Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Topaz Dreams (15 page)
Falcon
grasped her arm as she pushed her door open. "No! Stop!" he shouted,
but she was already out and moving toward where she had seen Underwood
enter a dilapidated building. Falcon jumped out of the car after her.
He was frantic. Hostility and anger surrounded them. It was all
pervasive. They were in serious danger. He had to get her out of here.
He
caught up to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her around, but it was
too late. They were suddenly surrounded by jeering black faces. At
least ten young men and boys were within arm's length and behind them
were twenty more.
Steve gave herself the time it took to take one
breath for self-recrimination, then prepared to get herself and Falcon
out of the situation she had caused. She gave Falcon her back, knowing
instinctively he would protect it, and tried for diplomacy.
"Hey,
guys. What's happenin'? We have some business with the dude that just
went inside, so, if youll give us a little space, well do our thing and
be out of here."
"Don't think so, Mama," one of the older teens
taunted. "This here's a private club. You paid your dues yet?" The
horde inched closer, and Steve pressed herself against Falcon's back.
"We could pay your dues. Let us go back to my car. I left my purse."
The gang leader leered at her and fingered the sleeve of her shirt. "No need. Well take our dues in white sugar."
A
young man, shorter than Falcon but three times his girth, pushed his
way forward. "You can all have her. I want me this here pretty thing."
He grabbed Falcon's hair in his meaty fist and jerked him away from
Steve.
Steve did not get a chance to check Falcon's response. The
leader grabbed her upper arms, and her body sprung into action. The
side of her hand slashed across his throat a second before her foot
connected with the groin of the boy next to him. By the time the gang's
stunned comrades came to their senses and attacked en masse, she was
poised and ready. Her speed and agility more than countered their
numbers and individual sizes. In a chorus of cries and grunts, her
opponents fell victim to her ax-like chops and perfectly aimed kicks.
She received a fair share of punishment in return, but as she had been
trained, she shut out the pain and forced her muscles to perform on
demand.
One brave soul pulled a knife on her after several others
had run off. He could not know how the sight of it infuriated her. Up
to this point, her efforts were confined to defending herself while
delivering temporary discomfort.
Her attacker lunged, his knife
aimed at her gut. In one fluid motion, Steve sideswept and grabbed his
wrist, locking his elbow, and the knife flew out of his hand. The side
of her free hand slammed into his forearm to the accompaniment of the
sickening crunch of splintered bone. The boy screamed in pain as he
scurried after his friends into their hiding places.
Spinning around
quickly, Steve eyed the results of Falcon's defense. On the ground
around him, eight boys appeared to be sleeping peacefully, curled in
the fetal position, two of them sucking their thumbs. Falcon was being
circled by the last two assailants. When Steve moved to join his fight,
they backed off.
"Screw this, man! We ain't paid to get ourselves killed!" one angry teen yelled before they both fled.
Steve's
adrenaline-rushed system had her looking for another victim when her
wild-eyed gaze landed on Falcon. Other than getting his hair mussed, no
one would have guessed what he had been doing. He wasn't even breathing
hard, while she was sweating profusely and huffing her little lungs out.
He gave her a bored look. "Now can we leave?"
"I'm afraid not," a deep voice said behind them.
As
one, Steve and Falcon whirled to face a towering, dark-haired man with
Oriental features. Knees and elbows bent, hands angled and circling in
front of his body, his fighting stance warned of experience in the
martial arts.
"You did very well against the untrained children. Now you will deal with me."
The
momentary respite had allowed fatigue to set into Steve's overworked
muscles. When her brain sent out the message to defend herself, they
took a split second too long to respond. The man's hand slammed into
her diaphragm, knocking her to the ground as if she were weightless.
She struggled to take a breath into her paralyzed body, trying not to
panic. The numbness would only last a few minutes, but that was long
enough to keep her from helping Falcon.
Pain! echoed in Falcon's
head. Steve's paralysis threatened to immobilize him as well. As soon
as he controlled it, he became aware of a powerful, dark emotion rising
inside him. Let it come, he told himself.
The Oriental moved
cautiously around Falcon, not yet striking a blow. Suddenly one word
came clearly from the attacker's mind: Kill!
