Missing Lynx (17 page)

Striker came and sat on the bed. “Reiki?”

“Yup.”

“Are you doing any better?”

“Mmm.”

“When you Reiki yourself do your hands get hot and vibrate like they do when you work on me?”

“Yup.” I held out my hand to him. Striker brought my palm up to his cheek. “It’s like a heating pad.”

“Yeah. My headache’s gone, but my teeth are still fuzzy, and I’m seasick. I should teach you how to do this, so you can help me when I’m injured or ill. Not that I’m planning to need help for a hangover ever again. I think once is enough. Been there. Done that. Never again.”

Striker laughed. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Not from me you haven’t.”

Someone knocked at our door, Striker went to answer and came back in with a tray. “Here, Chica, I need you to eat this. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

“Is this what you eat when you get a hangover?” I cut into my steak and nibbled a bite of scrambled eggs with salsa.

Striker sat at the end of the bed with a plate balanced on his knee. “I don’t get hangovers. I pace myself.”

“Where did you learn this trick?”

Striker looked at me, weighing his words.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to tell me about all the women who have tumbled into your bed, with or without the need for morning remedies. You especially don’t have to tell me about Falicia.” Oh, jealousy had a painful bite.

“I have a past, Chica. If you ever need to know something to make you more comfortable, just ask, and I’ll tell you. Though right now, I’m enjoying your green-eyed monster act.” His teasing just added salt to the wound.

“Hmm. I think the only green-eyed monster around here is living in my stomach as a result of you plying me with champagne, Commander Rheas,” I pronounced with slitty eyes.

Striker threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I knew it! The whole ‘I entertain when they want to impress,’ and the show-off scene with the card in the bottle. Brilliant!”

I smiled warmly back at him in between bites. I probably should be ticked at him mocking me, but he had such an honest, wholehearted laugh, and to be truthful, he was right.

“Okay, Chica, time for you to get up and take a shower.” Striker moved my tray to the side table. “I put your robe in my bathroom. You have thirty minutes until we need to leave.” He lifted back the covers. During the night his T-shirt had worked its way up past my waist, and I lay there splay legged in my little lace panties. Striker froze with the blanket in his hand. His eyes settled on the bit of lace and crystals I wore. His eyes moved slowly up my body with a question in his eyes.

I pushed myself out of bed, pulling the T-shirt down. “All this time I thought you were a good Boy Scout. What happened, huh?” I stalked toward the bathroom.

“What do you mean?” Striker followed closely behind.

“I thought their motto was to ‘always be prepared.’ You still don’t have any protection.” I gripped the knob.

“I can get some, Chica. I can be back in five minutes flat — just leave the bathroom door unlocked.” His hand blocked me from closing the door all the way.

“Uh-uh. You missed your opportunity. Now, I’ve got thirty minutes to get ready for Cammy’s party.” I pushed his hand out of the way, shut the door, and turned the lock.

“Are you punishing me?” Striker called.

“You feel like I’m punishing you?” I shouted as I adjusted the water temperature.

“A little, yes.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“Lexi, you know, I never was in the Boy Scouts, but you’d better believe I’ll be living up to their motto from here on out,” he hollered in to me.

A grin played over my mouth.

I stood under the warm water for a long time. We’d be late, and to tell the truth, I was glad. I wasn’t looking forward to this at all. Once I stood under the shower, I realized probably only a little bit of my nausea came from last night’s drinking. It was mostly nerves. A whopper of an anxiety attack doubled me over and had me panting with my hands resting on my knees like I just ran a marathon. Lynda would surely be asking me questions about the night I helped to save her and Cammy. I didn’t want to remember, and I didn’t want to talk about going behind the Veil.

Back when I was unschooled, one of the mentors who expanded my perception of reality the most was Miriam Laugherty an honest-to-goodness Extrasensory Criminal Investigator. She worked up and down the East Coast for various law enforcement agencies. When Miriam learned about my natural ESP experiences, she took me under her wing.

