Dangerous Lover (5 page)

Selene drove her sister's car back toward home, and tried to focus on the man in the hospital room because it was a lot more pleasant than focusing on what awaited her at her house.

She was going to have to try to explain herself to her mother. And Vidalia Brand wasn't exactly known for being open-minded.

Selene rounded a curve and gasped at the number of cars in the driveway. My God, she thought, her mother must have called the entire family from the police station. Everyone was there. Then she noticed an unfamiliar brown SUV and wondered who owned it.

She squinted in the headlight's glow and read the customized plate. WWJD-3. “What
would
Jesus do,” Selene wondered aloud. “If he were smart, he'd probably turn around and head for the hills.” She sighed deeply, knowing by the plates that the SUV was Reverend Jackson's car. “God, this is an ambush.”

She pulled into the driveway, but didn't shut off the engine. She could turn around and leave. But, no. No, that wasn't going to solve anything. She was going to have to face this sooner or later, and if this was the way her mother wanted to do it, then fine. This was the way they would do it.

She shut off the engine, stiffened her spine, got out of the car, and marched toward the front door. Pausing with her hand on the knob, Selene took a deep breath and tried to exhale her anger and her hurt when she let it out again. She took another and visualized pulling a shield of positive energy around her with the air. She lifted her chin, whispered an invocation to the Goddess, and opened the door.

The murmur of voices fell silent when she stepped through the door. Her home was filled with familiar faces. Her oldest sister Maya sent her an encouraging smile, Caleb stood behind her, with the twins at his feet. Seated at the kitchen table beside Maya, were Melusine and Alex. Kara and Jimmy sat on the opposite side of the table with little Tyler between them, and Edie and Wade stood near the freshly filled coffee pot. Vidalia rose from her spot at the head of the table. At her shoulder, Reverend Jackson seemed to be presiding over them all.

The men quickly got up. Jimmy hauled Tyler up into his arms, and headed for the door. He paused to kiss Selene on the cheek as he passed. “We're outta here. Give you females some time to talk. But if you need us, we'll be within shouting distance.”

“Good idea,” Caleb said. He scooped up a twin in each arm. “We can go up to my place. Come on, guys.” With that he and Jimmy went outside and started toward the house Caleb and Maya had built just up the hill, behind Vidalia's.

Wade and Alex came to the door to follow suit. Wade chucked her on the chin and gave her a wink. Alex whispered, “They give you any trouble, baby, you just whistle.”

She nodded as they passed, grateful. But then she turned to face her mother and sisters again, and her heart fell. Reverend Jackson stood there looking for all the world as if he were gearing up for a full-blown sermon. Before he could say a word, she got her own in. “Reverend, it's wonderful to see you, as always. But I'm afraid you've come at a bad time. I really need to have a private conversation with my mother, if you don't mind.”

Vidalia gaped, and Maya put a hand on her shoulder as if to calm her.

“I'm well aware of that, Selene,” the minister said. “That's why I'm here, in fact. To talk with you about this…this Wicca nonsense.”

“Wicca is my religion, Reverend. And calling it nonsense is as offensive to me as calling Christianity, Judaism or Islam nonsense would be to a practitioner of any of those faiths. And every bit as wrong.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand the point of view, Selene, but—”

“I'm not going to discuss this with you, sir. I don't mean to be blunt, but it's none of your business.”

“Selene!” This time Vidalia jumped to her feet, mortified.

“Mom, I want to talk to you about this. I do, but not like this. Please, ask him to leave so we can just sit down and—”

“He's a
minister
, Selene!”

Selene closed her eyes, and felt the sympathetic gazes of her sisters on her. Lowering her head, she gave up. “I'm going to my room. Good night.”

“Selene, you come back here! We're talking about this right now.”

She glanced at her mother, shook her head slowly, and just kept on walking.

“Selene!”

“Mom, come on. Let her go,” Edie said softly.

“I told you this was a mistake,” Maya put in. “You should give her a chance. This wasn't fair.”

“Girls, girls, your mother is only concerned about your sister's soul.”

“Our mother has raised her daughters to think for themselves,” Melusine snapped, her tone shorter than any of the others' had been. “It amazes me to realize that that value only holds as long as we agree with her point of view. I never would have believed it.”

“Me neither,” Kara whispered.

Selene closed the bedroom door, no longer able to hear their voices. She needed time. She needed distance.

She needed, she thought, to get the hell out of here.

I
t was quiet in the hospital. He supposed he'd been a difficult patient, but it was difficult
being
a patient, given the situation.

According to the police chief, who'd finally come to fill him in on what was known about his case, the gorgeous blonde who'd saved his life was a self-proclaimed witch who'd been engaged in some sort of Pagan rite about the time he'd been stabbed. Chief Wheatly claimed Selene Brand was a good girl, but had always been “a little odd” and that he had to wonder if his stabbing had been some sort of occult blood rite, though he hastened to add that there had been a blood trail leading from the woods to the site where the women had been gathered, and that there was no evidence Selene had been the one who'd stabbed him. Her blade held no trace of blood, and didn't match the wound in his belly.

