Ghost Stalker (6 page)

Her astonished expression revealed her prejudice. “You can?”

“In six human languages.”

Jessie’s jaw dropped in shock.

He glanced at the ingredients of the narcotic and then removed two capsules.

“I’m supposed to hide it in raw hamburger,” she said.

He glanced up in surprise. Her face gave nothing away and he could not quite tell if she was teasing him or serious.

“I shouldn’t think that would be necessary.” He popped the pills, chewing them to dust.

She wrinkled her face. “Isn’t it bitter?”

“I’ve tasted worse.”

She resumed her place on the far side of the room. “Do you think, I mean, could you…” She pointed at him. “Put on something more formal?”

He stared at his bare chest, hoping his undress unsettled her in a good way. He lifted a hand and touched his necklace, transforming his jeans into a full tuxedo with bow tie, undone.

“Better?”

Her initial shock gave way to a narrowing of her eyes, which she couldn’t maintain, and she laughed aloud. The musical tinkling was charming and encouraging. He touched his necklace a second time and his attire morphed again. Now he lay in loose-fitting denim carpenter’s pants and a sage-colored button-up shirt that would allow easy access to his wounds. He noticed a square three-inch hole in the fabric and lifted the shirt to examine the gap.

“They shaved me,” he muttered.

“For the chest tube. Lots of blood in your lung.”

It explained why he felt so weak, but already his body was healing at an accelerated rate.

She inched closer. “How do you do that?”

“We are half man. This state is as natural as our animal form.”

“I meant the clothing. It seems like magic.”

He hesitated, deliberating before answering. It was not wise to provide her with information she could use against him, but to answer her might help bridge the gap between them. Something in her eyes called to him and so he told her the truth.

“When in human form, we retain our coat. It allows us to transform back.”

“But you don’t have your coat now.”

He lifted his shirt collar. “I do. It can take any form,
cloth, metal, bone, gemstone, as long as we wear it, to keep it safe.”

Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Your necklace.”

He nodded. “Many Inanoka wear their coat as a necklace, but I know a dolphin in Seattle who likes a tongue ring. It prevents her from losing her jewelry in the ocean.”

“Dolphin? I had no idea.”

It seemed to Nick she had no idea on many counts, but he kept his opinion to himself.

“What about you? What is your gift?”

Now it was her turn to hesitate. He waited patiently for her answer.

“I’m a Dream Walker.”

“I’ve heard of you. You can heal wounds while a person sleeps.”

“My uncle has that gift, to heal physical wounds. I heal psychic wounds. I’m a social worker, working mainly with child services. That allows me to explore what a patient is unwilling or unable to verbalize.”

“By sneaking into their dreams?”

“I’m a professional. But essentially, that’s right. They never remember our conversations or the events they reveal to me, so my intrusion is very minimal. But while I am there, I can heal trauma, plant ideas, offer strategies and unearth truths that would take years to discover by conventional means. I can also learn if a crime is being committed. I work with the police when I find child abuse.”

“You protect those least able to protect themselves.”
It was a noble endeavor, but he wondered if it might be very depressing at times.

The medicine had already taken the edge off the pain, making it easier to breathe but harder to concentrate.

“Do you think you can rest now?” she asked.

He nodded.

Something in her smile put him on guard. She wouldn’t attack him when he slept, would she?

She retrieved the blanket and draped it over him before drawing back. “When you wake up, I can give you something to eat. What kind of things do you normally, uh, prefer?”

The tension in her posture and her uneasy expression nearly made him laugh. Likely she expected him to hamstring and eviscerate one of her horses.

“Roadkill is good. I don’t have to kill it myself.”

Horror blossomed on her face as she inched back.

He grinned, pulling at his stitches.

She cocked her head to study him. “Are you teasing me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Were you kidding me about the raw hamburger?”

She chuckled. “Yes.”

He was rewarded with her smile.

She turned toward the door, pausing at the entrance. “I think I saw a flattened ground squirrel out there. I could scrape it off the highway for you.” He liked her playful expression and impish smile.

He made a face.