No! This animal had no
right. How dare he hurt her! Falcon's anger coursed through him like a
drug. He leapt into the air, landing a kick to the man's chin that
hurled him back several feet before he fell. But he rolled and jumped
up immediately, delivering a steady stream of blows an instant later.
Falcon
blocked, spun, struck, and kicked again. Repeatedly, he came within an
inch of touching his assailant's temple. Repeatedly, he received blows
so staggering he could not block them out. Falcon was now feeling the
man's pain as well as his own, and knew he had to end the confrontation
quickly.
Steve drew a ragged breath. She could not imagine how
either man could withstand the punishment they were each meting out.
The Oriental's nose and mouth were bloody and swollen. Falcon had blood
all over him, but she could not tell the source. If she could just
stand up....
Falcon grasped the taller man's right arm in both his
hands, and yanked him off his feet. Using strength he had not known he
possessed, he whirled in circles, lifting the man's huge body off the
ground as he spun round and round. As if he were throwing a discus,
Falcon relinquished his hold. The Oriental flew into the side of the
building and collapsed in a heap. Falcon limped toward the body,
reaching out with his two fingers.
"Hold it right there," a gruff
voice shouted from behind him, but he did not freeze until he heard
Steve cry his name. He turned to see the chauffeur pointing a weapon at
him.
"Come to me, nice and easy like." The uniformed man waited as
Falcon neared him. He motioned for Falcon to stand beside the
immobilized Steve who was sitting on the pavement. Then the man walked
to where the Oriental lay and leaned over to touch the pulse in the
man's neck without taking his eyes or the gun off Falcon and Steve.
"You gonna be okay, Mr. King? C'mon, ya gotta help yourself into the car and get you outta here."
King
groaned and blinked several times. Slowly, he rose and dragged himself
to the limo, his driver close behind. In a stench of burning rubber,
they sped away.
Falcon helped Steve struggle to her feet and to walk to the car. "Will you be able to drive? I.. .I don't have a license."
"Why
doesn't that surprise me?" she mumbled to herself as she opened the car
door. "I'm okay. But you look like hell. Is anything broken?"
"No. I am also 'okay.' A shower will help immensely."
With
Falcon's occasional reminders as to which direction they had come from,
they managed to get back to Miami Beach. Steve could feel the results
of her exertions setting in rapidly and silently wished the houseboat
came equipped with a hot tub. To get her mind off her pain, she drew
Falcon into an analysis of the case, even though he seemed content to
sit and brood.
"Listen, I know that was all my fault back there, and
I'm sorry. I thought for sure we had him this time, but it looks like I
walked, or rather, I raced us right into a trap. You heard that one kid
say they were being paid." Falcon continued to stare straight ahead.
"Hello? Falcon? Are you sure you're all right? You look kinda green
around the gills."
Falcon turned to her. Gills? He hid his confusion
this time. "Excuse me. I was preoccupied. You need not apologize. There
is no question we have been misled several times this week. I also
believed I saw Underwood enter the limo."
"Of course! It was a disguise. I should have thought of that myself. Got any ideas for our next move?"
"I need to get on his yacht. Perhaps tonight we will not be interrupted if we try again."
"Fine
with me." When Falcon began to lapse back into his own thoughts, Steve
demanded, "There's something else, isn't there? I can tell you're
bugged. What is it? You do blame me, don't you? I said I'm sorry. What
do you want from me?"
"Nothing, Steve. I am 'bugged' with myself. I will work it out."
The
only time she had seen that tense expression on his face was in their
room in Las Vegas, right before he touched her temples and fed her a
story about being a healer. "I don't understand, Falcon, and I want to.
I've never seen anyone fight like you did back there, but you couldn't
expect to win against a gun. You had to back off. I've had to do the
same thing myself in other situations."
"I cannot explain it, Steve.
Please let it be." How could he tell her that he had just broken one of
the basic laws of Innerworld? He had allowed his anger to rule him, and
committed a vengeful act of violence. Along with the anger had come
incredible physical strength. He had barely tapped into it to finish
off his opponent. Falcon knew, in that moment, he had been capable of
taking another life. The shockingly sweet taste of power had instantly
turned to bile.
With that realization came another. His human
emotions were continuing to surface with increasing resistance to his
control, yet his felan powers were not diminishing, as he had
anticipated they would.
