Dangerous Lover (6 page)

“I suppose that would account for it.” She turned to check the IV.

“Leave me a Band-Aid, huh?”

She frowned at him. “You have a cut somewhere?”

“Might have, after I shave. There shaving gear in there?” he asked with a nod toward the bathroom attached to his room.

“No, but I'll get you some.” She smiled. “And a Band-Aid. Be right back.”

She left, and was back moments later with the requested items. “You need some help getting to the bathroom?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

She rolled her eyes. “Men are the worst patients. Okay, then. I'll leave you to it.”

“And will you try to keep everyone out of here for a few hours? I really need some rest.”

“I will. Good night, Mr.…um, good night.”

“Yeah.”

She left. Alone at last, he sat up and carefully slid the IV line from his arm. Then he quickly applied the Band-Aid to keep it from bleeding all over the place. He put his jeans back on—the damn nurses had insisted on restoring him to hospital garb after the “incident.” Socks and shoes were next, even though it hurt like hell to bend over. He didn't have a shirt to wear, and he didn't much give a damn. He just needed to get out of there.

He went to the window and slid it open. Small-town hospital—one sprawling story. Lucky for him. After a quick look around, he climbed out, wincing as his wound felt the strain, then closed the window behind him, and headed across the parking lot.

It was a cool night. A little too cool to be running around with nothing on from the waist up except for some white bandages that were almost sure to get him spotted. If his attacker returned, he'd still make a pretty easy target. So the goal was to put distance between himself and the hospital and find a damned shirt and a place to hole up until he figured out what to do next.

He crossed the hospital parking lot, hit the sidewalk, and picked up the pace, one arm crossed over his middle. Ten steps later, give or take, he heard other footsteps on the sidewalk a short distance behind him. Stopping short, he turned to look back. No one in sight. He started walking again, and again, heard the footsteps behind him.

Dammit.

He walked faster, heading for the road to cross to the other side without even bothering to look for traffic first. Brakes shrieked, tires skidded, headlights blinded him. A car bucked to a stop just short of hitting him. Turning, he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the headlights, but he was damned if he could see a thing. So he shifted his gaze to the sidewalk, and saw a shape, pausing there, watching him.

Probably debating whether to shoot him right there in front of a witness, or wait for the car to move on. He decided to choose door number three, and went to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and said, “I could sure use a ride, pal.”

“Well, then get in, buddy.”

That voice.

He squinted in the interior lights and saw her, the blond babe from the nymph brigade, sitting behind the wheel. And there was no way in hell this was a coincidence. So the question was, was she working with the bad guys, or seriously into helping him out?

Footsteps came closer—the SOB on the sidewalk realizing he was about to lose his best shot. So he got into the car, slammed the door and said, “step on it, okay?”

She stepped on it.

 

Selene's passenger kept looking behind them as she drove away, and she glanced into the rearview mirror to see what had his interest. “You running away from someone?”

He looked at her sharply. “Had a visitor in my hospital room earlier. Took two shots at me in the bed.”

She swung her head around and gaped at him. “Someone tried to shoot you?”

“Fortunately, he missed.”

“He?”

He slid a sideways glance at her. “Eyes on the road, huh?”

She readjusted her focus, realized she'd been drifting into the wrong lane, and corrected the car's position. “So you, what, ducked the bullets and ran for it?”

“Ducked the bullets and waited it for an opportunity to get the hell out of there. I don't know for sure, but I think he spotted me, was following me. And then,
coincidentally,
you pulled up.”

“Oh, there's no such thing as coincidence.”

“So you admit you were here for a reason.”

“Yeah. I thought the reason was to see you again, and tell you why I wouldn't be coming tomorrow, as promised. But now I'm thinking the real reason was to save your life. Again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, I'm the one who kept you from bleeding to death the first time, as you already know.”

“Yeah. I remember it hurt like hell. Direct pressure?”

“And Pow-Wow charms.”

“Right. I seem to recall some chanting.”

“Exactly.”

“But you're also the one who was standing over me with a knife out there.”

“An athame.”

“Excuse me?”

“It wasn't a knife,” she said, wondering why she bothered. “It was an athame. A double-edged blade used to control and direct energy during Wiccan rituals. It's never used to cut anything physical, much less harm anyone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was just grounding the energy.”

“Right.”

“Look, I'm not the one who stabbed you, okay?”