“What do you really eat?”

He realized she was now serious. She had no idea
what to prepare. “Generally, in human form, I eat what you eat, though I don’t much like vegetables. Mostly grains and red meat, fish and poultry. When I was in Paris, I grew fond of wine sauces but never could get used to escargot.”

“Paris?” Jessie couldn’t even verbalize her shock. She had assumed this wolf lived in the forests, taking down sick elk or moose trapped in deep snow. The idea that he had been to Europe, spoke six languages and could read was all blowing her mind.

“You don’t think much of us, do you?” he asked.

“I just…” Just what, have been misinformed her entire life? Everything she’d learned about Inanoka was tossed on its ear by this lone wolf.

Since she’d been old enough to understand, she had heard about his kind. About the tricksters who had nearly annihilated her race. Brutish, illiterate savages, killers with a dangerous propensity toward unpredictability and viciousness.

Now she stood beside a man who seemed to have tastes more refined than her own, and he’d showed amazing restraint when she threatened him. He could easily have killed her but didn’t.

She bit her lip before asking the question, fearing his answer already. “What do you read?”

“I like nonfiction. For a time I read everything I could on ancient Rome. But lately I’m interested in the Middle East and North Africa. Fascinating people there, such dichotomy, but the culture is ancient. I’d like to go there next. Trying to learn Arabic. The written language is a
challenge, but…” He smiled. “I’ve grown another head, haven’t I?”

The magnitude of her prejudice was only now becoming evident. “I’ve, it’s just… You are not what I expected.”

“Likewise, except for the pillow. That’s more in line with what I’m used to.”

She felt a moment’s shame.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

His gaze flicked to her and she stood transfixed again, thinking the hunger she read was not for food.

“Maybe just something to drink.”

“I’ll get you some ice chips. If they don’t bother your stomach, I’ll make you some broth.”

“Sounds good.”

She fled the room, anxious to escape this disturbing man. She needed to collect her thoughts.

Jessie hurried to the combination dining room/kitchen that held a large maple table with eight matching chairs, only one of which she ever used.

Jessie exhaled a long shuttering breath, still feeling anxious and uneasy. Was she making a mistake?

The phone, mounted on the wall by the front door, rang, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. She gave a shriek and then pressed her hand over her mouth as she dashed across the room and lifted the handset.

“Hello?”

Her mother’s voice added instantly to her anxiety.

“I just got off the phone with Phyllis Darby, whose son runs the kennels at Dr. Brand’s. He said you brought in a sick wolf.”

Jessie closed her eyes and tried to think. Her mother hated wolves above all else.

“Jessie?” The clipped, angry tone of her mother’s voice forced her to speak.

“Not sick. Injured.”

“What were you thinking? Have them put it down.”

Jessie’s stomach cramped. “Can’t. They stitched him up and I let him go.”

“He’ll be back after your horses. You best put out some poison.”

“That’s illegal, Mom.”

She heard her mother make a harrumphing sound. “If your father were here, I’d send him over with his rifle.”

Thankfully, her dad was away at a community building project until Thursday and her mother did not drive.

“An injured wolf is more dangerous than a healthy one. If he kills your neighbor’s stock, it will be your responsibility. You’re supposed to help protect your neighbors, not cause them more grief.”

“I know, Mom.”

Her mother gave her the silent treatment for a few moments. Jessie clenched the phone, refusing to explain further.

“I’ll call you when Daddy gets home. Call me if that wolf comes back.”

“Okay. Bye, Mom.”

Her mother’s goodbye was as cool as November breezes. Jessie pressed the button to disconnect, then hit it again and dialed the veterinarian’s office, as she
promised, reporting that the patient was awake, doing fine and that his master had picked him up.

She returned the handset to the cradle, then sagged against the counter before the kitchen windows. It took a moment to put the conversation with her mother behind her. When she pushed off from the counter and lifted her attention to the window, she was met with the sight of her horses, grazing peacefully in the pasture across the road.

Everything looked the same, except for the debris scattered by her guest’s landing. Small branches, still holding their leaves, and dead wood littered her yard. The blue plastic tarp had blown off her woodpile.