In fact, he was discovering new talents each
day. Falcon decided it was too soon to draw a definite conclusion. Only
time would give him the answers he sought. Clearly, he was no longer in
control.
Steve let him sulk and found herself doing the same. She
should not be annoyed that he did not care to confide in her. The only
thing she was to him was a temporary partner on a case. A partner who
almost got him killed because she could not resist being a hot dog P.I.
Wouldn't Lou Dokes like to hear her admit that!
Neither one moved
very quickly as they boarded the houseboat. Falcon accepted Steve's
offer to take the first shower, and Steve gave in to the need to
collapse on her bed.
She had not meant to doze off, but knew she had
when his voice came to her from a different plane, telling her she
could use the shower.
Steve's eyelids fluttered open, then squinted
shut again. She was fairly certain there was not an inch of her body
that was not in serious pain. Slowly, she tested her toes and fingers,
but when she tried to rise, she fell back with an audible groan.
"You are in much pain, Steve. Let me touch you. It will help."
He
stood expectantly beside the bed as he casually tucked a towel around
his waist. Steve wanted to assure him that she did not need his help,
but the sight of him turned her tongue into a useless appendage.
Smooth, hard-muscled thighs were braced inches from her face. Forcing
her gaze past the towel, above his still-damp chest,
she could not
stop her slight intake of breath. His incredibly beautiful features
were more pronounced with his wet hair brushed back, curling behind his
ears and onto his bare shoulders. She was simply struck dumb, and he
took it as her assent.
Steve braced herself to feel his fingertips
against her face, but when he sat down next to her, he picked up her
hands instead. She watched him carefully, determined to figure out what
he did when he touched people.
Falcon held her hands in his and
closed his eyes. Like every other part of her body, her fingers and
palms radiated discomfort and tension. He concentrated on passing his
strength to her, and lessening the physical pain in the same way as he
would an emotional one. A gentle, shimmering warmth centered in his
hands at the same time he visualized various parts that made up hers.
The bones, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels took on a bright reddish
hue where the damage was worst. He moved his fingers to those spots and
pressed, massaged, and pressed again. The color cooled. He kept his
eyes closed, using the anatomical image in his mind to guide his hands
up her aching arms, bringing relief as he progressed.
Her shoulders,
neck, and arms received the same, efficient treatment. Falcon felt a
certain exhilaration in the knowledge that she was not only improving
by the moment, but allowing his touch without her usual wariness.
Before he could work on her feet and legs he had to remove her shoes,
socks, and jeans, and did so in a quick, impersonal manner, leaving her
in her tee shirt and underwear.
Steve told herself to think of him
like a doctor. Hell, her gynecologist saw more of her than this, and
usually caused more discomfort than relief. If Falcon could pull off
her jeans and not notice that she was a woman, she would not feel
insulted this time. He was making her feel too good to complain, and
not only because he was doing a great job of massaging her aches and
pains. His hands heated her skin and left it tingling wherever he made
contact. By the time he reached her thighs, she was vibrating with a
different kind of ache, one she did not want to go away. At least not
too swiftly.
Falcon had made a serious mistake. He had opened his
eyes for the brief minute it took to remove her jeans. A glimpse of
white satin kept intruding on the more physiological image of muscle
and bone he was trying to hold on to. Steve herself was making his task
of healing impossibly difficult, not only with her tempting, female
body, but her thoughts that sporadically made themselves known to him.
Stop. Don't stop. Touch me. Please. Higher.
He
could touch her there, as she needed, and not take pleasure himself.
That was a lie! He was already receiving more pleasure than he dreamed
possible just by handling her arms and legs.
He lifted his hands
from her thighs and carefully slipped them under her shirt, wrapping
his fingers around her rib cage. One bone had suffered a small crack.
Falcon discovered he could take away the pain, but not repair the bone.
The injury would have to heal in the usual manner. In spite of that
limitation, he acknowledged the magnitude of this gift. The talent to
draw pain from the physical body was rare among felans. He also
admitted that he had never felt more desire for Steve than he was
experiencing at this moment. The power and the emotions were not
separate, competing entities, but partners, growing together. He had
been wrong all along. His felan gifts would not desert him if he
accepted his human emotions. So there was no reason to deny himself any
longer.
grasped her arm as she pushed her door open. "No! Stop!" he shouted,
but she was already out and moving toward where she had seen Underwood
enter a dilapidated building. Falcon jumped out of the car after her.
