Immortal Flame (22 page)

Without snowshoes, he post-holed every step. He might be strong, but deep snow slowed even him down. His muscles ached, an unusual sensation. His arms full with Quincy, he concentrated on his foot placement.

A smear of fresh blood on a tree trunk near the outlet of Aneroid Lake reminded him to stay alert. Anton could be anywhere. Although he hoped the man had gone to ground to lick his wounds, no one was safe as long as that monster walked this Earth.

Quincy had finally woken up and Allie gave her some water, but the exhausted girl had fallen back to sleep immediately. He didn't have to ask what Allie thought of Quincy's condition. Alarm had lines etched on her face, a pinched expression of deep concentration. But there was nothing else to be done—they simply had to hurry.

What were Bryce and Sarah going through with their daughter missing? He had always wanted a child of his own. Maybe he was a cold-blooded killer now, but damned if he'd let something happen to this child.

• • •

Allison jogged the last hundred yards to the trailhead and blinked back tears. She paused, trying to sense Anton, but her exhausted mind refused to cooperate. If she weren't so tired, she would've been irritated by her powers' illogical, capricious impulses. As it stood, all she wanted was to get in the car.

Peter cradled Quincy, his stubbled jaw clenched as he scanned the area.

He would've been a wonderful father if he'd ever been given the opportunity.

“Think Anton's gone?” she asked. “I can't tell. My radar isn't picking anything up right now.”

Peter turned in a slow circle. “I don't think he's here.”

They dashed across the trailhead parking area. She opened her car with a spare key she kept hidden under the back bumper, her own set of keys buried under tons of rock. The sedan that had been parked in the lot was long gone, the tire tracks now light indentations in the foot or so of snow on the road. She shuddered at the spots of blood tinting the snow. Anton was still out there somewhere.

Peter turned the heat on high as the car warmed up, and she buckled herself and Quincy into the back seats before turning on her cell phone. As expected, no service.

“I'll call Bryce and Sarah as soon as we get a signal,” she said, pillowing Quincy's head in her lap.

He nodded, glancing into the back seat. He drove away, and she willed him to hurry.

As they passed through the town of Joseph, she dialed her sister. “Sarah? We found Quincy.” She held the phone away as her sister screamed. “We're taking her straight to the hospital. She'll be okay, but she's pretty dehydrated and has hypothermia.”

Sarah mumbled on the other end of the phone, then there was silence and a pause.

Bryce's rough voice sounded like he hadn't slept. “Al?”

“Bryce, hi. Quincy's here. We're in my car, passing through Joseph. Peter's driving. We're making good time.”

“I'm going to help.” Bryce explained his plan.

“We'll be on the lookout.”

“What was that all about?” Peter raised his eyebrow in the rearview mirror.

“Bryce is sending a police escort to bring us into town.”

She had one more call to make. “Marcie? It's Doctor Al. Who's on today?”

“Buddy's on. Where are you?”

Allison put force behind her request. “Can I speak with him right this minute?”

There was a pause until her colleague came on the line.

“Buddy, it's Al. I have my niece, Quincy, coming in. She was out in the snow all day yesterday and most of last night. We warmed her up, but she's still out of it and looks dehydrated. An old mine collapsed on us, but I don't think anything's broken.”

All business, Buddy asked for basic vitals and observations.

Allison conveyed what she knew, then added, “I haven't mentioned the part about the mine collapse to her parents yet, so if you can hold off on that information for now, that would be great. We'll be there in forty minutes or so.”

Turning off the phone, she leaned her head on the seat back. Meeting Peter's reflection in the rearview mirror, she said, “Buddy's a great doctor. He'll have everything ready when we get there.”

The fine lines around his eyes crinkled. “I thought you were a great doctor.”

“I'm nothing compared to Buddy. He's seen it all.” She sighed and relaxed against the seat. Opening one eye, she grinned at Peter. “Well, maybe not everything.”

