Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (37 page)

She shook his hand off her arm, and slugged him again.

“Using
that
fucking degree and concentration of magic for as long as you did could’ve killed
you,
dickhead,” Keir announced loudly. “I’m sticking around until I’m positive you won’t die on me. Or die on her and the baby.”

“Then go in the other—Ah, shit—room and close—Christ, sweetheart, that was a good one—the
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goddamned door, Farris. This is—ow!—private.”

Harsh racking sobs ripped through Heather’s body, blinding her, even as her mad, furious strength ebbed. She didn’t need to see him to know he was right there. Caleb’s very essence called to hers, no matter what plane of existence she was on. She couldn’t forgive him for that either.

“I hate y-you,” she choked. “I’ll bloody well hate you
forever.
And s-so will Bean.”

“I know,” Caleb whispered, his voice raw with emotion. She felt his warm breath on her cheek.

“You p-put us in da-danger,” her voice rose. “You put us in a p-position for that lunatic to
k-kill
us. On purpose! Oh, God. This is insane. C-crazy. I can’t st-stop crying!” The last came out on a blubbering wail.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he said softly, finally pulling her into his lap and tucking her head beneath his chin. Wrapping the blanket around her, he held her tightly against him. “Get it all out. I know you were frightened out of your mind, sweetheart. Anyone would’ve been. He was a horrific, sick bastard.

But he’s dead now, and we’ve rounded up most of his followers.”

Head as heavy as a fifty-pound bowling ball, Heather let her sore lids close as she sorted through what he was telling her. Exhaling, she rested her cheek against the solid rock of Caleb’s chest, the fight draining out of her.

Caleb’s arms tightened protectively around her and he continued whispering foreign words that made little sense, but touched every particle of her being with a sadness that was bigger than they could handle.

He rocked her as the sobs tore from the depth of her soul, raw and uncontrollable. She slid her arms about his waist, grabbing the back of his shirt in her fists, burying her face against his throat.

Everything that had happened, everything that Caleb was, was too impossible to wrap her exhausted brain around. It all boiled down to her loving a man who couldn’t, wouldn’t, love her back.

Tired beyond words, drained, limp, Heather finally stopped crying.

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Caleb kept rocking her, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “Christ, sweetheart,” he said thickly.

“I’m sorry. So goddamned sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” she repeated, her voice muffled against his chest. “Are you sorry that I was drugged by that madman? Or are you sorry that my introduction to Al-Adel was watching him slit the throat of some poor, whimpering twenty-year-old who’d gone there for her first mammogram?

“Maybe you regret the fact that a bunch of lunatics trained loaded g-guns on me while I was dragged to a chair and tied in p-place? Did you think you could undo it all and I wouldn’t remember a damn thing?

“He beat the crap out of me, you bastard. Over and over until my face was on fire. He punched me in the face. B-broke my nose. It
hurt.
I—My lip split. I tasted my own blood. Nobody has ever hit me in my
life.
And you allowed it to happen.”

“Honey, I—”

“Do
not
say a word,” she warned, lifting her head to glare at him. She’d never felt as much impotent rage as she did right now. Ironically, as furious as she was with Caleb, she made no move to get off his lap or out of his arms. As livid as she was, there was still comfort staying right where she was.

“He punched me so hard, and so often, I knew I’d lose our baby.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I was helpless. I couldn’t protect Bean any more than I could protect myself.” She curved her arm around the swell of their son, safe inside her. By miracle and by magic, their son was alive, well, and safe. But she hadn’t known that then.

Caleb’s skin was drawn taut over his cheekbones, and his eyes glittered feverishly as he wordlessly listened to the nightmare spilling from her lips. He looked anguished. As well he should. She damn well wasn’t going to spare him the details.

Hearing about it didn’t even come close to experiencing it.