He was frantic. Hostility and anger surrounded them. It was all
pervasive. They were in serious danger. He had to get her out of here.
He
caught up to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her around, but it was
too late. They were suddenly surrounded by jeering black faces. At
least ten young men and boys were within arm's length and behind them
were twenty more.
Steve gave herself the time it took to take one
breath for self-recrimination, then prepared to get herself and Falcon
out of the situation she had caused. She gave Falcon her back, knowing
instinctively he would protect it, and tried for diplomacy.
"Hey,
guys. What's happenin'? We have some business with the dude that just
went inside, so, if youll give us a little space, well do our thing and
be out of here."
"Don't think so, Mama," one of the older teens
taunted. "This here's a private club. You paid your dues yet?" The
horde inched closer, and Steve pressed herself against Falcon's back.
"We could pay your dues. Let us go back to my car. I left my purse."
The gang leader leered at her and fingered the sleeve of her shirt. "No need. Well take our dues in white sugar."
A
young man, shorter than Falcon but three times his girth, pushed his
way forward. "You can all have her. I want me this here pretty thing."
He grabbed Falcon's hair in his meaty fist and jerked him away from
Steve.
Steve did not get a chance to check Falcon's response. The
leader grabbed her upper arms, and her body sprung into action. The
side of her hand slashed across his throat a second before her foot
connected with the groin of the boy next to him. By the time the gang's
stunned comrades came to their senses and attacked en masse, she was
poised and ready. Her speed and agility more than countered their
numbers and individual sizes. In a chorus of cries and grunts, her
opponents fell victim to her ax-like chops and perfectly aimed kicks.
She received a fair share of punishment in return, but as she had been
trained, she shut out the pain and forced her muscles to perform on
demand.
One brave soul pulled a knife on her after several others
had run off. He could not know how the sight of it infuriated her. Up
to this point, her efforts were confined to defending herself while
delivering temporary discomfort.
Her attacker lunged, his knife
aimed at her gut. In one fluid motion, Steve sideswept and grabbed his
wrist, locking his elbow, and the knife flew out of his hand. The side
of her free hand slammed into his forearm to the accompaniment of the
sickening crunch of splintered bone. The boy screamed in pain as he
scurried after his friends into their hiding places.
Spinning around
quickly, Steve eyed the results of Falcon's defense. On the ground
around him, eight boys appeared to be sleeping peacefully, curled in
the fetal position, two of them sucking their thumbs. Falcon was being
circled by the last two assailants. When Steve moved to join his fight,
they backed off.
"Screw this, man! We ain't paid to get ourselves killed!" one angry teen yelled before they both fled.
Steve's
adrenaline-rushed system had her looking for another victim when her
wild-eyed gaze landed on Falcon. Other than getting his hair mussed, no
one would have guessed what he had been doing. He wasn't even breathing
hard, while she was sweating profusely and huffing her little lungs out.
He gave her a bored look. "Now can we leave?"
"I'm afraid not," a deep voice said behind them.
As
one, Steve and Falcon whirled to face a towering, dark-haired man with
Oriental features. Knees and elbows bent, hands angled and circling in
front of his body, his fighting stance warned of experience in the
martial arts.
"You did very well against the untrained children. Now you will deal with me."
The
momentary respite had allowed fatigue to set into Steve's overworked
muscles. When her brain sent out the message to defend herself, they
took a split second too long to respond. The man's hand slammed into
her diaphragm, knocking her to the ground as if she were weightless.
She struggled to take a breath into her paralyzed body, trying not to
panic. The numbness would only last a few minutes, but that was long
enough to keep her from helping Falcon.
Pain! echoed in Falcon's
head. Steve's paralysis threatened to immobilize him as well. As soon
as he controlled it, he became aware of a powerful, dark emotion rising
inside him. Let it come, he told himself.
The Oriental moved
cautiously around Falcon, not yet striking a blow. Suddenly one word
came clearly from the attacker's mind: Kill!