She felt his eyes on her, felt him staring as if he could see the truth if he just looked at her hard enough and long enough. It was frustrating as hell.

“And you would tell me if you were?” he asked.

Glancing sideways at him, just long enough to look him dead in the eyes when she spoke, she said, “I don't expect you to believe it. But yes, I would.”

His reaction was one of surprise, and then speculation. “If you saved my life out there, then thank you.”

“Gee, the gratitude laced with doubt thing is touching. But you're welcome.”

He sighed. When he spoke again his voice was kinder. “It's Selene, isn't it?”

“Selene Brand,” she said. And she offered her left hand, reaching across her body while keeping the right one on the wheel.

He clasped it. His grip was warm and surprisingly strong, given what he'd been through today. His big hand enveloped her small one completely, and she barely suppressed the shiver of response that wriggled up her spine.

“Wish I could introduce myself in return,” he said. And he hadn't released her hand yet.

“Still with the memory, huh?”

He nodded.

“What about the ring?”

“Ring?”

She turned his hand in hers, and nodded at the ring he wore. He stared down at it for a moment, then, frowning, slid it from his finger, and turned on the overhead light. “I hadn't even realized—”

“You've been wearing it for so long you don't notice it anymore. It looks like a class ring.”

He frowned as he turned the ring in his hand. “There's an eagle on one side, and an elk on the other.”

“Big speckled stone there,” she said. “I've never seen a crystal like that and I thought I'd seen them all.”

“It's not a crystal. It's a fragment of polished dinosaur bone,” he said.

She shot him a look. “You remember that?”

“I don't know. Maybe I just know by looking at it.” His brows drew closer. “Above the stone are the letters NOWO. And below….”

“What? What's below?”

“A name. Cory.”

She smiled a little. “Cory. Does it ring any bells?”

“No. Do I look like a Cory?”

“Yeah. You do. Besides, it's a hard
C
, just like I told you it would be. Is there a last name anywhere? Anything engraved inside?”

He turned the ring over and peered at the inner part of the band. “Twenty-four karat, Endymion.”

Her throat went utterly dry and she swerved a little. “Endymion?”

“Yeah. Must be the brand name or the jeweler or something.”

“Yeah. Must be.”

He tipped his head to one side, studying her face, which she was certain had gone pale. “Does that name mean something to you?”

“I just…well, yeah. I mean. Endymion is the name of a God. He's the lover and mate of the Moon Goddess, Selene.” She slid her eyes his way very briefly. “Crazy coincidence, huh?”

“I thought you said there was no such thing as coincidence.”

There wasn't, she thought. This man was fated to walk into her life, she knew it with everything in her.

“There isn't,” she said.

“S
o where are we going?” he asked.

He watched her face, wondering what the hell to make of her. It was tough to tell, because she was focused entirely on two things: the road and his torso. He wished he'd put on the bloody shirt. She didn't even try to hide her interest. Just stole glances that skimmed from his chest to his abs, and burned with their intensity.

So he returned the favor, checking her out just as openly. She was no longer dressed in the sarong skirt. Too bad. He could ogle her much better if she were shirtless, like before, those round breasts bouncing in the moonlight. Then again, he didn't imagine she made a habit of driving through town that way.

But you could tell a lot about a woman from her clothes. She was a beatnik, he thought. A new-ager. The term
dirty hippy
came to mind, and he wondered where he'd picked that up and whether he really felt that way about her kind.

She wore jeans, faded to near white, with holes worn right through the fabric on the right thigh and the left knee. He wondered if the ass cheeks were worn through as well, and promised to take a gander when she got up. They were too long, their hems nothing but pale fringe. On top she wore a peasant blouse made from what looked like a pile of paisley-print handkerchiefs sewn together. Big sleeves that came to points, V-neck, and a V hemline front and back.

No bra.

He liked that. The free way her breasts moved underneath that loose fabric. Nothing holding them, binding them. It made him have to shift in his seat to think too long about them, moving around under there with every bump in the road.