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“Heather, I—”

She silenced him with a single pointed glance. “He dragged me to that—that freaking
fish tank
and forced my head under the water. The first time it happened so fast I didn’t have time to hold my breath—My feet flailed around as I choked in water. My lungs were filling up and I knew I was about to pass out, and all I could think about was calling your name. Over and over and
over
before I lost consciousness.”

His lips tightened into a straight line, but he didn’t release her.

“At the last possible second—when my lungs screamed for one
sip
of air—he’d pull me out. He did it again and again and a-again. And the whole time I was thinking about
you.
I needed you, Caleb. Bean needed you. Instead, you and your wizard brigade were off doing God knows what. We were
dying.
Do you get that?”

Her jaw clenched as she ground her teeth together. “So, despite the fact that you…somehow fixed me, do you see how freaking
comical
that last statement was, given the circumstances? ‘You’re sorry’?” It was damn hard to be pithy with a runny nose and a tear-blotched face.

He made no excuses. Which in turn pacified her because he
was
damn well
wrong,
and also pissed her off because he should at least have
tried.
Tried to make it right. Some insane part of her psyche still insisted that Caleb Edge, Wizard with a Cause, would always hold her heart.

His lips brushed the top of her head. “I’m the biggest ass on the planet.”

“Yes. Y-you are.” Jumbled, racing thoughts spun in her head. She lifted her eyes. “How do you know for
certain
that Bean is okay? I’m assuming you, um, vaporized us to get here?”

“Teleported,” he corrected softly, his fingers gently tucking her hair behind one ear. “Cut me some slack, sweetheart. You were dead. Instant teleportation was the only hope I had of successfully reviving you.”

You were dead. Dead.That concept rattled around her brain for a few numbing moments. “You brought
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us back.” Not a question; the answer was obvious. Somehow thanking him seemed inappropriate.

“I swore I’d protect both you and Bean,” he said flatly, his voice thick. “The protection spell I wove didn’t work. The reasons why are moot at this point. The spell didn’t f—didn’t work, and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. You were never supposed to be in any real danger.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” He lifted her chin on his finger, forcing her to look at him. Her throat closed painfully at the tenderness she imagined she saw in his eyes.

“Other than the obvious—swollen eyes, red nose, raw throat from getting hysterical—I’m surprisingly okay.” Alive. Bean safe. Heart broken. Yeah. She was fine and dandy.

“I’m sorry, Heather. Sorrier than I can ever tell you. I’m sorry you and Bean got caught in the middle of this. Men like Fazuk Al-Adel and his ilk are responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths a year, but you were never supposed to be anywhere near them. Swear to God.

“If I’d known that
you
were the key to the missing money, not your father, I would have done this very differently. But I can’t change what happened to you now. And for that I’m honest to God sorry. And as apologetic as I am, I still need access to those funds.

“Having their money misdirected has been slowing the tangos down. Not stopped them. If T-FLAC

gets control of their billions it will slow the bad guys down even longer. Give us more time to root them out and exterminate them.”

She forced herself to break away from him. His voice was so matter-of-fact when he spoke about what

“had to be done.” Out of the safety net of his arms, she scooted across to the other side of the bed and slung her legs over the side. She sat there for a moment, gathering herself, putting her thoughts into words.

“You were doing your job,” she said quietly, not turning to look at him.

“Yeah.” Was it her imagination, or did his voice have a bitter edge to it? “That I was.”

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Grateful that the crying jag was finally over, she rubbed both hands over her hot face. Her eyes were swollen, and her nose was stuffed up. “I need a tiss—Oh.” A box of tissue appeared in her hand.

Face hotter than ever, she was horrified to find Keir Farris leaning against the wall watching them. Not attractive. But then she wasn’t trying. “How long have you been—forget it.” She blew her nose. “I probably need to thank you for whatever part you played in saving me and the baby, but I’m still pissed off about the whole T-FLAC thing, so could you, uh, hit the road?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes were serious. “That part was all Caleb. And I was just sticking around to make sure you didn’t kill him.” He disappeared.

