Society Rules (7 page)

“Are you ready to count or what?” The unwelcome voice barked in her ear, referring to the job requirement of having to count all of the narcotics locked up on the med cart.

“Uh, yeah, sure . . .” Indie cringed. Her ears hurt. “Who is working Maggie’s hall today?” Indie asked.

“Erin is on it!” shrieked Brenda, the cause of the pain in her hypersensitive ears. Indie looked pointedly at Erin, and spoke with authority.

“You need to get down there!”

Erin nodded once, her expression shocked, and hurried down to Maggie’s room.

Indie noted that for the first time, every eye in the nursing station was on her. Okay, so she had accidentally brought her personality to work with her today. Well, well, wasn’t this rapidly becoming a day of novel events.

She counted mechanically, listened to report, and clawed her way through the rest of her day in a haze of grief, mixed with disbelief and a growing sense of panic.

Even after the funeral home came and picked up Miss Maggie’s body, Indie purposefully avoided the hallway that had been the scene of this insane exchange of information this morning.

She had to have dreamed the whole scenario, right? Miss Maggie had spoken for half an hour, and yet, no time had passed? Into what realm had she slipped? It simply was not possible, and yet . . . and yet . . . she knew it had happened.

Pulling Maggie’s chart, Indie noted that there was some sort of legal document forbidding any kind of autopsy or post death exam . . . something about religious reasons. She was to be cremated within twenty-four hours.

As she scanned the documents, she also noted for the first time that Maggie routinely refused all labs, and Indie already knew that she took no meds. Not even a vitamin.

This did not necessarily stand out, as many residents lived at the nursing home as a matter of convenience, having no family, and an inability to care for the maintenance of a home any longer, but Miss Maggie had been incredibly healthy.

Inhumanly
healthy.

Until today. Indie slammed the chart shut and thrust it back into the rack with trembling hands. She had never been as eager as she was that day, to clock out and race at top speed out the door.

Chapter 4

Jackson

Jackson leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, having fled like a coward from the miserable scene upstairs. The cry of terror that had erupted from Indie’s lips when he approached her had ripped out his heart.

Ripped it out and stomped on it with steel-toed boots.

Then set it on fire.

To put it mildly, Jackson was devastated.

He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, resting his forearms on his knees and agonized over his next move. A most unfamiliar sensation was taking place somewhere near the back of his throat. A tightness that made him think that it may be possible for a throat to slit itself.

He pressed his hand uneasily to his neck and swallowed repeatedly, feeling his eyes begin to burn.

His hands moved to his eyes and they felt damp.

Tears? What was happening?

He ground his fists painfully into his eyes to rid them of this embarrassment and slid his fingers through his hair.

Jackson stared at the peeling paint on the wall adjacent to his slumped form. How had his plan gone so horribly wrong? Although he was not so naive as to believe that Indie would come skipping down the hallway with him, without a second thought, he
had
come here today on a mission, determination that
he
was going to tell her the truth. He would reach out to her, she would take his hand, and he would at least have the opportunity to explain everything to her.

She would have let me speak to her, had I touched her! He thought, exasperated. He had not counted on finding Miss Conner on her deathbed.

Not only was it sad, but inconvenient! She had blurted out nearly the entire story to Indie, and he had allowed this in silence. It had been his only choice, given the circumstances.

But now, she is truly freaked out, he thought with a groan. And very afraid . . . of me, he added, rubbing his sternum to try to quell the ache that had just lodged there.

He was also at a loss as to what Miss Conner, or Maggie, as he now knew her to be called, had meant about Indie having something that had to be protected “at all cost.”

He pondered this for a moment. He was somewhat gifted at knowing other’s thoughts, although far from perfect . . . for now; but Maggie was the strongest of his kind that he had come across in a very long time. Not since his trainer in London had he met someone so able to cloak his or her thoughts.

Well, he decided, it does not matter, because I am already committed to protecting Indie and whatever is important to her. I am sure the answer will show itself soon enough.

Just exactly how he was going to accomplish this, well . . . he had no specific plan thus far.

Perhaps I’ll just throw myself down a flight of stairs in front of her! he thought humorlessly. If I fracture every bone in my body, maybe she’ll feel sorry for me, and allow me speak.

