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Authors: Joan Swan

BOOK: Fever
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Without turning around, he said, “Lie down.” He had this eerie sixth sense of knowing where she was at all times. “I’ll change your bandage.”
She complied, too tired to continue the useless fight. He sat on the edge of the bed and peeled up the edges of the tape, which had already loosened from the shower. His fingers were warm and sure and gentle. Alyssa couldn’t help thinking about how inappropriately comfortable they were with each other.
“What a hack job,” he muttered.
“It worked. Stitches stayed dry.”
He unpacked the bloody gauze and inspected the stitches from every angle. With one finger he probed a couple spots, heat tapping everywhere he touched. Soon her attention had honed in on every sensation and how the heat drifted to other parts of her body.
“Looks like your luck’s changed. They’re all intact. Thought for sure you’d pulled at least half a dozen.”
“Show me.” Her voice came out softer and more tentative than she’d planned. His eyes lifted to hers, suspicious. And hot. She knew how it sounded, but that didn’t keep her from saying it anyway. “Show me how you do it.”
He looked away, started fiddling with the gauze. “Do what?” His voice went all smart-ass. “Bandage a wound? It’s called gauze and—”
“You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “I told you—”
She pushed up on her elbows, challenging him to look her in the eye. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“A five-year-old, a dog, an idiot ... Make up your mind. But do it lying down so I can finish.”
“You tell me how you do it, and I’ll lie down.”
He seethed an exasperated sigh and pushed her shoulder until the burn in her side made her give up and fall back. “I told you before, it’s just the way I am. I don’t know why or how. It just
is
.”
“Were you born with it?”
“No.”
“When did you know you had it?”
His hands dropped to his lap as he sat back. “You make it sound like a fucking gift. Look at your neck, your wrists. It’s nothing but a nuisance. One that hurts people. One I can’t control.”
“But you can also heal. The bruises on my face should be purple. The burns on my wrists and neck should be blistering and raw.” She pointed to her stitches. “Look at the way my skin has already started to fuse at the edges. That shouldn’t happen for another week. I know the stages of healing. More than that, I know my own ability to heal, and it’s not this damned good.”
In the new, tense silence, the TV weatherman’s perky voice spoke of continued cold nights and crisp, sunny days through the rest of the month.
“Let’s change the subject,” he said, eyes steady on his work. “Are you married?”
“Avoidance. That’s beautiful.”
“Boyfriend?”
“What do you care?”
“I’d like to know who the hell I kidnapped and who might be worried about you. I’ve already got the cops after me. Would be good to get a heads-up if I’ve got a psycho significant other ready to hang me by the balls, too.”
Alyssa’s frown deepened. No. No significant other. In fact, she had very few people who would worry about her. Her competitor, Dyne, would be thrilled she was out of the picture. Her attending radiologists would be irritated she wasn’t around to do all their work. Her coworkers would be curious, possibly mortified. But there were only a few people who would be truly concerned.
“My family will be worried.”
Well,
some
members of her family would be worried.
Creek placed fresh gauze over the wound and taped it securely. He picked up four ibuprophen tablets and a bottle of water and handed her both.
“Your hand works better,” she said, taking the medication. “But I suppose you won’t acknowledge that either.”
His eyes met hers with a spark of something she might have considered lust if he hadn’t shown such complete lack of interest in her so far.
“
New information has surfaced on the day’s top story.”
On the television, a female news anchor took over where the weatherman left off. “
Earlier today
,
two prisoners from San Quentin Penitentiary escaped custody while receiving care at St. Jude’s Medical Center in San Francisco.
”
Creek’s head turned sharply toward the television.
“Sources say Francis Sanders and Teague Creek, both inmates serving life sentences at the prison, were transported to St. Jude’s for routine medical tests
.” Mug shots of Taz and Creek flashed on the screen.
“Francis?” Alyssa said, incredulous. “His name is ... was ...
Francis
?”
“Shhh.” Creek silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“The San Quentin inmates subdued guards and reportedly escaped the facility with a woman whose identity remains undisclosed. It is unclear at this time whether that woman was a hostage or an accomplice.”
“Accomplice?”
Alyssa sat straight up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me. Why would they ... ? How could they ... ?” Her mind shot back to Creek’s one-sided telephone conversation, and she set her eyes on him. “You.”
“What?” One brow dropped in a look that said, “You’re crazy. I’ve been with you this whole time.”
“Not while I was in the shower, and when I got out you were on the phone.”
“You think
I
was on the phone with a
news reporter
?”
