Destiny Kills (20 page)

So I did. Everything I could remember, as well as some stuff that was more guesswork than fact. Trae came back about halfway through, handing me a cup of coffee and several crackers.

As the day ran into night, conversation faded. We sat in companionable silence and watched the stars grow bright in the sky. When the moon began its track across the night, Trae rose and retrieved a couple of blankets, wrapping one around my shoulders and the other around Dad’s. I flipped one end of the blanket open and he sat beside me, his presence keeping me warmer than any blanket ever could.

Doc Jones joined us sometime after midnight. He sat back in the trees, a witness to events but not a part of them.

Dad was still smiling when he passed away in the early hours of the morning. I continued to hold his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin gradually leaving his body. But the deeper burning—the fires of the dragon waiting for the dawn and the final journey—were still present.

The air began to hum with power long before the first vestiges of dawn began to crack the night. Energy flitted across my skin, little sparks of power that were very visible in the blackness that surrounded us. But the crazy tingling did little to ease the ache in my soul. I doubted anything could right now.

I studied the horizon, waiting, as the hum of power grew and intensified, and slivers of red and gold broke across the sky—bright flags of color that heralded the coming of day and the beginning of my dad’s last journey.

Even as the warmth of the coming day flooded through my body, breaking the chill of night, it caressed my dad’s body and stirred the waiting dragon to life. His skin grew warmer to the touch, beginning to glow with that inner heat. It forced me to release his hand, even though I didn’t want to.

The day grew brighter, my dad’s skin warmer, until it seemed the sun itself burned under his flesh. Finally, the fires of the dragon broke free—gloriously, finally free—and reached skyward with exuberant fingers.

“May the Gods of sun and sky and air guide you on your journey, Dad,” I whispered, my eyes on the flaming brightness and my throat so constricted with tears I could barely speak the ritual words. “May you find the peace and happiness in the forever lands that you could not find in this.”

The streaming fingers of sunlight seemed to twirl and dance, as if in answer, and then they were gone, lost to the brightness of the coming day.

The radiance caressing my skin died, taking with it the underlying hum of energy. All that remained of my dad were a few ashes and the remaining scraps of a comforter that the wind snatched up and scattered.

He was gone. Forever.

I closed my eyes and let the grief flow free.

Chapter Twelve

I
don’t know how long I cried. I just couldn’t seem to get my act together, and much of that was guilt. It was ridiculous to feel that way, I knew, because the past couldn’t be changed no matter how much I might wish otherwise. I’d done what I’d done. I’d left knowing Dad was ill, that the diabetes was getting worse. But in the foolishness of youth, I hadn’t figured it would be so hard to free my mom. Hadn’t counted on getting caught myself. I’d been too confident in what I was and what I could do to worry about such things as capture by the very people who held my mother.

Through all the tears, Trae was there. Holding me when I needed to be held, making love to me when I needed the intimacy, leaving me alone when I wanted to be alone. He fed me and looked after me, and was patient with me when my grief ran into the need to rant and rage.

But I couldn’t stay in that pit of despair and guilt forever, especially not when I still had promises that needed to be kept. Besides, the more I delayed, the longer Trae was away from his sister.

It was well after midnight several days after the memorial service at the hospital when I turned in the warm circle of Trae’s arms and said, “We should leave here tomorrow.”

He touched my cheek, running his finger down the length of it until he reached my lips, then lightly began to trace them with a fingertip. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

I nodded and stretched out languorously, so that my body was pressed more fully against his. “It’s probably best to swim to Scotland. Or fly, in your case. I wouldn’t put it past them to have someone watching the airports.” Or be paying one of the customs officers to keep an eye out for them.

“I
could
acquire you a new passport, if that’s your worry.”

His touch moved down my neck and across my right shoulder. Desire trembled through me, but I held still. That feather-light caress felt too good to move on to more intimate pursuits just yet.

“In this day and age, with all the massive security checks they have at airports, faking it is not worth it.”

“Faking it never is in the long run.” Amusement played around his lush mouth as his fingers drifted toward my breasts.

I arched my back a little and pressed into his hand. “And do you often fake it?”

He cupped one breast and flicked his thumb over the erect nipple, sending little arrows of pleasure shooting across the rest of me. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously in the night. “Never when it’s important.”

“And this
is
important?” I said softly. Emphatically.

“The most important thing in my life,” he said. “And not only for this moment.”

