Immortal Distraction (12 page)

She watched as he handwrote a witness statement, stating that Driscoll DeMarco did indeed live in the building owned by his family. He was stabbing Langford in the back and enjoying every moment of it. Brit eyed him suspiciously as he wrote. She, without doubt, had her reservations as to why he was suddenly intent on helping her. He’d entered her life as a witness, and one that taught her quickly he was not to be trusted. Since that time, he’d given her every reason to earn that distrust. Undoing that damage was going to be difficult, but his conscience was finally breathing a sigh of relief at being on her side. He didn’t know for certain he had just reason to end Driscoll, but he was holding out little hope the man was a virtuous vampire or operating within their boundaries, and he was hoping Brit could help him figure that out.

When he set the pen down, she glanced at him and mumbled a quiet thanks. Humphreys pushed the form to Brit as he started to heave his oversize body from the too-small chair he’d been sitting on. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m calling it a day. I didn’t get to sleep all afternoon and forget to come back to work like you.” He glared accusingly at Brit. Hmm. And he thought perhaps he finally understood the incredible scent on her body. They walked with Humphreys to the corridor, and he watched the blush of Brit’s cheeks reinvigorate at Humphreys’ accusation.

When Humphreys was out of earshot, he reached to lightly caress the back of her arm while leaning down to her ear. “Were you dreaming of me, Brit? Is that why you looked like I’d just fucked your brains out when I arrived earlier?” That earned him a swift but controlled elbow to the gut, before she rounded on him.

“I don’t know why you’re so intent on suddenly helping me…”

“Detective Sutton!” The voice was far off but getting closer.

“But I don’t believe for even one second…” Now Humphreys had stopped and was eyeing them wearily.

“Detective Sutton!” Closer still, and a secretary by the look of it.

“Not now!” She shouted at the nearing woman as she shuffled up the hallway toward them. And her focus returned quickly to his. “That you have any intention of actually being generous with what you know!” And she was glaring, near fury as she stared at him.

“Detective, please!”

“What!” Brit shouted at the poor woman, transferring her fury to the secretary that had finally approached them.

She was huffing and puffing as she came to a stop and swallowed hard before she finally managed to open her mouth to speak. “It’s … it’s your mother…”

“Let me guess, arrested again. Tell her to call someone else for bail money this time!” Her voice was only marginally quieter, and she turned her glare back to Angus while he watched her calmly.

“She’s in the hospital, Detective. Overdose.” Brit’s breath left her in a rush that came out as a loud sigh. She reached for the wall to her side, and her gaze finally dropped from his. The flush was suddenly gone from her cheeks, and she looked pale and shocked. “The hospital called here. Said they’d left a few messages on your home phone. She’s been at Massachusetts General for a few days now. I’m sorry…”

The woman made her way hastily back up the corridor as Brit kept her hold on the wall. Her face was slack and emotionless, but it was hiding pain—deep and shattering pain. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to reach out to her and comfort her. It felt oddly like he was sharing her pain. He had no right or ownership of it as she did, but he hurt for her. His heart was lurching at the sight of her pain, and it felt like a physical hurt in his gut.

“Uh … I’ll take the statement. I’ll call you when we have an arrest warrant.” Humphreys was eyeing her with an expression that looked almost sympathetic, but Brit was staring beyond them both. He glanced to her hands and saw her fingers trembling. Humphreys left after one final look to Brit, and she pushed herself from the wall.

“Brit…” She held up her finger in front of his face to silence him as she pushed past him and walked down the hall. She looked more angry than distressed, but he knew it was just her reaction. She was scared. He followed her. He gave her the distance she needed, wanted, but he stayed close. She exited the building, but he caught up to her before she reached her car. “I’ll drive you.” He didn’t expect her to agree outright, and as she shook her head, he grabbed the back of her arm and stopped her firmly.

She paused in place, but refused to turn and look at him. He leaned to her ear from behind her body. “I said I’ll drive you. You’re in no shape to drive, and I’m not going to let you take off in your car when you’re this upset.”