After dropping off Quincy in the crowd of emergency personnel at the front door of the ER, Allison and Peter walked through the sliding doors. The clank of metal IV poles banging into an instrument stand competed with Buddy's firm, loud orders. The emergency team, like a well-rehearsed orchestra, stabilized Quincy.

Allison leaned against the trauma door and met Buddy's eyes. “Need help?”

He glanced up. “No, we're good here. She's perking up. Go get some rest, Al. You look dead on your feet.”

Next to her, Peter stiffened.

“I'd like to wait a while to make sure Quincy's okay,” she said.

Buddy called out more orders to nurses and then grinned at Allison. “Then go get cleaned up. You smell funny.”

When she took a few steps down the hall, her rubbery legs threatened to give out from under her. All of a sudden, even the effort to stand up became too much.

Peter cupped her elbow. “I'll help.”

It had to be exhaustion that weakened her knees. She would
not
feel anything for him, even if he did save Quincy's life, even if the heat of his hand flowed up her arm and into her chest. And she most definitely did not want to know what the rough stubble of his jaw felt like under her lips.

What right did she have to want him close to her? She had rejected him. She had hurt him and then used him. Shame heated her neck. Her heart thudded. He deserved an explanation, and she had no adequate explanation to offer.

Once in the doctor's lounge, he settled in the recliner with a happy groan, picking up the remote. Hilarious. Here was a man born in the early 1900s, but clearly comfortable with the remote control and an easy chair. Maybe some things were timeless … or genetic.

In her locker she found her spare pair of underwear and a bra. Grabbing a set of scrubs and a towel, she closed the door to the restroom, turned on the hot shower, and stood in the spray as her tired muscles unknotted. It took three washes to get the embedded silt-like dust out of her skin, but finally she felt human again, clean and warm all over.

Relaxed, she exited the restroom in a cloud of steam and then stopped. Peter met her gaze and his eyes darkened. A muscle in his jaw jumped. In the space of time it took to blink, he stood in front of her, only inches away.

She forgot to breathe.

When he shifted his stance, thigh muscles bunched beneath the worn denim jeans, and his blood-stained, torn shirt stretched across his broad chest. The cords in his forearms rolled as his hands fisted and relaxed. He stood silently, watching her.

Her rejection remained an invisible barrier between them.

Time to put on the big girl britches
.

She took a deep breath.

“Peter, I owe you an apology.”

Swallowing hard, she met his dark brown, speculative gaze and cringed when his brows rose. Disbelief, probably. She couldn't blame him.

Her stomach knotted. “I had no right to judge you. With everything you've been through, your sacrifice for Claire … ”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

She flinched at the whip-like lash of his words. “You can't change who you are or what you've been forced to do in the past. If I were faced with a decision like you had with Claire, I would've done the exact same thing.”

He said nothing for over a minute. Allison squirmed.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “And you got hurt up on the mountain because I used you to help get Quincy.”

The sharp edge of his voice cut through the still air. “You're apologizing to me?”

Her face burned. “I haven't used anyone like that before, and I am ashamed of my actions. I am truly sorry, Peter.”

“Is this a joke?” he said.

Shame descended in a hot cloud. “I shouldn't have acted that way. That's not me, that's not my character. Well, I suppose it is now, but generally I try to accept most folks for who they are. I broke that rule in a big way—”

He sliced his hand through the air, cutting her off. “Don't apologize. Not to me. Not ever. I'm the one that took advantage of you, pushed you too far. And I'm the murderer, remember?” His laugh sounded hollow.

She rocked back on her heels. “I believe I threw myself at you of my own free will.”

“I was pretty rough.”

“Did it sound like I was complaining?”

Tension radiated from every inch of his tall frame. “What about my criminal behavior?”

She studied his sincere, somber face. “Not to excuse taking someone else's life, but it sounds like you haven't had a choice in the matter over all these years.”

“It's still not good.”

“Neither is my predicting people dying all over the place.”

“But you can't help it.”

“Exactly.” She peered up into his fathomless eyes and stepped toward him.