Then he kissed me.

It was a kiss that was deep and long, a kiss that explored and aroused. A kiss that spoke of emotions that had been hinted at, and talked around, but never actually said. They were there nevertheless, thick and real.

“The trouble with a moment,” I said when I could, my voice more than a little breathless, “is that it
does
only last a moment.”

“I think I should be offended by that comment.” His voice was dry. “I’ll have you know, my stamina is legendary. I’ve been known to last for hours.”

“Then prove it.”

He chuckled softly. “A challenge you may yet regret, my girl.”

“Not when you’re still talking rather than doing.”

He grinned and sat up on the bed, shaking free of the sheets and blankets. Then he picked up my right foot and began massaging my toes with warm fingers.

Frustrated amusement rolled through me. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Hush, and let the master work.”

I snorted. “You’re not my master.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’m the master of your seduction, and you will be putty in my hand by the time I’m finished. Now shut up and enjoy.”

I shut up as ordered and closed my eyes, enjoying the press of his fingers against my foot. Enjoying the warmth that flooded up my leg and across my torso. Enjoying the tingle of expectation as the minutes ticked by, and the desire—need—for him to move on grew.

Eventually, he did, paying similar attention to my calves, and then my thighs. I made a small sound of disappointment when he skipped the hot spot at the junction of my legs and moved up to my belly. He chuckled softly, but that disappointed sound moved into a sigh of contentment when he began to caress my breasts. But he moved on all too quickly, working his way up to my shoulders and down each arm, before finally—thankfully—he began his teasing, erotic journey back down my body to the one point he’d missed. Even before his fingers slid over my clit, I was shuddering with pleasure, but that softest of touches had me moaning. God, if he didn’t get on with it soon, I’d surely burst.

He kept up that teasing caress until I was squirming and pressing myself harder against his hand, wanting—needing—the orgasm that loomed so close. When he finally slipped two fingers inside me, I gasped and came undone, shuddering and groaning and thrusting into his touch.

When the shudders began to ease, he started again, this time with his tongue, savoring every glorious inch of me, until sweat sheened my body and every fiber vibrated with the need for release.

When his tongue slipped over my clitoris, I made a sound that was little more than a gargled half scream, and thrust up against him, so that his face was buried in the warm heat of me. And he licked and sucked and delved his tongue deep inside of me, until my body was afire and I was begging him to take me fully.

He finally relented and slid up my body, capturing my lips as he slid slowly, deeply inside. As my flesh enveloped him, a low groan of pleasure vibrated against the back of my throat. God, was there a greater sensation on this earth than the completeness of this one moment?

I began to move against him, but he held me still and continued to kiss me. Not urgently, not desperately, but slowly, passionately, like he had all the time in the world. I answered in kind, even though my body was trembling with the need for completion. I slid my hands up his back and around his neck. And I knew, in that moment, that we were one. Not just physically but spiritually, our souls entwined and eternally linked.

“Look at me,” he ordered softly.

I opened my eyes and gazed into his, and felt like I was falling into a bright ocean. Caught, once and for all—and forever.

He began to move then, slowly at first but gradually gaining in intensity, until he was thrusting deep and strong. And suddenly the control and the calm were gone, and our lovemaking became all passion and heat and intensity. All I could think about, all I
wanted
to think about, was this man and this moment. Pleasure spiraled so quickly my body was shaking with the force of it, and when my climax finally—gloriously—hit, the convulsions stole what little breath I had left and tore a strangled sound from my throat. He came a heartbeat later, his body slamming into mine, the force of it echoing through my being.

When I remembered how to breathe again, I took his face between my palms and kissed him long and slow. “That was amazing.”

He rolled to one side and gathered me in his arms. “I told you I was a master of the art.”

I snuggled closer to his warm, sweaty body and breathed a sigh of contentment. “Would that be the art of bullshit you’re talking about?”

He chuckled softly and gently tucked a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. “That would be my other specialty.”

“No doubt about that,” I murmured, and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke the following morning, I was alone in the bed, but the smell of cinnamon toast and coffee filled the air, making my stomach rumble.

I shoved the blankets aside and got out of bed. The day beyond the windows was bright, filled with blue sky and few clouds. But the way the spruces swayed suggested the wind was pretty fierce. And if it was coming straight off the sea, I had no doubt it would also be icy.

I grabbed my old terry bathrobe from a wardrobe still filled with all my clothes and pulled it on, doing up the sash as I clattered barefoot down the stairs.