“Fuck you. I’m not upset, and I sure as hell don’t need your help.” Her head was turned toward him slightly as she muttered, and she still refused to face him. But he held his grip on her arm.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help, Brit.” She pulled, but he pulled back. He pulled her body back tight to his, and clasped his free hand on her hip, feeling the protrusion of her hip bone against his fingers. She whimpered, but she didn’t fight it. When he leaned to her ear again, he spoke quiet, soothing words in her ear. “Let me help you, Brit.” And as he spoke the words, her head tilted toward him. She sank against his body as he moved his hand from her hip to the front of her abdomen. He splayed his fingers out on her stomach, claiming his place on her body. He released his hold on her arm and moved his other hand to her neck, running down the side of her neck to her shoulder to hold her firmly.

When he brushed a gentle kiss on the side of her temple where the knot was bruising more by the second, she didn’t pull away. She was melting into his body just as he wanted her too. He enjoyed her fleeting softness more than he cared to admit. He thrilled at being the one to support her when her strength failed. She was so exceptionally strong and controlled, but she wasn’t infallible, and he yearned to be the one she could submit to when she needed it.

He led her by the arm to his SUV and helped her climb into the passenger seat. When he started the car and pulled out into traffic, he reached for her hand. She froze in place and glanced at him. She looked startled, but after a moment, she pushed past it and relaxed. He held her hand clasped strongly in his the entire ride to the hospital. Her thoughts were off in some distant place. She was lost in her mind, feeling pain he couldn’t possibly understand, and he felt more helpless than he’d felt in more centuries than he could recall. Was this what it felt like to give a shit? If it was, he couldn’t say he was fan. But he also couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it.

When they arrived, he walked behind her shoulder without touching her. She said nothing to him, and he didn’t want to intrude on this part of her life. He wanted to see it, but he felt out of his depth. Angus’ own family was something he lost the moment he transitioned. He had come from a wealthy Irish family, one of a handful of leading aristocratic families during that period five centuries before, and he’d had no place with them once he became immortal. He left everyone of them behind to age and die without ever looking back. His family had been distant and cold to him even when he was living, a byproduct of being consumed with wealth and power. It had been an easy tie to sever. But he was always intrigued by the strong bond of family that he’d never experienced, even those fraught with pain and sadness such as Brit’s.

She stopped and spoke with an intake nurse who pointed her in the right direction, and as they rode up in an elevator to the floor her mother had been moved to after spending time in the ER, she said nothing. She stared at the floor, and he watched her. She was more than unreadable at the moment, so he just studied her, trying to get a handle on what she was experiencing.

As they exited the elevator, she stopped and spoke to him. “You don’t have to stay.” She still wasn’t looking at him.

“I drove you. I’ll wait for you.” She looked at him quickly before she turned and walked down the hall toward her mother’s room. He caught sight of the woman in the hospital bed as Brit entered her room, but he stayed out in the hall, taking a place on the bank of chairs just outside.

He’d only caught a quick glimpse of the woman, but it was enough to imprint the image in his mind. Brit looked like her mother, but where her mother looked aged and hardened, Brit was still youthful and healthy. Her mother’s skin looked dusky and as though it’d had the subcutaneous fat sucked out of it, leaving only a wrinkly, shriveled-up husk of a body. And it wasn’t aging either. There was a difference between healthy aging wrinkles, and the sickly pallor of someone who’d treated their body as though it was a punching bag. Her mother couldn’t be more than fifty or so, but she looked far older. Her hair was limp and frizzy, and her eyes sunken into her skull. It was a disturbing thing to see someone who looked so much like Brit but so destroyed and sick. It made it quite easy, in fact, to imagine Brit aging and sickening over time, and it struck his gut like a fist to consider it.

How could any of his kind ever consider following a human through life to their death? Truman would have easily done so for Ember, but it was a maddening thought. Brit was too stunning and vibrant to watch this happen to. When Brit suddenly emerged, he stood quickly. She’d only been with her mother for five or ten minutes at most, and now she stood ready to leave. Her face was emotionless and slack, completely unreadable.