He hated to think she might have been his attacker. Granted, when he'd opened his eyes and seen her standing over him with that knife in her hand, that was exactly what he'd thought. But not instantly. His initial thoughts had been far different ones. He'd been looking up at a half-naked babe, with her breasts exposed to the night and to his eyes, after all. And he was only human, as far as he knew. And she was hot.

But was she a beautiful, insane killer?

It made him angry that he would know for sure if only his mind was anything other than a dark, black hole. He didn't remember a damn thing about the stabbing. Nothing. Except that the wound they'd patched up had already been inflicted when he'd fallen at the woman's feet, and he'd confirmed with the doctors here that there had only been one. The nude madwoman could have inflicted another while he lay there. God knew she'd had the time. But she hadn't. She'd helped him, instead.

The question remained, though, had she inflicted the first one? Had he run off into the woods, become disoriented and stumbled right back to her, having forgotten what she had just done? Had she been the one pursuing him through the night?

This was ridiculous. He didn't need to be in a hospital. He needed to be out of here, figuring out what the hell had happened to him. And who the hell he was.

He peeled back his covers, and sat up, moving carefully, one hand over his bandaged abdomen. It hurt, but not too badly, so he kept going, swung his legs over the side, and sat up that way for a minute, just to take stock.

Yeah. He was all right. He needed to talk to someone about getting out of here.

A young screech owl gave three cries from somewhere just outside the window. Most people got chills when they heard a screech owl, wondering what sort of creature made such a sound. But he knew.

There was a big plastic bag lying on the stand beside his bed, marked Patient's Belongings, and he reached for it, tugged it open and began pulling the items out of it: a pair of jeans, shorts, socks, shoes. The shirt was missing. He checked every pocket for clues, hoping for any personal item that might help him out. But there was nothing. Either he'd had nothing on him, or the police had taken everything except these clothes. He was surprised they hadn't taken all the clothes, but then he figured by the time he went from the woods to the women, to the ambulance to the ER, any evidence on the clothes would have been useless.

He put on the shorts and jeans, socks and shoes. He was just reaching for the call button when the door opened, and his lights went out.

He squinted, but couldn't see more than a silhouette in the doorway, backed by the light from the hall. And then the silhouette lifted a hand, and he saw the unmistakable shape of a gun. He hit the floor just as it went off—two shots without a single bang. Two thuds into the pillow of his bed. He yanked the first thing within reach—the bedside phone—and hurled it at the door, but by then the form was gone, and a half dozen nurses were rushing into the room as the lights came on again. His police guard came on their heels.

Hands were on him, helping him up, voices were asking what had happened. His belly was bleeding again. He got upright, and stared at the holes in his pillow. As the nurses and the cop followed his gaze he muttered, “Someone just tried to kill me. Again.”

“Man! I only went to the restroom,” the cop muttered.

“Yeah, maybe not such a great idea.”

“Was it one of the women? One of the…the witches?” the cop asked.

He met the officer's eyes, and thought it was odd that although he'd seen all the women, four or five all told, when the chief had asked him to describe them, he'd drawn a complete blank. The only details he remembered were the ones pertaining to her. Selene. The silver-haired wood nymph.

“It was a man. But I could only see him in silhouette.” He looked at the nurses. “No one saw him? He shot twice and ran. You telling me no one saw him?”

They all shook their heads. He thought then that it was a damn good thing his pillow bore the bullet holes as proof, because he didn't think they would have believed him otherwise.

 

Selene retreated to her bedroom and locked the door. She was upset. She'd been meaning to talk to her mom and sisters about her beliefs for ages, and just had never managed to work up the courage. Now she was paying the price, and she wasn't naive enough to think it wasn't her own fault. She should have come clean long ago. Having them find out like this—she couldn't really think of a worse way for her secret to be revealed.

But damn, her mother's stubborn refusal even to hear her side of things had thrown her. She had never expected that. It felt like a betrayal, and it hurt. At least Vidalia had come through at the police station, stating firmly that she didn't believe Selene would ever hurt anyone. Thank Goddess for that.

Still, it didn't change the fact that her mother thought she was doing something wrong. Probably thought she was damned to hell for her most deeply held beliefs.

Right now, though, there were more important things to deal with than her own hurt feelings. She picked up the telephone in her bedroom and dialed Tessa's number.

Tessa picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, hon. It's me.”

“Selene? Are you okay? What happened?”

“It's a mess,” Selene said. She turned a full circle and sank onto the floor, pushing a hand through her hair. “The guy—you know the one who was hurt?”

“Your soul mate? Yeah, I remember him. Vaguely.”

“He doesn't remember anything, Tess. And the police seem to think I tried to kill him as some kind of Pagan sacrifice.”

Her statement was met with dead silence. Selene closed her eyes, drew a breath. “They know I wasn't there alone, Tess. But I didn't give up your names, and I won't. I promise you that, no matter what.”

“Oh, God, Selene—”

“My mother knows, and she's acting all crazy. Had Erica's father here waiting for me when I got home.”

