Touch of Darkness (13 page)

Is she dead? A single voice separated itself from the hive. I don’t know how, but I knew it was Carlton. Lewis Carlton was a former NBA all-star and current Thrall queen. He was huge, he was tough, and he was not someone you wanted to mess with. Despite all that, I liked him.

Not yet. Why does it matter to you?

This, too, was a single voice addressing an individual. That was…different. It almost felt as if the entire collective had changed. Before, when my mind had brushed theirs, every decision, every thought had taken a moment or two, as it passed through the entire group of queens, and their collective reactions were sorted into a single well-thought-out plan almost as quickly as an individual mind could think. There was a sense of separate will there, too, and white-hot rage that was far more personal than anything I’d ever felt from the hive. In fact, the impressions I was getting from them were much more what I’d felt from the late, unlamented Monica Mica—the Thrall queen who’d held enough of a personal grudge to risk everything to infest me.

My mind instinctively pulled away from the collective at that thought. Monica was dead, but she’d been stark, raving mad. If another like her had taken over the collective mind—It didn’t bear thinking about. Worse, I couldn’t risk letting her/it/them know that I knew.

Carlton’s voice came through again. If she doesn’t die, there’ll be hell to pay. She protects her people, just like we protect ours. Are you afraid of her? The interior voice was scornful.

Not afraid. But I do respect her. She’s killed Larry, Monica, the abomination, and Samantha Greeley—everybody she’s come up against. By underestimating her, you risk us all. There are plenty of other babies, from other packs. But this baby was perfect. Exactly what we need for my plans to work. It was worth the risk. I can handle Kate. I felt a chill that would’ve made me shudder had my body been able to respond. The voice sounded so smug, so very confident.

PAIN! Instant, white-hot, powerful, centered in my chest. It brought me back to my body in a rush, and my eyes popped open. I tried to scream, but couldn’t quite manage. Not that it mattered. The baby in Dusty’s arms was screaming enough for both of us and then some. I could hear him, could see the tented roof of the airport towering above the faces of the EMTs. Apparently I’d missed things. Lots of things. Dusty had the baby. That was good. But she was pale and wide-eyed, her entire body shaking with a fine trembling as she clung to the tot like a lifeline. I tried to form words, but it was too hard. No air. It was as if a giant hand was squeezing my chest. I couldn’t seem to breathe against the pressure of it. Darkness ate at my vision. The last thing I heard was the heart machine as it emitted a long, steady warning bleat and the EMT’s shout.

“We’re losing her. Clear!”

I was in the back of a battered truck that stank of diesel fuel, sweat, and fear. Half a dozen people were crammed into the small space behind the boxes of produce that had been stacked to the ceiling to simulate a full load. One of my fellow passengers, a white- haired man, old, but tough and sinewy, was talking in Spanish to a boy of about fourteen. I didn’t know what he was saying. What little Spanish I’d taken in school didn’t cover situations like this.

I shifted uncomfortably. The ride was miserable, made more so from the fact that I needed to piss. Not that I’d get the chance any time soon. I shifted positions, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing the woman next to me. She was dozing fitfully. I wished I could. I was too miserable, too afraid to let myself relax that much. Quit bitching and be grateful. It could be worse. You got out. You’re alive. Once you get back across the border you can get the information to Mike, let Katie and Joe know you’re all right, get back to your life. One step at a time. Bryan? Is that you?

I felt the realization that I was there, in his thoughts, hit my brother like a blow. Katie! Oh, God. Is it you? Look, you have to tell Mike. He was right. I have the proof. I got away but they’re after me. Who’s after you? What proof?

I struggled to hold onto the connection, but it was fraying fast. Vision went first, then sound. Instead of the closed confines of the panel truck, I was in an elevator, on a gurney with IVs strapped to my arm. I could hear the EMT

breathing a sigh of relief. “She’s back.” I wanted to scream, this time with frustration. But though I could still taste stale air and sweat on my tongue, there was no going back. The connection was broken, and I was too tired, too weak, to reforge it.

TO MOST PEOPLE, one emergency room looks pretty much like the next. Sadly, I’ve seen enough of them to be able to tell the difference. They’d taken me to Denver General rather than one of the other hospitals. I was a little surprised. Usually you go to the closest, unless you need a trauma center. Then they’ll probably go for DG. Since this wasn’t a gunshot wound, stabbing, or major car wreck, I would’ve expected to be taken to the new place they built out here by the airport.

Not that it mattered. It just surprised me; gave me something to think about besides fantasies of throttling my brother Bryan, Michael, Dylan … let’s see, was there anybody else?

As if in answer to my question, Joe appeared.

Ah yes, Joseph. If my elder brother hadn’t looked like something the cat dragged in I probably would’ve lit into him. Because I was pretty sure, really almost positive, that he’d manipulated me into that last fight we had so that he wouldn’t have to explain to me what the hell Bryan was doing. Worse, it had worked. Unfortunately, I’m just not good at kicking someone when they’re down. And he was. I could tell by the way his shoulders slumped, and the fact that he’d actually come out in public wearing paint-splattered sweat pants and a torn gray tee-shirt. The fabric of the trousers bulged oddly in places because of the braces he had to wear to walk. Samantha Greeley had taken him, tortured him to get to me. Mary, Tom, and I had managed to rescue him and kill her, but he’d never be the same. The scars on his abdomen were hideous, and he’d never walk normally and without pain again. But even at that he counted himself lucky. He wasn’t dead, and he hadn’t been paralyzed like Mike was. Someday he might even be able to sleep without nightmares.

Unlike me.

