather. Not her. “My fucking personal connection to her
killed
her.” His hands burned. Hot as fire.

He clenched his teeth as his body vibrated hard, and the stream from his fingertips turned from violet to the color of watery wine.

“Holy crap. Never seen anything like it. Lookit, her cheek is starting to heal,” Dekker said, clearly surprised.

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Good to know, Caleb thought savagely, but it wasn’t her face he was worried about.
Bring her back,
he bargained with God,
and I’ll give you any damn thing you want. Just, please. Bring her back to me.

He refused to imagine his world without Heather in it. Somewhere.

Please, God…

He locked the knee supporting him as his body shook violently, and the light purplish stream emitting from his fingertips darkened. What did the color change
mean
? he wondered, refusing to give in to the panic, rage, and grief gnawing at his resolve.

“Three zero nine.”

Caleb had either been too late to bring his mother back, or he wasn’t capable of performing revivification on a human. But he’d tried, damn it. He’d tried.

And
failed.

Maybe he’d been too young? Maybe
he
just couldn’t make it work on a human—“Come back to me, sweetheart.”

Ignoring the pain in his hands, arms, and shoulders, he noticed that the color of the current coming from his hands was changing to a deep blue. Were more of her contusions fading? Or was it his imagination?

And Jesus. God. His son? What about his
son
?

“Three thirty-three.” Farris’s voice barely carried. “Fuck. I feel useless. What can I do to help?”

“Pray,” Caleb told his friend, voice grim.

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His pain will be deep, her death will be swift. Inside his heart a terrible rift.

Christ. What the hell chance did he have against a Curse that powerful?

No, he told himself with brutal honesty, Heather’s death had had nothing to do with Nairne’s Curse.

He’d known up front, when he’d dragged her willy-nilly into this, that the cost to her would be enormous.

Known it. Weighed it. And decided that she was worth the sacrifice to put several powerful terrorist groups out of business.

Heather was dead now, not because of some ancient fucking curse. But because
he’d
put her in danger and sacrificed her life.

The cost had been astronomical.

“Three fifty-eight.”

Static electricity moved over her skin and teased her hair as the shimmering, pulsing dark blue light vibrated and danced just above her body. The electricity-like current changed to green, then a mustard yellow, then a brilliant orange—

He didn’t give a shit. He had no fucking idea
what
the color changes meant. Whatever the interpretation, nothing seemed to be making a damn bit of difference.

Very little scared him. He was pretty stoic about pain and death. He’d seen shitloads of both.

Oh, Christ. Did he have
seconds
? Minutes? Would his skill be strong enough to bring them back?

He was terrified he knew the answer.

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No.

No-air-no-air-no-air.

N

o

a

i

r

Fight. Him.

Bean.

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Caleb—

Oh God. Take another breath and hold it. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it—

Lungs on fire.

Panicked, filled with oppressive dread, Heather couldn’t help herself and dragged in a deep shuddering breath, pathetically grateful that she had time to do so before she was submerged again.

“Good God!” A man said, sounding incredulous. “You
did
it. You brought her back.”

Her lungs burned from holding her breath for so long the last time he’d held her under. Struggling to open leaded eyes, she knew she’d rather see what was going to happen next than anticipate it. The room swam into focus, soft blue and hazy. The sound of her thudding heart filled her ears.

Disoriented, she blinked away the fog, even as she struggled, fighting to get up. To get away—

“Shh. You’re okay.” A gentle hand touched her shoulder.
Caleb. Oh, God. Caleb. She would
recognize his touch anywhere.
“Lie back, swee—Just lie back and take another deep breath. You’re safe.”

She didn’t feel safe. She felt terrified. And freezing cold. All made worse when Caleb withdrew his hand. A cruel hallucination?

Heather frowned. She was lying on a bed? What new torture was this? A shudder traveled through her body as she forced her eyes to open and stay open.

No terrorist. No fish tank.

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The room they were in was unfamiliar. But a quick glance through the window told her they were back in Matera. It was dusk, and the lights across the ravine were just starting to wink on. Warm, balmy air drifted through the open casement window and fluttered the short drapes. The breeze probably smelled of tomato sauce, a dinner staple, but Heather imagined the stench of fishy water, and a shudder rippled down her spine.