Okay, when he said it out loud, it did sound ridiculous. Still ... “Look at everything else you’ve done tonight. Seems you’re capable of just about anything.”
His brows evened out as a menacing shadow crossed his face. “Watch it. Think about what you’re saying. It’s not smart and it doesn’t even make sense.”
“And this does?” She threw her arms out, indicating their hideout. “
Nothing
makes sense anymore. Seems to me you didn’t plan this very well. If you’re making decisions as important as these on the fly, you’re bound to make mistakes.”
His eyes went flat. Up until that moment she hadn’t realized how much of his guard he’d dropped. Now that he’d thrown up the wall again, she wanted to tear it down. “I guess we can’t all be as perfect as you,
Doctor
Foster.”
Pounding on the door made Alyssa jump. Creek spun toward the door and pulled the gun from his jeans at the same time. He held the weapon tight to his thigh and put his index finger over his lips in a silent order to stay quiet.
“Yeah?” Creek said through the closed door.
“Manager.” The deep rasping voice of the woman from the office came through loud and clear. “I’m getting complaints, which is hard to do when there’s only two other people staying here. Keep it down or find another place to sleep. And no refunds.”
Creek’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, ma’am.”
He continued to stare at Alyssa as the manager’s footsteps faded down the walk. He pushed the gun back into his jeans and nodded to the bed. “Go to sleep. I have a feeling that’s the only way you’re going to stop arguing.”
“Takes two to argue.”
He slid the cuffs from his pocket and rounded the bed. Alyssa pushed to her feet, crossed her arms, tucked her hands into the crooks of her elbows and stepped back. “You’re not putting those back on me.”
“You’re right about one thing,” he said as his hand snaked out and pried one wrist away from her body. “It does take two to argue, and God knows I can’t compete with an expert like you.”
“Stop!” She pulled and twisted, but nothing fazed Creek. With a quick snap, the cuff encircled her wrist. “You can’t expect me to sleep in these.”
“I’m not that cruel.” He pulled her toward the bed, leaned down and closed the other cuff around the metal lamp base secured to the wall by the headboard. “I only expect you to sleep in one.”
Reflexively, she yanked against the restraint. The grating of metal on metal clanked through the room. She gnashed her teeth. “You ...”
He lifted his brows. “Yes?”
She caught herself before the word
prick
came out of her mouth.
As she sank to a seat on the edge of the bed, she couldn’t help thinking how everything could change in an instant. How one person could make one decision and send multiple lives into a tailspin. And wonder how in the hell she was going to put it all back together.
Or if it were even possible.
N
INE
S
omething hit Alyssa’s leg. She startled to consciousness with a surge of fear, the type that burned her chest when she woke from the midst of a nightmare.
“We have to go.” The male voice, familiar yet unknown, pushed another spurt of adrenaline into her chest.
She lay frozen on her side, eyes open, staring at a blank, white wall, the room mostly dark but for a light drifting in from somewhere nearby. Where was she? Hospital? No. Apartment? No. Parents’ house? No.
She rolled to her side and pain erupted from every part of her body—her ribs, her stomach, her shoulder, her left knee, her right hip—everything hurt. She winced. A groan ebbed from her throat.
“You’re going to be sore for a few days.”
The voice clicked in her memory and with it, a rush of emotion: anger, anxiety and fear. So much fear—for the present, for the future. And now that the incident had been on the news, her family jumped onto the list—specifically, her father.
She eased onto her back, grimacing against the pain. Creek set a covered paper cup on the nightstand by her head. She didn’t have to look to know it was coffee. The rich scent filled her nose with each breath.
“It’s not Starbucks,” he said, “but it’ll wake you up.”
He pushed the key into the cuff at her wrist and clicked it open, then took her hand and rubbed warm, gentle fingers over the red lines digging into her skin. Instant relief trickled through her wrist, but there were other places that needed his touch more. She hurt so badly she could barely breathe.
Alyssa unfastened his fingers from her wrist, pulled his hand to her side and pressed it flat over her wound. Heat gushed with an initial, almost painful burn, then immediately receded to a deep, soothing, pulsating wash of relief.
“Oh, God, that feels good.” At her words, he pulled back. Alyssa tightened her hold and held him there. “Just another minute. Please.”
His light eyes were intense as he stared down at her. His cheeks and jaw were covered with fresh stubble, outlining his full lips and highlighting the hollows beneath his cheekbones.
She didn’t want to notice his looks, had been fighting the temptation since she’d first seen him in the exam room, but there was just no way to miss them. He was a handsome man, one with a very
GQ
look that could go rugged high-class or gangster sexy-chic. And with his humanity starting to show, she couldn’t discount his attractiveness as she had before.