No! This animal had no
right. How dare he hurt her! Falcon's anger coursed through him like a
drug. He leapt into the air, landing a kick to the man's chin that
hurled him back several feet before he fell. But he rolled and jumped
up immediately, delivering a steady stream of blows an instant later.
Falcon
blocked, spun, struck, and kicked again. Repeatedly, he came within an
inch of touching his assailant's temple. Repeatedly, he received blows
so staggering he could not block them out. Falcon was now feeling the
man's pain as well as his own, and knew he had to end the confrontation
quickly.
Steve drew a ragged breath. She could not imagine how
either man could withstand the punishment they were each meting out.
The Oriental's nose and mouth were bloody and swollen. Falcon had blood
all over him, but she could not tell the source. If she could just
stand up....
Falcon grasped the taller man's right arm in both his
hands, and yanked him off his feet. Using strength he had not known he
possessed, he whirled in circles, lifting the man's huge body off the
ground as he spun round and round. As if he were throwing a discus,
Falcon relinquished his hold. The Oriental flew into the side of the
building and collapsed in a heap. Falcon limped toward the body,
reaching out with his two fingers.
"Hold it right there," a gruff
voice shouted from behind him, but he did not freeze until he heard
Steve cry his name. He turned to see the chauffeur pointing a weapon at
him.
"Come to me, nice and easy like." The uniformed man waited as
Falcon neared him. He motioned for Falcon to stand beside the
immobilized Steve who was sitting on the pavement. Then the man walked
to where the Oriental lay and leaned over to touch the pulse in the
man's neck without taking his eyes or the gun off Falcon and Steve.
"You gonna be okay, Mr. King? C'mon, ya gotta help yourself into the car and get you outta here."
King
groaned and blinked several times. Slowly, he rose and dragged himself
to the limo, his driver close behind. In a stench of burning rubber,
they sped away.
Falcon helped Steve struggle to her feet and to walk to the car. "Will you be able to drive? I.. .I don't have a license."
"Why
doesn't that surprise me?" she mumbled to herself as she opened the car
door. "I'm okay. But you look like hell. Is anything broken?"
"No. I am also 'okay.' A shower will help immensely."
With
Falcon's occasional reminders as to which direction they had come from,
they managed to get back to Miami Beach. Steve could feel the results
of her exertions setting in rapidly and silently wished the houseboat
came equipped with a hot tub. To get her mind off her pain, she drew
Falcon into an analysis of the case, even though he seemed content to
sit and brood.
"Listen, I know that was all my fault back there, and
I'm sorry. I thought for sure we had him this time, but it looks like I
walked, or rather, I raced us right into a trap. You heard that one kid
say they were being paid." Falcon continued to stare straight ahead.
"Hello? Falcon? Are you sure you're all right? You look kinda green
around the gills."
Falcon turned to her. Gills? He hid his confusion
this time. "Excuse me. I was preoccupied. You need not apologize. There
is no question we have been misled several times this week. I also
believed I saw Underwood enter the limo."
"Of course! It was a disguise. I should have thought of that myself. Got any ideas for our next move?"
"I need to get on his yacht. Perhaps tonight we will not be interrupted if we try again."
"Fine
with me." When Falcon began to lapse back into his own thoughts, Steve
demanded, "There's something else, isn't there? I can tell you're
bugged. What is it? You do blame me, don't you? I said I'm sorry. What
do you want from me?"
"Nothing, Steve. I am 'bugged' with myself. I will work it out."
The
only time she had seen that tense expression on his face was in their
room in Las Vegas, right before he touched her temples and fed her a
story about being a healer. "I don't understand, Falcon, and I want to.
I've never seen anyone fight like you did back there, but you couldn't
expect to win against a gun. You had to back off. I've had to do the
same thing myself in other situations."
"I cannot explain it, Steve.
Please let it be." How could he tell her that he had just broken one of
the basic laws of Innerworld? He had allowed his anger to rule him, and
committed a vengeful act of violence. Along with the anger had come
incredible physical strength. He had barely tapped into it to finish
off his opponent. Falcon knew, in that moment, he had been capable of
taking another life. The shockingly sweet taste of power had instantly
turned to bile.
With that realization came another. His human
emotions were continuing to surface with increasing resistance to his
control, yet his felan powers were not diminishing, as he had
anticipated they would.