She shifted her head to see Caleb sitting on the mattress beside her, elbows propped on his knees. He looked like hell. Jaw shadowed by stubble, he was watching her from sunken eyes. When she shivered he stuck out an imperious hand. “Another blank—” A red blanket materialized in his outstretched hand.

He added it to the others already covering her without breaking eye contact.

“How do you feel?” His voice sounded as though he hadn’t used it for a while. Or like he’d been yelling. A lot.

She didn’t feel…pain, she thought, forehead scrunched, and that made no sense at all. She instantly remembered everything, and her hand flew to her belly.

Heart pounding with a sick dread, she licked dry lips. “Bean?” All her fear came out in that single whispered word.

He balled the hem of the blanket in his fist. “He’s—” His throat worked, and his eyes darkened with intense emotion.

The breath left Heather’s body and she went completely numb. “Nooo!” she wailed, slammed by unspeakable grief. Tears flooded her eyes. “Caleb,
no.
”

“She thinks he’s dead,” someone out of sight said quickly. “Tell h—”

“He’s
fine.
” Caleb put up a hand, interrupting the other man. “Heather. Jesus. I’m sorry, I didn’t mea—Damn it.” He brushed her wet cheek, as if afraid to touch her, as sobs erupted from her raw throat. “Listen to me. Bean is okay. Swear to God, he’s okay.”

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Overwhelming relief surged through her. She sat up, sobs ripping from her throat. Impatiently she swiped at her cheeks with both hands as she tried desperately to regulate her uneven breathing and calm down. Her breath hitched. Caleb was many things, and he’d probably told her lies that she’d never ever find out about, but she was certain he wouldn’t lie to her about the well-being of their son. “You’re s-

sure
?”

“One hundred percent positive.”

Sheer, unadulterated fury followed closely on the heels of relief. “Damn it, you scared me to death.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y-you’re sorry?!” Heather’s emotions went from empty to relieved to annoyed to
homicidal
in the space of three heartbeats.
“Sorry?!”
Everything
he’d
made happen in the last few months surged through her in a molten rage.

The “accidental” meeting in the grocery store. The clever seduction. Her pregnancy. His proposal.

Bringing her to Italy to flush out her father. Al-Adel drowning her…

Every incident had Caleb’s name scrawled all over it.

Worse. Much, much worse,she thought, clenching her fists hard enough that she couldn’t feel her heart breaking, worst of all—he’d never loved her.

He’d
used
her.

Each separate ingredient churned up a slushy, unhappy stew of emotion deep inside her and erupted like Mt. Vesuvius.

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It shocked the hell out of her when her temper totally snapped and she lunged at him with newfound energy. She hit him. Hard. Pummeling him with her fists. His arm. Whack. Chest. Whack. Head. Whack, whack. She wasn’t aiming; she could barely see for the tears. She just wanted to hurt him as much as she’d been hurt. Impossible. His lies and deceit had shattered her heart.

“Want me to grab her?” one of his minions asked.

Caleb flinched as her wedding ring caught his temple, but he did nothing to stop her from venting her rage. “It’s warranted,” he said, meeting her eyes and recoiling slightly as she punched him in the belly. His rock-hard stomach felt like iron against her knuckles. She hit him again, knowing that he was letting her, which just pissed her off more.

“
Your
stitches just busted open, and you can’t and won’t hold her off—”

That was his friend Keir, Heather realized. Well, she could take him on, too. He’s aided and abetted—the sons of bitches.

What was that saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Ha! She punched any part of Caleb’s lying, scheming body she could reach. His chest. His neck. His face. She pummeled him with every ounce of strength she had in her as she wept uncontrollably. God. She couldn’t stop crying. It was as if now that the floodgates were open she was powerless to stop them. Terror, stress, hormones, all conspired against her.

“Get lost, Keir.” Caleb’s voice sounded old and tired, and she wasn’t blind to the hand he put out to stop her from toppling off the bed when she missed his skull with her swinging fist.