Would she ever get used to it? Knowing about magic? Would Bean…she stopped herself from going there.

“My favorite wizardly skill.” She jerked her chin to where Caleb’s friend had been propping up the wall. “Why don’t you give it a try—” She glanced down to see a smear of still-sticky blood staining her fingers. Not hers.

Her eyes shot to his. “Are you
bleeding
?”

“Where do you want to go?” Caleb asked tightly as he rose. He looked like he’d been to hell and back.

His jaw was dark with stubble, his eyes were sunken, and one side of his ripped T-shirt was covered with dried crusty blood. The other, where it was ripped, was dark red and shiny. Worse, it was clear that he was so weak he could barely stand.

She stood, too, pulling up the strap of her torn sundress as it slid down her shoulder. She wanted to be glad he was bleeding. He deserved to bleed, and worse. But somehow she couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm. She didn’t know what to think, what to believe anymore.

Pressing a hand to her stomach as it heaved, she thought she’d seen enough violence during the past two days to last her a lifetime. Caleb didn’t need her sympathy. If he was hurt, he’d fix himself.

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She rubbed her forehead, where a monster headache bloomed. “What day is it? Is my father still dead?” She had no idea if she was in the past, the present, or the damned future.

“Still Sunday. Yes.”

“Before I was kidnapped? Before all those poor women at the clinic were butchered?” Please God let all those women be alive.

He shook his head.

Her heart clenched. “Caleb! For God’s sake. Why
not
?”

“You were my priority.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. “Beam me to San Francisco. And beam yourself straight to wherever you need to go—just keep the hell away from me and Bean.” Her baby had to be her number-one priority.

“We have unfinished business—”

“Oh. I
so
don’t think so.”

“If you want the bad guys to stop trying to kill you, you have to give me that early birthday present your mother gave you that day at the flea market.”

God. That bright sunny day seemed like forever ago. “How do you know she g—You went back, didn’t you?” Instead of feeling like he’d invaded her past, Heather was struck by the familiar sensation of loss. What she wouldn’t do to have one more day like that with her mom. To tell her about—everything.

And Caleb could pop in and out of time as if he were riding an elevator.

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“What was it she gave you?”

The point of prevarication was long past. She just wanted out. She wanted her apartment. Her life. Pick a life, any life, as long as it was…a
normal
life. “A few pieces of antique jewelry.”

“Can we teleport to San Francisco and take a look?” he asked politely, “or would you prefer going the conventional route?”

“Swear it won’t hurt Bean?”

“I’ve been assured that it won’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who assured you? The Association of Wizard Midwives?”

His lips twitched with the struggle not to smile.

“Something like that. Believe me, I won’t do anything to put you or the baby in jeopardy.”

“That ship has sailed. But I want to get this over with as fast as possible. Zap away.” She closed her eyes. “Hang on. I’d better use the bathro—Oh.” She looked around. “We’re here!”

Her apartment was just the same as it had been that fateful day he’d proposed. A lifetime ago.

Caleb shot out a hand to support Heather as she wobbled with reentry. Under the hectic flush on her cheeks from her bout of crying, her face was pale, her pretty eyes a little glassy. She’d had a hell of a day.

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“Sit.” He deposited her on the side of her very own bed, then pulled over the straight-backed chair from her table. He wasn’t feeling so swift himself. He’d almost died bringing her back from death. It had taken every vestige of juice he’d had, and when that was depleted, he’d dug for more.

When the others had tried to tell him it was hopeless, he’d grit his teeth and channeled more energy into her lifeless body, and that of his son.

She looked around her apartment with red, swollen eyes, clearly exhausted. “Weird,” she mused.

“Everything looks exactly the same as when we left.”

Her hair was tousled, she had a smear of dried blood, his, below her ear, and she looked so beautiful, Caleb’s heart ached. She was everything he wanted. And everything he couldn’t have.