I had made up my own vocabulary to try to describe what I called “going behind the Veil,” separating from my body and existing on a different plane. Apparently, Miriam started the same way. She said she’d like to train me as a potential partner. Miriam needed someone who could work with her and help her lighten her case load and increase her solve rate. I studied with Miriam to find out what it was like, and figure out if I even had the talent to do this kind of work.

After a great deal of study and practice, I performed some basic searches for Miriam. But unlike Miriam I made brutally painful physical and mental connections with the victims, and I decided I couldn’t do that kind of work. I stayed away — far away — from anything remotely associated with “walking behind the Veil.” That was, until I lived in the safe house.

One awful night, Gater and Jack came in covered in mud and blood. They’d been ambushed. I performed Reiki on them, waiting for transportation to get there and take the men to the hospital. While I worked, the healing energy turned into something else, something I didn’t recognize. I tried to talk it out with Striker and told him all about my ESP, but this tread so far from his understanding of the world that all he could do was offer to serve as my sounding board.

The next day was one of anguish. I had never endured those sensations before — like I wanted to take off my skin and lay it neatly on the chair; like my lungs had no capacity for breath; like blue electrical charges moved in my veins instead of red blood cells. Something called me from behind the Veil and this time my experience came from a direction I’d never experienced before. This call came at the behest of a group of women in Africa.

The images offered to me told me that Striker had done something extraordinary for their village. I knew these women sang and did rituals daily, including Striker in their protective rites. They sensed my attachment to Striker and realized I had power, so they called to me. Their magic was strong. But not strong enough to stop the madness half a world away in America. They wanted to work through me and with me. I needed to stand between Striker’s sister and niece and the unknown threat.

Relief only came when Striker burst through the door at the safe house, pictures of his family in hand. I took the photos from him and flew out of my body for a hell-filled night.

I merged with his sister, Lynda, trying figure out who had kidnapped them, and where they were taken. I became one with Lynda when they dragged her into a hunting shack and beat her to within an inch of her life. Iniquus men, not far behind, followed my instructions as I passed them on to Striker. They found Lynda, just this side of dead, and raced her to the hospital.

The drug lord still held Cammy, hoping to coerce information from her Uncle Juan. I joined with Cammy. Her little three-year-old body had been shot full of drugs to keep her quiet, and they were too much for her. Her system was shutting down. Her breathing became shallow and her blood pressure had dropped too low. I had never experienced trying to save someone through the Veil, but I had to try.

I followed my instincts expanding and contracting her lungs to help her breathe. I floated on the chants of the tribal women as I helped Cammy’s heart to beat. The Iniquus cars screamed through the night, as Striker and the men tried to reach Cammy and save her life.

Just like the last time I went behind the Veil, when I was working with Miriam, I came back to my body, but fell into a deep recuperative trance. This time, I needed more than a week and an intravenous bag of blood to recover from my wounds and to gather myself together and become whole again.

I don’t regret helping. 

Realizing Cammy had seen and heard me, while she was drugged, was truly amazing since I wasn’t literally there. I was being not so safe, in the safe house, miles away. I had only sent my spirit out to her. Yes. That concept even stretched the boundaries of my imagination, and I had always thought my boundaries were pretty darned elastic.

Okay. I was wigged out. To tell the honest truth, I never wanted to meet Lynda and Cammy. I would rather let the images of that night lay in my past. I didn’t want to see the destruction wreaked upon Lynda’s body, or know Cammy had physical substance. What almost happened to that little girl was so
horrific
. I’d rather all of this remain a nightmare from which I awoke, and not reality. But what
I
would rather happen seemed irrelevant.   

Sixteen

O
ur cab threaded through the city. The wind blew hard, making the palm trees sway. I smoothed down the full skirt of my 1950s-style raw silk dress. The beautiful, deep indigo blue reminded me of ocean water; I hoped the color would evoke a sense of peace in me today. I slid my feet nervously in and out of my patent leather kitten pumps. Anxious and twitchy, I spun Angel’s rings around my finger.

