Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (19 page)

Chapter Eighteen: Ocean

V
oices drifted over me, followed by hot flashes of pain and shudder inducing memories:
A whip. Fumbling. Paws on intimate places.

My face burned and I touched my injuries, finding thick, antiseptic cream smeared on my forehead. More cream was spread over my cheek, the tip of my nose, and chin. Atsu Bazeer sure knew how to use a whip. The lashes were deep. Would they scar? I might as well say goodbye to my pretty days.

I shifted in bed, sitting gingerly. Vision in one eye was fuzzy. I squinted at a sweating glass of water and two tablets on my bedside table. It didn't matter what the drugs were. If they muted the pain, they could be heroin for all I cared.

I gulped back the water, and hissed as I corralled my trembling legs to take my weight. When the room stopped spinning, I inched toward the door. Half-way there, my ears pricked. Tense voices sailed from downstairs. Men.
Plural.

Maurice never had company apart from the occasional door-to-door salesman. I often wished he had more family. I loved him as my own, but his past was as shrouded in as many secrets as his Tudor house. Who the hell was down there?

I tiptoed to the door, but I couldn't make out what was said. Maurice was so secretive. Perhaps he
did
have someone other than me. My heart clenched with satisfaction, then thudded with jealously. I wanted him to have company, but I didn't want to share.

“You are to leave, young man. Ocean has never mentioned you before.”

“I'm not leaving until I see her. I know this is her only home. You're the only friend she has.”

Who?
Tension pressured, buckling my knees. That stormy voice. . . the accent. . . why did it sound familiar?

Maurice grew angry. “How do you know that? Ocean is a free spirit. She may have many homes and people who love her.”

My heart seized. Oh, Maurice. He was so sweet. No one else loved me. No one else could put up with me.

Footsteps on the stairs followed by a very angry: “Stop right there, Officer Bliss.”

Bliss? Callan? Shit!

I panicked. Tripping backward, I stumbled to my bed, and landed with a whoosh. I moaned as twinges of fire burned my back and legs. Damn bastard Bazeer and his whip.

What in fiery hell was Callan
doing
here?

My eyes winged frantically around the room. I was hardly dressed for company. An oversized grey t-shirt and baggy black shorts weren’t first date attire. First date? This wasn’t a date! My bandaged legs tinged pink where I bled through the gauze.

Weapon. Grab a weapon. Better yet, lock the door!

I lurched off the bed, only to fall back again as it opened. My heart lodged firmly in my throat.

He was here.

The sun and brightness of Australia illuminated my room in the form of a cop who didn't understand the word no.

Callan Bliss was in England. In my bedroom!
What universe am I in?

His green eyes sparked; disbelief flickered as he took in my injured state. His hands curled and jaw clenched; a gleam of protectiveness shimmered in his gaze. “What
happened
to you?” His voice was deep, tugging me like the moon pulls the tide.

Ignoring the gravitational urge, I stood, wincing. “What the
hell
are you doing here?”

Callan tensed. “You didn't show two nights ago at my apartment.”

“Apartment? What?” I never said I'd meet him. I wasn't nuts. Oh, hang on—I did agree. Me and my stupid ‘fine’ comment. But two days ago? Only a few hours ago I was getting my ass whipped by Bazeer.

“On instant messenger. You agreed.” He took a step toward me. I swayed.

Callan reached to steady me, but I shoved a hand up in a stop sign, snarling, “Don't take another step.”

Maurice appeared behind him, pushing Callan out of the way. “Ocean, you should have called me. How long have you been awake?” His gentle hands rested on my brow, measuring my temperature which I was sure rocketed as hot as Morocco.

One look at Callan, with his knowing green eyes and frankness amped the flames in my every molecule. Frissons of want worked their way through me, turning my tormenting pain into something indescribable.

I glared. “Are you going to answer me, Officer Bliss? What are you doing in my bedroom?”

His eyes locked onto my lips. My cut and covered-in-slime lips. Brilliant. This was just brilliant.