That was stupid.

He closed his eyes and rolled his head back and forth against the wall in frustration and despair, fighting a violent impulse to race back up the stairs and spirit her away. It was agonizing to sit here trying to pull his mind back into an acceptable state, after having her so near, just moments ago. And he . . . ah well, he had bathed in the light of her presence. After all of these years.

The searching, and then the waiting. It was over and yet not.

Because here he was, sitting just literally yards away from her, and there she was, so close, but as far away as ever. He knew he must not frighten her further. He didn’t
want
to frighten her. He wanted to hold her . . . kiss her.

Comfort her. However, this was obviously not possible.

Not yet.

Jackson sighed, and rubbed his eyes again with both hands. He ached all over. Having been this long without her, how could the longing have reached this unbearable fever pitch? He felt like doing something as pointless and lame as curling up into a ball, here at the base of the stairs.

Jackson knew that he was about to throw Indie’s carefully constructed life into chaos, and a large part of him shrank away, horrified at the very idea; but a larger part knew that he had to do what he had to do.

It was simple, really.

He had to at least give her the option to have the life for which she was born. If she chose to reject it . . . well . . . he would figure out how to endure that possibility if it arose. He desperately hoped he wasn’t going to find out.

Looking around uneasily, Jackson slowly clambered to his feet. His usual strength and ease of motion seemed to have evaporated, leaving him feeling heavy and clumsy. It was an odd sensation for him, as was the faintly nauseous feeling rolling through his belly.

I feel like a reject . . . like I’ve been dumped! He thought with bitter amusement.

I can’t hurt her, he sobered, whatever this costs me; I don’t want to do that . . . oh, but by all that is holy . . . he countered himself, I also know that I won’t be able to leave her alone, not until she makes the choice.

He slid his fingers in to the pockets of his jeans and stared at the bits of grass and debris lying on the indoor-outdoor carpeting on the landing.

“Are you okay, sir?” The voice made him jump. Allowing someone to sneak up on him like that was further evidence that he was not in his usual form. No one was ever able to take Jackson by surprise, as a rule. He looked around, a bit wildly, to find the source of the question.

A pretty blond girl in brightly colored scrubs, with pictures of Tinkerbelle decorating the top, stood on the stairs above him, eyeing him with concern. She also wore an obvious appreciation for the disoriented, but incredibly handsome man in front of her. As Jackson looked up, piercing her with his brilliant blue eyes, she moistened her lips, her own eyes heavy with invitation.

“Oh . . . uh, yeah . . . I am fine. Yes, very well, thanks . . .” he stammered. Okay, where
did
he leave his head, he wondered. He was always so calm and controlled. Now he was babbling like a complete fool.

This would not do. He had to regain a little of his manhood before he had to swing by Wal-Mart and buy himself a tutu and a Glamour mag. He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Thank you for your concern.” He smiled at the girl. “I just needed a moment to collect myself, and this seemed as good a place as any. Just sulking in the stairwell!”

The girl flushed, and returned his smile, her eyes bright.

“Anything I can help with?” she asked hopefully, subtly thrusting her breasts forward and assuming what Jackson understood was supposed to be a provocative pose against the wall.

He tried to hide the laugh that wanted to ripple its way out of his throat at her thoughts.

A genuine laugh.

He never quite got used to the effect he had on people; women especially, although he’d never had but one woman on his mind, who he wished to find him irresistible.

“You’re very kind, but I am okay, really. I’ll be on my way.” With a quick wave of his hand, he turned to push his way through the door. He heard her call out as he left, trying to stop him, and it wasn’t just so they could have pleasant conversation, he thought wryly. He didn’t like to seem rude, but he knew he wasn’t interested in wasting time with this female.

He had no thoughts for any woman other than Indie, and never had. Even when he hadn’t known exactly who she was, he knew she was out there, his soul mate, and he had no time for anything less.

Although he was always unfailingly polite, and the perfect gentleman, he had left scores of bemused and frustrated women in his wake, for as long as he could remember.

He tried his best never to lead anyone on, but women always appeared to be up for the challenge of the seemingly “unobtainable”. They became ensnared in his eyes, and bound by his voice. It was comical at times, actually.