“That smells good,” I said, as I entered the kitchen.

He looked over his shoulder and gave me a warm smile. “I should hope so. I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen for hours.” I raised an eyebrow, and his smile became a grin. “Well, a good ten minutes, at least.”

I stood on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss. “Mmmm, you taste better than the food smells.”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, you need food more than you need more of me at the moment. Here.”

I grabbed the plate and began to munch. It was as delicious as it smelled.

“I exchanged some cash after I rang my mom,” he said, dropping some dishes in the sink and washing them. A house-trained man who also could cook—you had to love that, I thought with an inner grin. “So we’ll have some usable money when we get over there.”

“Unfortunately, I lost my credit cards when the scientists snatched me in Scotland,” I said, around a mouthful of toast. “But I found a new ATM card when I was going through some of the mail.”

Which the Doc had given me after the small memorial service, along with a small bag of Dad’s possessions. Tears touched my eyes again, and I blinked them away. He was gone, but at least he’d gone the way he’d wanted to go. I’d given him that, if nothing else.

“I think we need to hit them fast,” Trae said, “before they’ve got time to realize we’re even there.”

“I agree, but we can’t be too fast. That’s what got me caught the last time.” I finished the last of the toast, then gulped down the hot coffee. “I’ll go upstairs and have a shower.”

He nodded. “I checked the tides. We need to leave within the hour if you’re going to make it under the Lubec bridge in time.”

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Does a woman ever really mean that when she says it?” he asked, voice dry but a twinkle in his eyes as his gaze met mine.

“Time me,” I said, and raced up the stairs.

After the quickest shower in recorded history—for me, at least—I dried myself, then padded naked into my bedroom to raid my wardrobe, picking out a pair of jeans, an old Nirvana T-shirt, and a woolen sweater that would keep me warm even when it was wet. I dug an old pair of Nikes from the thick dust under my bed, then grabbed the waterproof food carryall my dad had made when I was a teenager who constantly needed to be fed and yet who was prone to wandering unheeding of time under the sea, and filled it with extra clothes and a coat. At least I’d have something dry to change into once I was in Scotland.

That done, I picked it up and clattered back down the stairs.

He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes and forty-five seconds. You’re late.”

“So I’ll make it up to you later. There is, however, hot water left, so maybe you should be thanking me.”

“Maybe I should.” He put his coffee cup down on the bench, then walked across to give me a quick kiss. “Hmmm. Nice.”

“Shower,” I said, smiling as I stepped away from him. “Otherwise we’re never going to get out of here.”

“A bossy woman,” he muttered, the twinkle in his eyes belying the edge in his voice. “Just my luck.”

“Get,” I said, imperiously pointing toward the stairs.

He got. I poured myself a coffee, then turned off the machine and leaned back on the bench, sipping the hot, sweet liquid and listening to the shower, imagining all that water running over lean, hard, golden flesh.

He rattled down the stairs ten minutes later, as sexy as all get-out in jeans and one of my dad’s old black sweaters. My body began to ache at the mere sight of him, but now was not the time. We had people to rescue, and they’d all spent too much time locked in hell already.

“Got everything you need?” he asked, switching the kitchen light off then grabbing the car keys from the counter.

I nodded and rinsed out the rest of the coffee under the tap, then followed him out the back door. The wind whipped around me as I stepped onto the porch, flinging my still-damp hair in every direction. I shivered and locked the door, then shoved the key in my pocket. No need to put it in the plant anymore. There was no one else left who needed it—not unless I rescued my mother.

“What happened to those men who were waiting for us?” I asked, a slight catch in my voice that could have been caused by either fear of what I still had to do or the cold itself. Maybe even a bit of both.

He strode ahead of me, already in the trees, and for a moment, I didn’t think he’d heard me. Then he flung over his shoulder, “I flew them off the property. Dumped them and a few supplies in some secluded forest in Canada and took their cell phones. It’ll take them days to get anywhere without phones.”

And by the time they did get somewhere, we’d be long gone.

I followed Trae through the trees and down to the beach. The wind in the open was even colder, filled with the scent of the sea, a scent that called me on.

I gripped my bag tightly, and stopped beside Trae. “Talk to you in Scotland,” he said, and dropped a kiss on my cheek.

“You’d better have a coffee ready,” I said, “because I’m going to be fucking freezing by the time I get to those shores.”