Lover Unleashed (8 page)

Among the galling shockers of the whole thing was the fact that Jane had saved so many people who’d been in car wrecks. The idea that she’d been taken in that very way had seemed like Grim Reaper payback for all the souls she’d snatched out of the bony-handed reach of death.

The sound of another train whistle made him want to scream.

That and his cocksucking pager going off.

Hannah Whit. Again?

Who the hell—

Manny frowned and glanced at the headstone. Jane’s younger sister had been Hannah, if he recalled correctly. Whit. Whitcomb?

Except she had died young.

Hadn’t she?

Mad. Pacing.

God, she should have brought her track shoes for this, Jane thought as she marched around Manny’s place. Again.

She would have left his condo if she’d had a better idea of where to go, but even her brain, as sharp as it was, couldn’t seem to throw out another option—

Her phone ringing was not exactly good news. She didn’t want to tell Vishous that forty-five minutes later she still had nothing to report.

She took out her cell. “Oh . . . God.”

That number. Those ten digits that she’d had on speed dial on every phone she’d owned before this one.
Manny.

As she hit
send
, her mind was blank and her eyes filled with tears. Her dear old friend and colleague . . .

“Hello?” he said. “Ms. Whit?”

In the background, she heard a dim whistle.

“Hello? Hannah?” That tone . . . it was just the same as it had been a year ago: low, commanding. “Anyone there?”

That quiet whistle sounded again.

Jesus Christ . . . , she thought. She knew where he was.

Jane hung up and flashed herself out of his condo, out of downtown, out past the suburbs. Traveling in a blur at the speed of light, her molecules went through the night in a twirling, swirling rush that covered miles as if they were but inches.

Pine Grove Cemetery was the kind of place you needed a map of, but when you were ether in the air, you could case a hundred acres in a heartbeat and a half.

As she came out of the darkness by her grave, she took a halting breath and nearly sobbed. There he was in the flesh. Her boss. Her colleague. The one she’d left behind. And he was standing over a black headstone that had her name carved in its face.

Okay, now she knew she’d made the right decision not to go to her funeral. The closest she had come was reading about it in the
Caldwell Courier Journal
—and the picture of all those surgeons and hospital staff and patients had all but snapped her in half.

This was so much worse.

And Manny looked exactly how she felt: ruined on the inside.

Jesus, that aftershave of his still smelled good . . . and in spite of having lost some weight, he was still handsome as sin, with that dark hair and that hard face. His suit was perfectly tailored and pin-striped—but it had dirt around the cuffs of the precisely pressed slacks. And his loafers were likewise soiled, making her wonder where the hell he’d been. He certainly hadn’t picked it up from the grave site. After a year, the soil was packed down and covered with grass—

Oh, wait. Her plot had probably looked like this from day one. She hadn’t left behind anything to bury.

As his fingers rested on the stone, she knew he had to have been the one to pick the thing out. Nobody else would have had the sense to get her exactly what she would have wanted. Nothing froufrou or wordy. Short, sweet, to the point.

Jane cleared her throat. “Manny.”

His head shot up, but he didn’t look over at her—as if he were convinced that he’d heard her speak only in his mind.

Making herself fully corporeal, she spoke louder. “Manny.”

Under any other circumstances, the response would have been a laugh riot. He wheeled around, then shouted out, tripped over her headstone, and landed flat on his ass.

“What the . . . hell . . . are you doing here?” he gasped. The expression on his face started as horror, but shifted quickly to utter disbelief.

“I’m sorry.”

It was entirely lame, but that was all that came out of her mouth.

And so much for thinking on her feet. Meeting those brown eyes of his, she suddenly had nothing to say.

Manny sprang to his feet, and his dark stare went up and down her body. And up and down. And up . . . to lock on her face.

That was when the anger came. And a headache, evidently, given the way he winced and rubbed his temples. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No.” She wished it were. “I’m so sorry.”

His vicious frown was achingly familiar, and what an irony to go nostalgic about a glower like that. “You’re
sorry
.”