But Little Biscuit, Custer and Apple Blossom all belied the whirlwind her life had suddenly become. They nipped at the grass as they moved steadily on, pausing only to whisk their tails to brush off a particularly persistent fly.

Seeing them usually calmed her spirit, but not today. They could not draw her from the realization that her neat little world seemed suddenly to be listing badly to one side. Like a boat taking on water, everything she believed now seemed in danger of capsizing and taking her along to the bottom.

But if the teachings were wrong about the Skinwalker’s intelligence, illiteracy, lifestyle…what else was wrong?

Jessie had believed everything her mother had told her—until now.

Now she was uncertain, confused…lost.

N
ick watched her approach. She crept forward, arm extended, as if offering an unfamiliar dog a bone. He had an irrational impulse to growl at her. It was hard not to be in full possession of himself. When had he last depended on another soul?

Never. All his one hundred and twenty-eight years life he had lived by his wit and his strength. Until now. Now he wasn’t even strong enough to leave.

Not that he wanted to. He found Jessie Healy fascinating. She was not at all the kind of woman he pursued. She was too bright, too dedicated to her work and far too disenchanted with him. But there was something beyond her lovely face and beautiful honey-colored eyes that made him wish he was healthy enough to make a move. After all, he was injured, but not dead. Any man with breath still in him would find
her attractive. She was slim and curvy with flaring hips that swayed as she crossed the carpet to him. She dressed to hide her breasts in a loose-fitting blouse, but the tight jeans, Maka be praised. They did improve the view.

She stood over him now, seducing him with her fragrance. He could smell everything, from the floral dryer sheet she used on her blouse to the spearmint breath mint now in her mouth. But mostly he smelled her, spicy and floral all at once. She did not douse herself in perfume, as many women did. Her personal scent was far more arousing than such creations.

He accepted the cup of ice, lifted a fractured cube and sucked it. Her reaction told him he hadn’t lost all his charm. She stared at his mouth with wide eyes and open mouth; then recalling herself, she glanced away. But it was too late. The chemistry of her body changed, her flash of desire as tangible to him as the fragrance of roses.

Her reaction did wonders for his outlook. He continued to suck on the ice, letting the cold water he extracted cool his dry throat. He rested for a time, feeling the heat of her gaze upon him, listening for the slight rustle of her clothing as she retreated.

He opened his eyes to find her already at the door, clutching the knob, as if she might need to slam it during her retreat.

“How’s your stomach?” she whispered.

“Perfect.”

“That’s good. If you’ll excuse me. I have to go see to the horses.” She turned tail and fled.

“Horses, my ass.” Nick smiled. “Run away while you can, little rabbit.”

She left him a long time, poking her head into his room after the daylight was nearly gone. He could tell from the way she cocked her head to listen that it was too dark for her to see him. But he could see everything, including the slight dampness of sweat clinging to the skin visible at the opening of her blouse. She smelled of sweet hay and the musky tang of horses.

“Are you awake?” she whispered.

He liked the sound.

“Yes.”

She startled. “How’s your stomach?”

“Growling.”

She lifted her eyebrows and then flicked on the light. “I’ll fix you something.”

He watched her hasty retreat. She’d have to venture near to bring him food, wouldn’t she?

A few minutes later she returned, she carried a tray with chamomile tea, broth and toast. He kept his eyes closed to encourage her approach. When she reached his bedside, he opened his eyes. She froze and the tray tipped dangerously. She righted it before dousing him with hot tea.

He pushed himself to a sitting position, stifling a groan. Instead, he inhaled, smelling the lemon soap she used to wash her hands. “Smells good.”

She lowered the tray to the side table, being careful not to get too close to him, and then retreated to the opposite side of the room as swiftly as possible.

Nick’s smirk told Jessie he knew she was skittish
as a colt scenting a coyote. Now that he was alert, he scared her. And until she knew the truth, she’d keep her distance. He was wounded, but his earlier stunt proved he was still far stronger than she was.