He gripped her arms, pushing her out to arm's length. “Allie, I can't—”

Standing on tiptoes, she pulled his head down to kiss him, reveling in the heat from his mouth. His rigid spine relaxed as he leaned toward her. Groaning, he returned the kiss, snaked a rock-hard arm around her waist and pulled her flush to him.

He drew back, jaw muscles clenching spasmodically. “I have nothing to offer. You need something more. I'm barely a man, and one with no future.”

“I'm not asking you for any future. Just right now.” The truth of those words surprised her. “And my baggage isn't a bargain either.”

“You're sure?”

She nodded.

“Anyone use this doctor's lounge much?”

“Only the OB and ER docs.”

“Anyone in labor?”

“Nope.”

A whoosh of air escaped her as Peter swung her up into his arms.

“Then at least I can do things right this time.”

“You didn't—”

He covered her protest with his mouth, holding her securely. Growling, he nipped at her lips. A flame flared deep inside her. Allison wiggled, trying to move into better position to participate, but he held her tightly, his mouth plundering hers. He strolled to the sleep room, shut and locked the door, and settled her on the twin-sized bed as though she were made of the finest china.

When he ran his strong hands through her hair, fanning it over the comforter, his touch on her scalp sent bursts of excitement into her depths. Their connection exploded into full swirling tempest. His desire, his tension, his need—she felt it all in her own mind. She shifted, wanting more, and reached for his shirt. He stilled her hands.

“You first.”

He pulled her scrub top up and off. Putting his mouth to her lace bra, he swirled his tongue over her nipple. She gasped at the hot dampness of his mouth on the fabric. He moved to the other side, nibbling through the lace. Cupping her breast, he pinched and rolled her nipple, sending more delicious tingles coursing through her body. At his gentle bite on her breast, she throbbed deep in her groin and moved her hips, trying to relieve the building tension.

He trailed his hand down her abdomen. She shivered, but not from cold, because his hands were just this side of too hot. Her body pulsed for him.

“Roll over,” he demanded.

His low voice sent a wave of heat down her spine to her toes. She complied, and he brushed her hair to the side.

Allison froze as he undid her bra clasp and smoothed his hands over her waist, stopping at the band of her scrub pants. Goosebumps rose over her back. The suppressed power of his legs clamped around her hips juxtaposed the gentleness of his fingertips as he created lazy patterns. Relaxed and aroused, she sighed. His amazing lips and teeth would drive her mad, so slowly did he lick his way up and down her spine.

With a low moan, Peter helped her turn over, peeling away the bra. He traced circles over her breasts with the pads of his thumbs as he leaned forward to kiss her deeply. His strong lips nudged her mouth open wide, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. His mouth demanded, probed, held her in place.

After her head stopped swimming, she returned his passion, tangling her tongue with his. He squeezed her breasts in response, absorbing her quick, excited breaths as she thrashed on the bed beneath him.

Rolling to the side, Peter ran a hand under the waistband of her scrubs inching lower. His hot skin seared her in a path downward.

Allison's hips rose eagerly toward his touch.

He smiled as he cupped her damp curls, teasing her entrance. His eyes were black as midnight.

She locked her gaze onto him as he pulled her scrubs and panties off with one firm tug. When she reached for him, he held her hands away, turning her palms downward on the covers.

“Don't touch me yet. Please.” He bit out.

She shuddered when he explored with his lips down her abdomen and lower. She arched toward him, desperate for more.

“Peter, I need—”

“I know.”

Intense desire speared through her as he nudged her legs far apart. When he spread the delicate tissue, Allison was completely vulnerable and open. She grasped the bedding as he stroked her. Dampness pooled between her thighs. When he dipped a large finger inside, her muscles clenched.

He held his hand still. Once she relaxed, he slowly curled his finger again, swirls of sensation building up again.

That guttural moan couldn't be hers, could it?

When his obsidian stare met hers, the intensity took her breath away. He removed his hand, grasped her buttocks, and lifted her hips off the bed. With a mischievous smile, he licked his lips and then plunged his mouth into her core.