“Reverend Jackson? Oh, hell, Selene.”

“She's not even giving me a chance to explain. Tess, I have to get out of here.”

Tessa sighed. “Selene, if you tell them who else was there, wouldn't that help you out of this mess? I mean, we're all witnesses to the fact that you didn't do anything to hurt that man. Hell, you put yourself on the line to try to help him.”

“You think they'd believe you?” Selene shook her head and sighed. “Because I don't. If it was a ritual sacrifice gone wrong, we were all involved, and we'd cover each other. I don't think the word of a Witch is going to go far in this town, Tess.”

“Five of us, all telling the same story, and no evidence to the contrary? Come on, they're not cavemen. They'd listen.”

“Maybe.” Selene sighed. “Let's wait and see. I'm hoping it clears itself up and no one else needs to be outed. They know he was stabbed in the woods—there's a clear blood trail. And they know my athame wasn't the weapon. So that's a plus. Just let me be clear on this, Tessa, I'm not giving up your names, no matter what. If it gets really down-and-dirty, and you decide to do that, it's up to you. Not me. I won't do it.”

“You need to keep me posted, so I know if it's necessary.”

“Yeah, that's why I called. I want you to get in touch with the others, tell them what's going on, everything I've told you. I'd do it myself, but I just need to get out of here.”

“I'll tell them. Except for Erica. She's headed down to that Pagan festival in Texas, remember? She'll be gone four days.”

“Right. I forgot, with everything else.”

“Where are you going to go, Selene? I mean, if you take off, won't that make you look even more guilty?”

“I don't even care. But the chief told me not to leave town, so if I go too far it might just give him an excuse to arrest me.” She closed her eyes. “I just can't stay here. Not with Mom acting all crazy on me. I need some time, you know? And Kara loaned me her car, so…”

“You can go to the cabin,” Tessa said.

Selene lifted her brows, surprised. “Your husband's hunting cabin?”

“Yeah. Chet isn't using it until next week. You remember where it is?”

“Yeah.”

“Key's in one of those fake rock thingies to the right of the door. The place is fully stocked. And I won't tell a soul that's where you are.”

“Thanks, Tessa.”

“It's the least I can do. Stay in touch, okay?”

“Yeah. I will. Thank you, Tessa. You're…you're like a sister.”

“Better. Good night, Selene.”

“‘Night, Tessa.”

Selene hung up her phone, reaching the stand without getting up. She felt drained, emotionally more than physically. To meet the man fate has chosen for you, only to realize he thinks you tried to kill him. Well, hell, it didn't get much worse than that, did it?

She couldn't stop thinking about him. Couldn't get those dark eyes out of her mind. He was something. He was…everything.

She really needed to be doing something, getting ready, though she would have to wait until everyone was asleep before actually leaving the house. And she was going to have to borrow a car since hers was still impounded.

Chet Monro's cabin was a good option. The perfect hideaway, really. Not technically outside of town, and yet isolated enough to give her the time she needed to work through some things.

On the way, though, she had one stop to make.

She needed to see that stranger. She needed to go to the hospital. She'd promised him she would see him tomorrow—so she had to tell him tonight why that wasn't going to happen.

 

He was nervous as hell, and the damn cop stationed outside his door wasn't doing a thing to ease his mind. Someone was trying to kill him, and right now, that someone knew exactly where to find him.

He didn't intend to wait around for the bastard to try again. No way. He didn't know a hell of a lot about himself right then, but he felt very much like the kind of guy who wouldn't go down without a fight. And that fight would be on his terms. Term one being, it wasn't going to take place in a hospital room where he was defenseless.

No way in hell.

He had to wait, though. He'd been quizzing nurses about the schedule here, claiming he needed to be left alone to get some rest. The doctor had made his evening rounds at nine, and at two—just ten minutes from now—his nurse would be in to check his vitals and administer his meds. He'd have four hours from then until the next time he'd be bothered. And that was when he would make his move.

Until then, he lay in the bed feeling very much like a man with a glowing neon target painted on his forehead.

Finally, the nurse came in with his meds, and damned if he didn't tense up when the door opened. He damn near threw himself over the side onto the floor in case the newcomer turned out to be his would-be assassin back for a third try.

But it was just his nurse, her smile wary, since he'd basically been biting her head off every time she came in, up to now. He was glad to see her this time, though. Get this over with so he could move on with his plan.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Monosyllabic answers might speed this along.

She came to his bedside and took his wrist in her hand, then gazed at her watch for a few seconds. “Pulse looks a little high. You been up running laps around the room?”

“No.”

“Talkative tonight, aren't you?”

“Just wondering if you people are ever going to leave me alone long enough to get some sleep.”

“Well, then you'll be pleased to know I'm your last visitor for a few hours. Arm please.”

She had the blood pressure cuff in her hands now, and he obediently held up his arm so she could get her kicks by cutting off its circulation for a few seconds. She pumped and watched the dial, and pumped some more. Then she whipped the thing off him and hung it from its hook on the wall. “A little elevated.”

“Hadn't you heard? Someone took a shot at me a few hours ago.”