So he changed his focus to her hair, which was loose and shiny, clean and silky, and totally unadorned. Then to her face, which was pretty much makeup-free, except for maybe a hint of mascara, because he didn't think her lashes would be naturally that thick or that dark. Not with her blond coloring. He studied her hands, with their long, slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails, on the steering wheel. She wore a necklace, a silver star enclosed within a circle, suspended from a chain around her neck. No rings on her fingers. Earrings, though, lots of them. She had four holes in the ear on his side, three in the lobe, and one up top. The top one had a crescent moon in it. The three holes on the bottom had one large wire hoop, one dangling strand of amethyst beads, and one diamond stud.

It occurred to him that she hadn't answered his question. “Selene?”

“Yeah?” She glanced at him again, eyes on his belly. God, the look in them was so blatantly horny he thought he would blow a gasket.

“I asked where we're going?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She looked at the road again. “I'll take you wherever you want to go. After that, I'm going up to a secluded cabin for a few days. Now that my family know I'm a Witch, living at home is impossible.”

“They didn't know?”

“No.”

“And I take it the news wasn't well received.”

She glanced his way, looked him in the eyes for once, smiled a little sadly. “My mother had the local minister waiting for me when I got home from the police station. She thinks I'm going straight to hell.”

He frowned at her, ignoring the hell comment, though it struck him as sad. “You were at the police station. What, giving a statement or—”

“I was being questioned. The chief thinks I stabbed you. But you know that, right? I mean, you're the one who gave him that idea in the first place.”

“Hey, I only told him the truth. That I woke up to find you standing over me with a knife.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“What about your friends?” he asked. “The women who were out there with you, doing the nakey-dance thing.”

“Nakey-dance thing?”

He ignored the sarcasm in her voice. “They must have been able to back up your story, right?” If it were true, at least, he thought.

“Their families don't know they're Witches either. I refused to give their names.”

“Even though they could verify your story?”

“Even though.”

He sighed. “So, then…I'm a little hazy on what happened and when. But…they left before help arrived, didn't they?”

She nodded, then glanced sideways at him. At, more accurately, at his chest. A long, burning look at his chest, before she jerked her eyes back to the road again. “I told them to go. One could lose her job, another, custody of her kids. There was no need for all of us to be exposed.”

“But you stayed.”

“I couldn't just let you lie there alone, bleeding. Someone had to stay with you.”

He mulled that over in his mind. “Okay, someone had to. But why you?”

She shrugged. “You fell at my feet,” she said as if that explained everything. “I'm the one who was supposed to stay.”

“I suppose that's something only a Witch would understand.”

“It was a sign. We'd just finished discussing signs, and then there you were, and every sign we'd mentioned came along with you. I was the one you came to. There's no question.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so. And you know what else?” she continued. “If I'd wanted to kill you, I had enough time to do it before the ambulance arrived. Hell, the way you were bleeding, I probably wouldn't have had to do anything. I could have stood there, done nothing, and let you go. But instead, I stopped the bleeding. Do you remember that?”

He thought back, recalled her hands on him, pressing something to his wound, remembered her chanting intensely, rocking back and forth. Something about Mary and Women and Blood. “I think I do,” he admitted.

“So why would I do that if I was the one who'd stabbed you in the first place?”

She really wanted him to believe her. It was clear in the intensity in her voice, in her eyes. She was damn near willing him to believe her. He just wished he knew why that was so important.

“Look, I don't even know you,” she went on. “What possible reason could I have to want to—”

“How do I know that?” he asked.

“Know what? That I don't know you?”

He nodded. “If I remember right, you said you did know me. You said you'd been waiting for me, or something.”

“I did say that. But I was referring to the signs. I felt you coming before you got there. I saw the signs when you arrived. That's all I meant, not that I had ever seen you before.”

He sighed, shaking his head and settling back in the seat. “You have no idea how frustrating this is—not to remember anything about myself. Not to know who I am, or what I was doing out in the woods or what happened to me out there. I know it's obnoxious as hell of me to mistrust you—particularly if you saved my life last night. So forgive me if I'm suspicious. But someone is trying to kill me. Right now I don't trust anyone, or anything.”

She sent him another look, but this one was softer, and only lingered for a second—on the spot where his belly met his button fly this time—before shifting to his face. “You're right. I'm asking a lot of you, huh? You wake up with a stab wound and see me with a knife, and I'm expecting you to believe I didn't do it just because I say so.” She returned her gaze to the road, drew a deep breath, and finally blew it out again. “I can't blame you for being suspicious. And that's sad, because I really think I could help you.”

He was surprised, both at her immediate dropping of the defensiveness, and her sudden offer of help. “How?”