Maurice mumbled, “Keep calm, Ocean. You're injured. Don't let your temper hurt you.”

I threw a look at Maurice. He wisely shut up.

Callan stood taut, eyes strained. “Who did this to you? That Bazeer scum?”

Why did he think he could ask questions? He invaded my safe zone. Stalked me across the world.
I
was the one who earned asking questions.

“Do you know this man?” Maurice muttered.

“Yes,” Callan said, at the same time I said, “No.” Our eyes met, clashing with anger.

My heart pounded. Callan grew wispy before forming solid again. I shook my head to dispel the fogginess. I had no intention of fainting while the cop was in my room.

“You better explain yourself, young man. Otherwise I'm booting you out of my home.” Maurice put his arm around me. I flinched as his shirt grazed my bandages.

Callan took a step toward me, his spicy, salty scent buffeting me. “I'm here to see Ocean.” His eyes met Maurice’s. “She teleported into the Sydney police station a few days ago, looking like death. I wanted to see if she was okay.”

Maurice's eyebrow rose. “Ocean? You ported in front of him?”

That was it. Now I was pissed. “Yes, I ported in front of him. Twice. A big freakin' mistake that was.” I patted Maurice's knee. “Maurice, I’m sorry for being rude, but we have business to discuss, alone. He has something of mine.”

Callan coughed. “I didn't bring it with me.”

Heat flushed my cheeks. “Why not? That money is mine.”

Maurice looked between us, eyebrow quirked.

When I gave Callan a death stare, he muttered, “How do you propose I smuggle all that cash over the border? Unlike you, I came by plane.”

I frowned. The journey must’ve taken at least twenty-four hours, and I was only supposed to see him a few hours ago. The time frames didn't add up.

Callan watched me, lips twitching with concern. I made eye contact with him, confusion etching my face.

He cocked his head. “Um, do you know what day it is?”

Nerves clouded me.
Please don't tell me it happened again!
The last time I ported too much, I lost three days to recuperation. Hardly ideal—and those twins needed me. They were still there, with that bastard. My eyes locked onto Maurice.

He rubbed my arm gently.

I sighed, bracing myself for the worst. “How long, Maurice?”

Maurice didn't answer straight away. Instead, he reached for the antiseptic balm and played with the tube. I nudged him. “Go on, tell me.”

“Fifty-one hours,” he confessed. “I had to hook you up to an I.V.”

I shot upright. Those girls! Unprotected, left in the dragon's den. Two days? I was worthless. I needed to go back.
Immediately.

Taking a deep breath, I summoned my power, wobbling when the migraine burst behind my eyes.

Maurice gasped, “No!”

Callan rushed forward, grabbing me as I folded to the floor. His touch stopped me from leaving. I struggled weakly as he scooped me up and gently lowered me into bed. How horrid could this get? Callan was here. He saw me at my weakest, my ugliest, my most vulnerable.

Maurice bent to kiss my forehead. “Don't leave, Ocean. Don't be stupid. You can't save anyone in this state. Rest. Then fight for the masses.” His eyes locked with Callan's. Something raw passed between them. Maurice nodded slowly, then discretely left the room.

He left? The traitor.
So what if I asked him to leave before? I didn’t want to be alone with Callan. Who knew what would happen?

Callan pushed my legs away from the edge of the bed so he could sit. The warmth from his fingertips jolted my skin.

His hand reached for mine, but I folded my arms. “Go away,” I muttered, wincing again as my migraine set fire to all my other injuries.

“No.” His tanned hand plucked the sheet, the back of his knuckles dusted with freckles. He fidgeted, unable to sit still. Why did I find that endearing instead of annoying?

His eyes darted to mine. “Ocean, I—”

I sucked in a breath. More licks of lust in my belly. My entire body boycotted my order to remain an icicle. I melted under his gaze.

Callan froze, then leaned forward, eyes sparking with green dynamite, delving deep into mine. “Now do you understand why I can't leave?”