And it was even harder when the pain receded and the heat turned deeper, more sensual. It spread in various directions. Lit her up in a whole different way. And as a deep yearning bloomed low in her gut, she shifted her gaze from his mouth, back to his eyes, wondering ...
Oh, yeah. He felt it, too. His lids had gone heavy, his eyes a little glassy. And with that edge of tension gone from his face, Alyssa glimpsed a window inside, that same sliver of vulnerability she’d seen when he’d been in the shower, looking broken and defeated.
“Enough.” He twisted out of her grasp and made tracks to the opposite side of the room.
Pain returned in the absence of his touch and she forced herself to sit up. “Where did you get coffee?”
“The motel office.” He stuffed supplies back into the Walmart bags with jerky, irritated movements. “Get going. You’ve got five minutes to change. If you’re not ready, you go in what you’re wearing.”
“Go where?”
“Just get dressed.”
“Leave me here. I’ll get home on my own.”
“You’re not going home just yet.”
“But you promised—” Alyssa cut off the ridiculous statement
.
“I’m not Hannah. Luke doesn’t want me. You don’t need me now.”
“I need you just as much as I did before, only in a different way. And that promise was made to Hannah Svelt not Alyssa Foster.”
“You don’t understand. I have to get back to the hospital. What I told you about competing for a job wasn’t a lie. I’ve already lost a lot of ground. They’re making their decision in just a couple weeks. I’ve been working toward this for years.” She waved a hand at the television, now dark and quiet. “And now I’m going to have to refute that rumor about being an accomplice in this whole stupid scheme.”
He lifted a newspaper from the table and tossed it onto the bed beside her. “You’re going to have to do more than that.”
She looked at the blaring front-page headline: SAN QUENTIN ESCAPE CONSPIRACY.
She picked up the paper and read.
Yesterday’s escape of two convicted killers from St. Jude’s Hospital in San Francisco was reportedly aided by an insider.
Twenty-nine-year-old Dr. Alyssa Foster, a radiology fellow at St. Jude’s, was performing a routine study on Teague Creek, one of the prisoners, when guards say she gave him access to a pair of scissors, which he then used to hold Foster as a false hostage.
“Oh, my God.” Her fingers curled into the edges of the paper.
Creek subsequently subdued the officers, locked them in a room and escaped the facility with Dr. Foster and fellow inmate, Francis Sanders.
“Come on.” He walked over and pulled her to her feet. Alyssa stood, but didn’t take her eyes off the paper.
Creek and Sanders were both sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole for particularly heinous murders. Creek was convicted of beating his girlfriend, a prosecutor for the Nevada County D.A.’s Office, Desiree Tapia, unconscious, then setting her on fire while she was still alive. For several months prior to the murder, Tapia had been investigating a serial arsonist. Investigators believe Creek, a former firefighter and paramedic with Nevada County Fire Protection, was that arsonist and that Tapia had uncovered his identity, leading to the attack.
Alyssa’s stomach lurched. Her gaze blurred over the words. Her mind tried to absorb the information, rejected it, tried again. She skimmed the rest of the article, which confirmed the information Creek had told her about Taz’s crime and then read:
Creek and Foster should be considered armed and dangerous. If you see either of these individuals—
“They know we stole the U-Haul,” Creek said. “They found our fingerprints on the metal fence posts. We need to find another car, and we need to leave. Now.” He searched in one of the bags, and pulled out the sweatpants and T-shirt he’d picked up from Walmart the night before and tossed them at her. “Get dressed.”
She stood and faced him. “I’m not going with you.”
“We are
not
going through this again.”
Alyssa looked back at the paper, ignoring his frustration. “This has to be some stupid reporter taking liberties to sensationalize the story.”
Teague shot her a look from beneath heavy brows. “Did you miss the part that reads ‘guards say’?”
“They wouldn’t—”
“Don’t be so naïve. Honey, the only difference between guards and inmates is that guards carry a badge and a gun.”
Alyssa dropped the paper and rolled her eyes. “Don’t even—”
“Who the hell else told the media? You and I were the only other two people there.” Creek picked up the towel he’d dropped on the floor the night before and started wiping down every hard surface in the room. “A screwup like the one they made by leaving you alone with me will cost them their jobs. The young guy was a newbie. He’d have been instantly canned. Titus is a couple years away from retirement. He’d lose his pension. That guy is a bad seed.”
“You’re saying
Titus
is a bad seed?” Alyssa lifted the paper. “You’re a ... You ...” She waved the paper, her stomach rolling with disgust. “Is that true? Did you really ...
do
that?”