He followed her again as they left and back out to his car. And when he pulled into traffic, she got lost in her mind as she stared out the window again. He knew where she lived, but he let her give him directions in a flat, monotonous tone, and after he pulled up to her townhouse, he put the car in park. She didn’t immediately move but stared out the front window for a moment. When she turned to him, she met his eyes for the first time in longer than he could recall. But it was he who looked away. All he could see was her mother looking back; Brit’s own mortality was staring him in the face, and he despised it. She mumbled her thanks before opening the door and stepping from the car.

He watched her walk to her door, desiring her beauty, but hating how fragile she was. He knew he was on a precipice and he didn’t like it. This was Truman’s type of battle, not his. Caring wasn’t an option. Going after her meant entirely more than he was ready to deal with. It meant he gave a shit and was willing to set himself up for losing her. Why the hell would anyone do that to themselves? He shook his head, muttered to himself, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he watched her mount her steps to the door. His jaw was tight and painfully clenched. Why couldn’t he just fuck her and call it a day? Why couldn’t it be enough? He didn’t want to care that she was human and delicate. He didn’t want to care at all. And muttering a final
fuck!
to the empty space around him, he threw his car into gear and drove away. He was no Truman.

Chapter 12

When the warmth of her townhouse enveloped her body, she suddenly felt exhausted and ready to escape into a deep sleep. It wasn’t the first time her mother had OD’d, but it was the first time she’d fallen into a coma for two days as a result. Watching someone die in front of you at their own choosing was maddening. She wanted to slap the woman, yell at her, but she knew it would do no good. She’d yelled plenty at the woman in her life; it never did any good. Brit had just never been important enough for her to change. She knew that wasn’t really true. She knew addiction had a hold on her that took that decision out of her mother’s hands, but it didn’t matter. It had always hurt, regardless of the battle her mother fought.

She wasn’t happy to see Angus go. She wasn’t sure why, especially after the dream she’d had of him and their time at the precinct after. But he’d given her something she’d needed, something no one had given her before. Strength. Brit always found her own. It was usually contrived to some degree, but she forced her body forward when terror gripped her heart, but not on this day. This day he’d given her the support she’d needed. It was silent, unasked for, but powerful. And the key behind it was that she’d let him. Why had she let him?

She poured herself a glass of wine before tackling the answering machine. Oddly, she was actually afraid to listen to the messages. She knew what was on there, but … it was like facing a monster, standing at the stupid old box that she’d failed to replace with voice mail. She found it far too easy to ignore the damn thing, and when she pushed the Play button, she gulped down a big swig of wine.

“This message is for Brit Sutton. Please call Massachusetts General. It is regarding a patient Jackie Sutton.” Beep.

“This is Massachusetts General again, Ms. Sutton. Please return out call as soon as possible.” Beep.

“Ms. Sutton, it is very important that you call us regarding your mother.” She advanced through that one on her own. Beep.

“Brit … Brit … if you’re there will you please pick up. I’m in the hospital. I … uh … guess I’ll try you later…” Her mother’s voice, weak after two days in a coma. Beep.

Brit sank to the floor and cried. She held her glass in her hand, sitting on the kitchen floor like a kid ready to the throw a temper tantrum. She was being pathetic, but she didn’t care. She was a lousy daughter. She was a lousy daughter, and her mother was a lousy mother. She took another big swig of wine as she sniffled and felt sorry for herself. Who the hell was she to think she could handle this life. Maybe she just wasn’t strong enough to deal with it all. She felt weak; she felt like an imposter; she felt as though she was pretending to be an adult in a job that required responsibility and control, but she had none of it. She was a fraud.

When there was a knock on her door, she ignored it for a moment. But then thinking of her answering machine and just what can happen when she ignored the world around her, she climbed from the floor and stumbled to the door. She pulled it open to the cold winter night outside and gasped. He was there in front of her.

Her face was streaked with dry tears that left her cheeks feeling as though they were cracking when her face scrunched up and her forehead wrinkled. He swiftly pulled her into his arms and back into her home, closing the door behind him. He shushed her as she cried into his neck, and he carried her to her bedroom, sitting with her in his lap as he pulled the bedding back. He held her and let her cry against him, stroking the skin on the back of her neck, and she allowed it. She allowed all of it. She allowed her tears to fall in front of a man. She allowed him to hear her quiet sobs, and she allowed him to see just how vulnerable she really was.