In fact, he was discovering new talents each
day. Falcon decided it was too soon to draw a definite conclusion. Only
time would give him the answers he sought. Clearly, he was no longer in
control.
Steve let him sulk and found herself doing the same. She
should not be annoyed that he did not care to confide in her. The only
thing she was to him was a temporary partner on a case. A partner who
almost got him killed because she could not resist being a hot dog P.I.
Wouldn't Lou Dokes like to hear her admit that!
Neither one moved
very quickly as they boarded the houseboat. Falcon accepted Steve's
offer to take the first shower, and Steve gave in to the need to
collapse on her bed.
She had not meant to doze off, but knew she had
when his voice came to her from a different plane, telling her she
could use the shower.
Steve's eyelids fluttered open, then squinted
shut again. She was fairly certain there was not an inch of her body
that was not in serious pain. Slowly, she tested her toes and fingers,
but when she tried to rise, she fell back with an audible groan.
"You are in much pain, Steve. Let me touch you. It will help."
He
stood expectantly beside the bed as he casually tucked a towel around
his waist. Steve wanted to assure him that she did not need his help,
but the sight of him turned her tongue into a useless appendage.
Smooth, hard-muscled thighs were braced inches from her face. Forcing
her gaze past the towel, above his still-damp chest,
she could not
stop her slight intake of breath. His incredibly beautiful features
were more pronounced with his wet hair brushed back, curling behind his
ears and onto his bare shoulders. She was simply struck dumb, and he
took it as her assent.
Steve braced herself to feel his fingertips
against her face, but when he sat down next to her, he picked up her
hands instead. She watched him carefully, determined to figure out what
he did when he touched people.
Falcon held her hands in his and
closed his eyes. Like every other part of her body, her fingers and
palms radiated discomfort and tension. He concentrated on passing his
strength to her, and lessening the physical pain in the same way as he
would an emotional one. A gentle, shimmering warmth centered in his
hands at the same time he visualized various parts that made up hers.
The bones, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels took on a bright reddish
hue where the damage was worst. He moved his fingers to those spots and
pressed, massaged, and pressed again. The color cooled. He kept his
eyes closed, using the anatomical image in his mind to guide his hands
up her aching arms, bringing relief as he progressed.
Her shoulders,
neck, and arms received the same, efficient treatment. Falcon felt a
certain exhilaration in the knowledge that she was not only improving
by the moment, but allowing his touch without her usual wariness.
Before he could work on her feet and legs he had to remove her shoes,
socks, and jeans, and did so in a quick, impersonal manner, leaving her
in her tee shirt and underwear.
Steve told herself to think of him
like a doctor. Hell, her gynecologist saw more of her than this, and
usually caused more discomfort than relief. If Falcon could pull off
her jeans and not notice that she was a woman, she would not feel
insulted this time. He was making her feel too good to complain, and
not only because he was doing a great job of massaging her aches and
pains. His hands heated her skin and left it tingling wherever he made
contact. By the time he reached her thighs, she was vibrating with a
different kind of ache, one she did not want to go away. At least not
too swiftly.
Falcon had made a serious mistake. He had opened his
eyes for the brief minute it took to remove her jeans. A glimpse of
white satin kept intruding on the more physiological image of muscle
and bone he was trying to hold on to. Steve herself was making his task
of healing impossibly difficult, not only with her tempting, female
body, but her thoughts that sporadically made themselves known to him.
Stop. Don't stop. Touch me. Please. Higher.
He
could touch her there, as she needed, and not take pleasure himself.
That was a lie! He was already receiving more pleasure than he dreamed
possible just by handling her arms and legs.
He lifted his hands
from her thighs and carefully slipped them under her shirt, wrapping
his fingers around her rib cage. One bone had suffered a small crack.
Falcon discovered he could take away the pain, but not repair the bone.
The injury would have to heal in the usual manner. In spite of that
limitation, he acknowledged the magnitude of this gift. The talent to
draw pain from the physical body was rare among felans. He also
admitted that he had never felt more desire for Steve than he was
experiencing at this moment. The power and the emotions were not
separate, competing entities, but partners, growing together. He had
been wrong all along. His felan gifts would not desert him if he
accepted his human emotions. So there was no reason to deny himself any
longer.
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