“What?” Striker’s brows knit together as he studied me, puzzled.

“They know we’re not married?”

“I haven’t talked with them about our relationship; we’re a little undefined right now.”

I nodded and twisted my rings some more. I pulled them off of my left hand and moved them to my right hand. I stared out the window as we pulled up to the community center. The number of cars parked in the lot astonished me. My eyes stretched wide as I turned to Striker. “Are all of these people here for Cammy’s party?” My words came out all breath and no voice.

“My extended family usually does a gathering on January first each year, because getting everyone together at Christmas is hard. Since Cammy’s birthday is on the 5
^th
, we celebrate her at our annual party. Didn’t I tell explain this to you?”

“No. No, you didn’t.” I measured my words to hide my distress.

“Is this okay? I wouldn’t have thought this would faze you.” Striker put a hand on my knee, quietening my twitchiness.

“I’m just nervous, I guess.” I pressed a hand to my heart to stop the runaway galloping beat as I opened the door to get out. Striker reached out to stop me. I slid past his hand and walked over to the tree to breathe for a minute, while he paid the cabby.

“Can we talk about this?” Striker asked when he walked over.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want to put words in your mouth, Chica. I’m hoping you’ll help me understand what’s stressing you.” His patient voice invited my confidence.

“I don’t know. I just needed a minute, I guess,” I tried, vaguely.

He stood there, waiting.

“I’m fine now.” I hoped I sounded like I had some conviction behind my words.

He still stood there.

“Striker? Are we going in?”

“This is complicated, isn’t it? The more I think the situation through, the more I realize what a complicated thing I’ve asked you to do. I thought I was asking you to come down and have some fun with me New Year’s Eve, and help Cammy out by letting her understand you’re…”

“I’m what?” I slit my eyes.

“I was going to say that you’re just a regular girl.” He laughed and gestured a wide arc with his arm. “But that’s absurd.” We stood there. “Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”

“No, I told you. I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

Striker watched me, thinking. “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t introduce you to Cammy and Lynda in public. I shouldn’t even have introduced you to my family and friends, yet. I’ll tell you what, I’ll go get Lynda and Cammy and bring them out here. Why don’t you sit in one those chairs under the tree over there. We’ll ease into this. Play it by ear. And leave the second you want to.”

I nodded and walked over to the live oak, where the low branches cut most of the wind, and sat down in a bright orange Adirondack chair. I set the gift bag with Cammy’s present down beside me and watched Striker move gracefully away on his long legs.

Soon, Striker came around the corner carrying a little girl who had her hands covering her eyes. Dressed like a princess in a pink sparkly dress and party shoes, her hair was a mass of silky black ringlets held out of her face with little ribbon-covered barrettes. She wore an expectant smile.

Behind Striker, a young woman dragged her body forward on a walker. The bandage covering her nose glared white against her purple and green bruises and swollen eyes. The devastation this woman had suffered shocked me.

I stayed seated. Striker walked over and stood in front of me. “Cammy, are you ready for your birthday surprise?” he asked.

Cammy bobbed her head up and down as she smiled widely with expectation.

“Okay, this year as your gift I brought someone to meet you. When I say three you can open your eyes. One, two…” Cammy couldn’t wait; she peeked through her little fingers. When she saw me, the smile disappeared, and her mouth dropped open. Nobody moved. Finally, I spread my arms wide, and she squirmed from Striker onto my lap, where I tucked her in and held her tight. Cammy’s little hands gripped into the fabric of my dress and hugged me closely. Striker helped Lynda get to the chair next to me.

I let Cammy cling and burrow. The healing energy of Reiki flowed from my hands. Cammy snuggled up against me, and I felt long-held stress leave her body. I’d let Cammy set the pace and decide how this should play out. So, there we were. All of us sitting in silence.

“Mommy says you’re not a fairy godmother.” came Cammy’s sweet voice, as she played with my hair.

“Isn’t that too bad? I’d like to be one. I’d wear a pretty crown and have a magical wand with a glittery star on the end. I think it would be fun.”