Batting away these unwanted images, he jogged lightly toward the parking lot, hoping the girl did not try to follow. People were always drawn to him, and he normally didn’t mind playing the game . . . acting the part of the good-natured loner. Today, it was just too much of a project. His mind was elsewhere, daydreaming about the beautiful face that he could truly
see,
not just his mind’s image, but her actual face, seen for the first time at close range.

His fists clenched as a shameful burst of a powerful emotion shook through him.

She is
my
Equal
 . . . my rightful mate. She must be made to see! She must . . . . Jackson unclenched his fists in remorse.

“She must . . .” he whispered out loud,” . . . be free to choose her path.”

The Society trained part of Jackson . . . the contained and controlled part, knew that her choice was his law. If, after he made contact with her, she chose to stay in her current life, he would have to honor her wishes.

But in his blood ran a genetic predisposition toward winning. A predisposition further fueled by six years of training with the SAS while in the UK. He was simply taking what belonged to him.

And although he didn’t think of her as a material possession, he did think of her as his, and therefore it was all quite righteous.

The idea that she was returning to her house tonight, behind closed doors with her false mate brought about a cold feeling of sickness and, much to his chagrin, fury.

“If he touches her . . .” Jackson’s fists were back, his body tense. But then, he
had
touched her, hadn’t he? They had children, so the answer was pretty self-evident.

If there had been no children, he could have enjoyed a nice hot cup of self-delusion, and pretended to believe that they had played house for ten years, but only as platonic friends.

But no.

They had laid together, made love together . . . made children together. Jackson felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him deflated and cold.

Well, get over it, old boy, he told himself despondently. She didn’t even know you existed. Why should
she
have remained celibate?

He considered the idea that this was his own fault. His warrior mode kicked up a little, as he chastised himself.

If you had been more competent and found her earlier, you wouldn’t have this problem, would you? His brain pointed out helpfully.

With a fierce exhale, Jackson delivered a burst of speed, sprinting just to burn off a little frustration.

Regardless, he had found her now, and he was going to proceed from here. Nothing he could do to change the past. She was still perfection in his eyes, and one hundred percent pure as well. He loved her, and by extension, her children who were part of her.

Flesh of her flesh.

All of them were now entered into the Jackson Allen protection program. Unfortunately, nobody knew about the program’s benefits yet.

Jackson finally reached his car and dove into it, slamming the door behind him quickly. He sat low in the seat, prepared to wait.

I hope she doesn’t try to have me thrown in jail for stalking, or worse, sic that husband of hers on me, he thought, with a nervous laugh. He would
hate
to have to hurt him, wouldn’t he?

He knew he was going to follow her . . . show up wherever she happened to be, for as long as it took to convince her to talk to him. She simply had to let him.

He stretched his legs out in front of the seat, and shook his head at the irony. Here he practically had to beat away every other female, run from them even, to avoid their unwanted advances. But the one
he
wanted . . . the one he
needed
, like air to breathe, was terrified of him!

Oh, she found him attractive; that much he could read from her. She felt the inevitable draw toward him, but was so overwhelmed by the revelation of the morning, that all she could conceivably react with was suspicion and fear.

What, was this someone’s idea of a joke? His eyes lifted to the ceiling of his car, as if awaiting some kind of response to that thought.

“Ah, well,” he sighed, “we shall see what the day brings . . . or eternity, whichever. I am prepared to wait for her, either way!”

He rested his head back on the seat, and visualized again the sky blue of her eyes . . . the silky rich sheen of her flowing hair and her perfectly kissable lips.

Desire leaped on top of Jackson like a hungry bear, its claws digging deeply into his flesh. This forced him to shift uncomfortably in his seat, as certain physical reactions began to manifest themselves; the direct result of his mental caresses upon her body.

Well, this was so not appropriate!

With admirable force of will, Jackson cast off his aching need to touch Indie, and get as close to her as humanly possible.

Maybe even closer still.

The IPod he’d connected to the auxiliary outlet in his car suffered the usual abuse as he restlessly flipped through song after song, in a hopeless attempt to distract himself.