Understand? What, because my body swooned under his gaze, or because my mind was intrigued by him? My heart bubbled with feeling, but I shot it with an arrow.
Don't think for a second this man is here for you. That he has feelings for you.

I plastered a frown on my face. “You're not making any sense.” Words were fuzzy clouds in my head. I blamed the drugs I took and not his nearness. “I don't know who you are, or why you're hounding me. Just leave me alone.”

“What do you want to know?” His face softened.

I was momentarily blinded by his natural beauty. His cheekbones spoke of a Russian heritage, hair an unruly mess of blond streaks and freedom.

“I don't want to know anything,” I snapped.

Callan smiled, looking restricted in his black slacks and white sweater. He’d be better suited half-naked, frolicking with dolphins and turtles in the waves.
Kill me now. Where did that thought come from?

“Let me introduce myself.” He held up a hand with long, strong fingers. “My name is Callan Trevor Bliss. Yes, I was ribbed a lot at the precinct for a gay last name. I have a little sister called Marie. She's twenty-two and engaged to a punk who I'd like to lock up.

“My mother and father have been happily married for thirty-eight years, and I'm jealous of the relationship they have. It used to make me gag when I was younger, but now it makes me envious. I don't smoke. I don't drink to excess. I drive a motorbike. I surf almost every day—if I don't, I get antsy. And I think you're the most beautiful, complex, wrapped-in-an-enigma woman I've ever met.”

My mind fired blank. How did I react to that? How did I
want
to react? Fear—that’s how I’d respond. He was too much—the exact opposite of me. Where I was dark, he was light. He’d incinerate me.

He smiled at my dumbfounded look. “There. Now you know me.” He reached for my hand. I stifled my gasp as warm skin wrapped around mine, shaking formally. “Nice to meet you. Now can I stay?”

My eyes went wide. “Stay? Why on earth would I let you stay?” I ignored my stomachs attempt to squeeze itself out of my mouth. I was terrified of him. He represented love, relationships. . . family. They were a liability. Family could be killed.

He shrugged, his lips playing with a grin. “Oh, I dunno. Because I know about your party trick. I understand why you put yourself in harm’s way.” He squeezed my hand, rubbing a thumb over my knuckles. “How about because I flew all the way here to see you. Doesn't that say something?”

“Yes. That you're insane. And have stalkerish tendencies.”

His eyes dropped; embarrassment flickered across his face. “I didn't see it that way.” He gave me a smirk. “I kinda hoped you’d think it was romantic.”

I laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh, more like an I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-laugh.

“Don't you want to know about that Emily Snow woman you saved?”

My eyes narrowed. That was low. Tempting me with something he knew I was interested in. I huffed, “Fine. Spill. Is she okay?” Eagerness made me sit straighter, inch closer.

Callan noticed and scooted closer too. Did this man know nothing about boundaries? “She's safe. My ex-partner, Mark Wade, is in control of her case. She'll be fine.” His face fell. “However, it seems she isn't a single case. Lots of girls have gone missing in Australia over the years. I'm working on tracking them down—seeing if more are linked to that Bazeer scum.”

What? More? Holy crap—how
many
?

Callan took a breath; energy snapped and crackled around us. “Ocean, I want you to know that your secret is safe with me. I won't tell anyone, and Wade is sworn to secrecy. Do you think we could grab a coffee? When you’re better, of course. Just chat? Get to know each other?”

He dropped his gaze, bunching the sheet with his fingers. “I’m fascinated by you. It isn’t because you’re stunning and freaky with your teleporting trick, but because I see behind your mask. I want to know what you keep hidden.”

My lungs stuck together with shock. My stupid brain locked onto the only superficial thing he’d said.
He thinks I’m stunning
. I lied to myself—I didn’t care. I had to stick to the facts: he flew all the way to England to ask me out on a date. After invading my privacy and hunting me down? I didn't think so.

I shook my head. “No.”

He flinched. “No. Just like that?”