Creek paused in his cleaning streak to settle flat, emotionless eyes on her. “You tell me, Alyssa. Did I?”
She couldn’t fathom it, yet it was all in black and white in the paper, and he changed moods and personas like a psychopath.
When she didn’t answer, he huffed a bitter laugh. “Another believer.”
“What are you doing?”
“Eliminating fingerprints.”
He tossed the towel aside and stalked toward her. Before she could move away, he lifted the bottom edge of her shirt and pulled up.
Alyssa caught it just before he cleared her breasts. “Stop!
Now
what are you doing?”
“If you’re not going to change yourself, I’m going to do it. We have to
move
.”
She stepped back. “You move. I’m going back to fight this bull.”
His expression changed with the twist of his mouth. “You know, somehow I knew that even after I explained how screwed you were, you’d insist on defying reality. So, I took the liberty of adding a little ... leverage ... to the picture.” He rested his hands at the waistband of his jeans. “I’ve transferred five grand from my credit card into your checking account. You can consider it restitution for the damage my rash stupidity has caused in your life, but I’m sure the authorities will see it a little differently.”
Alyssa’s mouth dropped open. Her mind struggled to comprehend. “That just doesn’t make any sense. Why would you even go to the trouble—”
“Because I can’t let you go yet. And I can’t spend all my time fighting you either.”
She shook her head, not ready or willing to accept reality. “There’s no way you could have—”
He picked up a thin billfold from the table—the same one she kept in the back pocket of her scrub pants. With a flourish, he pulled out the single blank check Alyssa kept there for emergencies and let it float to the bed. “I could, and I did.”
Her brain remained a solid block of denial. “No. That’s not possible.”
“You’ve obviously never had to take a cash advance off a credit card and deposit it into a checking account. All it takes is a phone call. They wire the money immediately, from my account to yours. We’re linked now, baby. Officially. Like it or not.”
He was bluffing. He
had
to be bluffing. Because if he wasn’t, he’d just implicated her in this whole mess with hard evidence—the escape, the auto theft, the murder. “You
can’t
get access to my checking account.”
“Not to withdraw money or transfer money out, no. But just about anyone can make deposits. Banks don’t inhibit the influx of money, only the outflow.”
Her chest heaved with shallow, quick breaths. Sweat broke out on her neck and back. For the first time in her life, her mind stopped working. Completely.
“I ... I need to call my dad.” If she could just talk to her dad, hear his voice, his reassurance, her world would right. “He’s bound to know about this by now, and he’s going to be worried sick. You can monitor the call. I just want to tell him I’m okay.”
“Not going to happen.”
“
Please
. He has a heart condition that’s aggravated by stress. I don’t want this to kill him, for God’s sake. Do you want another murder on your conscience?”
“I like it much better when you don’t talk.” He pointed toward the bathroom. “Get. Changed. Now.”
 
For once, the girl did what she was told, and even kept her mouth shut while she did it. Teague watched Alyssa turn on her heel, long black hair whipping over her shoulder, and stalk into the bathroom. Then she did exactly what he expected—she slammed the door, cutting off his view of that cute little ass.
He could qualify her butt as a cute little ass now that she wasn’t Luke’s girlfriend. He could fully appreciate her beauty. Remember the feel of her amazing body. Imagine how they’d fit together.
His rational mind knew it would never happen. His repressed male mind wrestled with its nemesis to complete a simple fantasy.
He waited in front of the bathroom door until it swung open sixty seconds later. Alyssa stood there like a raging bull ready to charge, head dipped, brow furrowed, mouth tight. All she needed was a little steam pumping from her nostrils and a pawing foot to complete the picture. The thought almost made him grin. But it was the way she looked in those oversized sweats that finally turned his mouth up at the corners.
“I’m glad you’re getting some pleasure out of this.” She chucked the bunched nightclothes at him.
He caught the clothing and tossed it onto the bed. “It’s not all that bad.” He reached out and grabbed her left hand, now balled into a fist, and closed one cuff around her wrist. “Besides, you’d look good in a brown paper sack.”
“I don’t get it. Why’d you bother transferring the money if you’re going to keep using these?”
“You’ve got a thick skull and an impulsive nature. Not a great combo. I’m just giving the ramifications of the information time to get through.”
“You’ve got the most annoying way of flipping between being complimentary and condescending.” She looked down at her hand, twisted her arm in the cuff, testing the fit. “I’m not the woman you want. I can’t help you. It’s obvious you’re not going to hurt me, so why keep me?”

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