“Manny, I—”

“I
buried
you. And you’re
sorry
? What the
fuck
is this?”

“Manny, I don’t have time to explain. I need you.”

He glared at her for a long moment. “You show up after a year of being
dead
and you
need
me?”

The reality of how much time had passed weighed on her. On top of everything else. “Manny . . . I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Oh, really? Other than, oh, b.t.w. I’m alive.”

He stared at her. Just stared at her.

Then in a hoarse voice, he said, “Do you have any idea what losing you has been like?” He quickly brushed a hand over his eyes. “Do you?”

The pain in her chest made it hard to breathe. “Yes. Because I lost you . . . I lost my life with you and the hospital.”

Manny started to pace, going back and forth in front of her headstone. And although she wanted to, she knew not to get too close.

“Manny . . . if there had been a way to come back to you, I would have.”

“You did. Once. I thought that was a dream, but it wasn’t. Was it.”

“No.”

“How’d you get into my condo?”

“I just did.”

He stopped and looked at her, her gravestone between them. “Why did you do it, Jane? Why fake your death?”

Well, she hadn’t, actually. “I don’t have time to explain now.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here. How about you explain that.”

She cleared her throat. “I’ve got a patient who’s over my head and I want you to come have a look. I can’t tell you where I’ve got to take you and I can’t give you a lot of details and I know this is not fair . . . but I
need
you.” She wanted to tear her hair out. Fall down weeping. Hug him. But she just kept going because she simply had to. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour, so I’m out of time. I know you’re pissed off and confused and I don’t blame you. But be mad at me later—just come with me now.
Please
.”

All she could do was wait. Manny was not somebody you talked into things, and you couldn’t persuade him. He would make the choice . . . or he wouldn’t.

And if the latter was the case, unfortunately, she was going to have to call the Brothers. As much as she loved and missed her old boss, Vishous was her man, and she’d be goddamned if she was letting anything happen to his sister.

One way or the other, Manny was going to be operating tonight.

FIVE

B
utch O’Neal was not the kind of guy to leave a lady in distress.

It was the old-school in him . . . the cop in him . . . the devout, practicing Catholic in him. That being said, in the case of the phone call he’d just had with the lovely and talented Dr. Jane Whitcomb, chivalry didn’t play into his get-up-and-go. Not in the slightest.

As he beat feet out of the Pit, and all but ran through the underground tunnel to the Brotherhood’s training center, his interests and hers were totally aligned even without regard to the whole “be a gentleman” thing: They were both terrified that V was going to spin out of control again.

The earmarks were already there: All you had to do was look at him and you could see that the lid on his Crock-Pot was bolting down hard over the heat and turmoil underneath. All that pressure? Had to get let out somehow, and in the past, it had been in the very messiest of ways.

Stepping through the hidden door and emerging into the office, Butch hung a right and barreled down the long corridor that led to the medical facilities. The subtle waft of Turkish tobacco in the air told him exactly where to find his target, but it wasn’t as if there had been any doubt.

At the examination room’s closed door, he snapped the cuffs of his Gucci shirt into place and jacked up his belt.

His knock was soft. His heartbeat was hard.

Vishous didn’t answer with a “come in.” Instead, the brother slipped out and closed the door behind himself.

Shit, he looked bad. And his hands shook ever so slightly as he rolled one of his coffin nails. While he was licking the thing closed, Butch dug into his pocket and supplied the lighter, flicking up a flame and holding it forward.

When his best friend leaned into the orange flare, he knew every tell in that cruel, impassive face.

Jane was absolutely right. The poor bastard was humming hard and holding it all in.

Vishous inhaled deep and then settled back against the cinderblock wall, eyes trained straight ahead, shitkickers planted solidly.

Eventually, the guy muttered, “You’re not asking how I am.”

Butch affected the same lean, right next to his boy. “Don’t have to.”

“Mind reader?”

“Yup. That’s me.”

V leaned to the side and tapped his ashes into the bin. “So tell me what I’m thinking, true?”