She shrugged. “You think this killer is still after you, right? You can't stay in the hospital—he'd know where to find you. Where are you going to go? You don't know anyone here.”

“I don't know anyone anywhere.”

She nodded and slowed the car as they approached a dirt road that turned right from the paved one they were on. “You could come with me to the cabin.”

Having reached the turn, she brought the car to a stop. There was no other traffic in sight. She turned in her seat, and fixed her eyes on his.

“It would be a safe place to hide out. This guy, whoever he is, would have no idea where to find you.”

Unless you're working with him.
He found it tough to believe she might be, but hell, he didn't know if he could trust his own instincts right now. He wasn't even sure what his instincts were telling him, besides that he didn't approve of her sort, even while he wanted to jump her bones in the worst possible way.

“And maybe we could figure some things out while we're hiding out up there.”

“I don't see how. You don't know any more about me than I do.”

She shrugged. “Hey, you know your name now. That's more than you knew when you got into this car with me. I helped you figure
that
out, didn't I?”

He nodded.

“Come on, Cory. What other options do you have?”

He sighed. “I'm pretty sure the guy saw me get into your car.”

“It's not my car. It's my sister's. Mine's been impounded by the cops. And even if he did see you get in, he wouldn't know the car, much less be able to follow us. He was on foot. And, besides, I've been watching the rear-view. I seriously doubt this would-be killer of yours is a local who knows his way around.”

“What makes you so sure?”

She shrugged. “Well,
you're
not a local.”

“How do you know that?”

“It's a small town, Cory. I've lived here all my life, was born here. If you were a local, I'd know you. And if it's that you still don't know whether to believe me or not, then ask yourself why no one else knows you, either. No one at the hospital, no one on the ambulance squad. No one at the police department. It's a tiny town, Cory. If you were local, someone would have recognized you. You're not. And if you're not, it stands to reason that whoever is chasing you around trying to kill you isn't either.”

He nodded slowly. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“So I've helped you figure out something else already. See that? I'm good at this stuff.”

He stared at her, completely unsure which way to lean as far as she was concerned.

“You think I might be working with this guy, don't you? You think I'm going to take you up into the middle of nowhere and somehow signal him to come and finish you off.”

He met her steady, light-blue gaze, studied her face in the glow of the panel lights. “It had crossed my mind.”

She nodded, and glanced behind them. “If you're afraid I'm going to call him as soon as your back is turned, you needn't be. The cell phone reception is very hit and miss where we're going, and the cabin has no phone. But just so you're sure….” She nodded at the bag, a denim backpack, that rested on the back seat. “Take my phone out of my bag. It's in the side pocket.”

He reached back and tugged the bag up onto his lap, then felt around for the phone, and pulled it out. When he did, a small drawstring pouch came out as well. It was brown, with a feather tied in its string, a feather with distinctive rust-colored stripes across its base

“Are you a Native American?” he asked her, looking up at her blond, blond hair and doubting it.

“No.”

“Then this is illegal.” He held up the pouch, let the feather spin slowly from its string. “It's from a redtail hawk. You can't legally possess one.”

“Yeah, not until someone takes it to court and wins. Like a Native American, Cory, that feather is a part of my religion. An important part. The hawk is my animal spirit guide. That feather was a gift, from her to me, dropped during a meditation right where I could find it. I think I have a pretty good case.”

He shrugged. “Maybe you do, but until then, it's illegal.”

“So you going to arrest me?”

He looked her in the eye, then sighed and shook his head.

She thinned her lips. “You know about hawks. You recognized the feather. And you seem to be rather conservative, kind of a stiff-assed, by-the-book stick-in-the-mud. Probably a Republican.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

She shrugged. “It's just a couple more things we know about you. You stick with me, we'll have all those blanks filled in before you know it.” She took the pouch from his hand, and dropped it into her lap, then nodded at the cell phone he held. “Does that ease your mind any?”

“It assures me you can't call and tell anyone where we are. But I suppose he could already know where you're taking me.”

“I couldn't have planned for you to run out in front of my car, Cory.”

“No, I don't suppose you could.”

She tapped the steering wheel, still sitting still in the middle of the road. “It's not my cabin. It belongs to the husband of a friend of mine, and she's the only one who knows I'll be using it for a few days. I don't have any way to prove that to you, though.”