“You sure you want me to cuss this close to your sister?” When that got a short laugh, Butch stared at V’s profile. The tattoos around the guy’s eye were especially sinister, given the cloud of control that surrounded him like a nuclear winter.

“You don’t want me to guess out loud, V,” he said softly.

“Nah. Give it a shot.”

This meant V needed to talk but, in characteristic fashion, was wrapped too tight to squeeze it out: The male had always put the
shut it
in relating, but at least he was better than he’d been. Before? He wouldn’t have even cracked this door at all.

“She asked you to take care of her if this doesn’t work, didn’t she,” Butch said, voicing what he feared most. “And not in terms of palliative nursing.”

V’s response was an exhale that lasted abooooooout fifteen minutes past infinity.

“What are you going to do,” Butch said, even though he knew the answer.

“I won’t hesitate.” The
even though it will kill me
went unspoken.

Fucking life. Sometimes the situations it put people in were just too cruel.

Butch closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. Family was everything to vampires. Your mate, the brothers you fought with, your blood . . . that was your whole world.

And along that theory, as V suffered so did he. And Jane. And the rest of the Brotherhood.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.” Butch glanced at the closed door. “Doc Jane is going to find the guy. She’s a bulldog—”

“You know what dawned on me about ten minutes ago?”

“What.”

“Even if it hadn’t been daylight, she would have wanted to go alone to find the guy.”

As the male’s bonding scent wafted over, Butch thought, Well, duh. Jane and the surgeon had been tight for years, so if there was persuading to do, she’d have better luck on her own—assuming she could get past the whole back-from-the-dead thing. Plus V was a vampire. Hello. Like anyone needed another layer added to this mess?

And on that note, all things considered, it would be great if the surgeon were five feet tall, walleyed, and had bear hair on his back. Fugly was their only friend if V’s bonded male side was being triggered.

“No offense,” Butch murmured, “but can you blame her?”

“It’s my
twin
.” The guy raked a hand through his black hair. “Goddamn it, Butch . . . my
sister
.”

Butch knew more than a little something about how losing one felt, so yeah, he could feel the male on that front. And man, he was so not leaving the brother’s side: He and Jane were the only ones who had a prayer of derailing Vishous when he got like this. And Jane was going to have her hands full with that surgeon and her patient—

The sound of V’s cell phone going off made them both jump, but the Brother recovered fast and there wasn’t a second ring before he got it up to his ear.

“Yeah? You did? Thank . . . fuck . . . yeah. Yeah. I’ll meet you in the parking garage here. Okay.” There was a slight pause and V glanced over like he wished he were alone.

Desperate to make like thin air, Butch looked down at his Dior Homme loafers. The brother was never really into the PDA or talking personal stuff to Jane if there was an audience. But given that Butch was a half-breed, he couldn’t dematerialize and where the hell could he run to?

After V muttered a quick “bye,” he inhaled deep on his cig and muttered on the exhale, “You can stop pretending not to be next to me.”

“What a relief. I suck at it.”

“Not your fault you take up space.”

“So she got him?” As Vishous nodded, Butch got dead serious. “Promise me something.”

“What.”

“You won’t kill that surgeon.” Butch knew exactly what it was like to trip on the outside world and fall into this vampire rabbit hole. In his case, it had worked out, but when it came to Manello? “This is not the guy’s fault and not his problem.”

V flicked his butt into the bin and glanced over, his diamond eyes cold as an arctic night. “We’ll see how it goes, cop.”

With that, he pivoted and punched through into where his sister was.

Well, at least the SOB was honest, Butch thought with a curse.

Manny really didn’t like other people driving his Porsche 911 Turbo. In fact, short of his mechanic, no one else ever did.

Tonight, however, he’d allowed Jane to get behind the wheel because, one, she was competent and could shift without grinding his transmission into a stump; two, she’d maintained that the only way she could take him where they were going was if she were doing the ten-and-two routine; and three, he was still reeling from seeing someone he’d buried pop out of the bushes to hi-how’re-ya him.