Today his hair was unkempt, his jaw sported stubble, and there were circles as dark as bruises beneath his eyes. Still, you can take the doc from the ER, but you won’t get the ER out of the doc. The first thing he did when he stepped through those curtains was grab the clipboard with my information and review the treatment notes. Apparently they were doing everything right, because he gave a little grunt of approval and slipped the clipboard back into the little plastic file holder they had mounted on the wall next to the bed.

“Can you move yet?”

I could, but it still wasn’t easy. Whatever they’d given me had been potent stuff. I managed a nod, and to shift a little in bed so that I could see him more clearly.

“You were lucky.” He bent down and started adjusting the pillows behind my back to make me more comfortable.

“One of the EMTs recognized you, knew you were human and wouldn’t be able to process the drugs like a lycanthrope. They gave you something to counteract the worst of the effects almost immediately. Otherwise, you’d be dead.” He shook his head, and a surprisingly gentle smile crossed his face. He reached down, and planted a light kiss on my forehead. “But you did it again. You saved the day. The baby’s back with his mother. Tom and Rob will be fine in a few hours. Dusty is watching over them. Whatever the vamps were trying, you stopped ‘em cold.”

I wanted to say I didn’t; I hadn’t; that they had gotten what he wanted. Whatever that was. Instead, what came out of my mouth was some sort of a croak with all vowel sounds. Apparently the small muscles involved in speech weren’t up and running yet.

He reached over to hook one of the metal stools the doctors use with his left hand and pulled it close to the bed before pulling the blue fabric curtain closed. “Katie, there’s something I need to tell you.” He swallowed hard enough for me to watch his Adam’s apple bob. “You’re gonna be pissed about it. All I can say is I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” His voice cracked on the last words. Right then and there I forgave him. He was just hurting so bad. Besides, Joe never apologizes. His pride won’t allow for it. Bending this much deserved a reward. And I love him. So sue me. I fought for enough muscle control to move my hand toward him. It was more of a twitch than an actual movement, but he got the idea, and took my hand. The expression on his face was one of almost wonder. “You don’t even know what I did.”

“Bryan.” I tried to say the word. It came out more like “IA” but he understood that too. Maybe I’m not the only psychic in the family.

Joe took a deep breath, squeezing my hand tight, as if borrowing strength and courage from the contact. Looking furtively around to make sure nobody would overhear us over the bustle of emergency room traffic and the moaning of the woman a few cubicles down. He started talking in a furtive whisper, the words almost tumbling over themselves in his haste to get it said.

“There’s something wrong with the humans the vamps have brought back. Not all of them. The first ones seem just fine. But starting about six months ago something changed. They’re not themselves, not like Bryan is. And it’s especially true of the ones from powerful families. That Middle Eastern prince was one of the first to really notice. And because Michael is the head of the church’s zombie program, he talked to Mike about it.”

Joe’s eyes met mine, and I could see the guilt he was feeling reflected in his gaze. “Bryan’s the only zombie who wasn’t brought back by the vamps. The only one we could be sure wasn’t contaminated.”

That wasn’t quite true. I’d rescued a girl at the same time I’d saved my brother. Not that it mattered. From what I’d seen of the inside of her mind she wouldn’t risk a broken fingernail to save someone else, let alone her life. No, it made perfect sense that Mike had asked Bryan to look into it. And with everything Mike has done for Bryan and our family over the years there is no way he would refuse.

“He’s been sending e-mails or calling to check in every other day. Just to let us know he’s okay.”

Another deep breath, and his hand spasmed around mine so hard it hurt. “But we haven’t heard anything for three days now. Nothing. Mike’s inside informant says Bryan’s not there—that he’s just disappeared. The records say he checked himself out, but he didn’t. I’m scared, Katie. Really scared.”

I tried to form the words to reassure him, but my mouth just wouldn’t work. Only incomprehensible sounds came out. I tried using my psychic talent, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t get through to him. It was so incredibly frustrating. I pushed as hard as I could, and only succeeded in setting off all of the monitoring machines so that the nurses came running in. They shooed him away, and he let them. By the time they’d calmed down, and the machines were back to their normal beeping, he was gone.

10

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Even with the drugs they gave me to counteract the tranq and paralytic it took hours longer for me to get back to normal than it did the wolves. In the meantime the press had a field day. Somehow or another they managed to get hold of the 9-1-1 recording and video surveillance tapes from the airport that showed the abduction and my panicdriven dash through the concourse. I was a hero. Of course it didn’t keep the police from politely requesting my answers to questions about the abduction: over, and over, and over. The main sticking point was that the abductor looked like Dylan Shea. You’ll note I didn’t say it was Dylan. Not to the cops. Nope, nope, nope. Dylan Shea was dead and buried. You don’t accuse a dead man of kidnapping. But I could say he looked like Dylan. Even that was enough to net me plenty of extra attention, and to have them check with the docs to see if the drugs could cause hallucinations. As it turned out, they could. Which meant every word out of my mouth was suspect. Of course, that didn’t keep them from questioning me. In fact, by the time they were finished with me I felt as though I’d been through the wringer. I knew they were only doing their job, but I wished they’d get done with it already. I wanted to see Tom. I needed to see him. Yes, it was silly. Intellectually I knew he was all right, that the drags had worn off and he was outside the room somewhere waiting for me. But intellectuality be damned. I wanted to be held. I wanted to smell his aftershave, and the scent of his skin, feel his arms around me as he told me everything was going to be all right. Wussie of me, but I didn’t, don’t care. Besides, we needed to make some decisions. It was already late afternoon and God alone knew what had happened to my luggage. That was an unwelcome thought. Because if those clothes were gone I was so screwed. Everything at the house had been exposed to the weather for days. If my bags were gone I was left with only what was left of the clothes I’d been wearing this morning. Considering I was currently in a hospital gown I couldn’t even be sure they’d survived. And oh, damn. The wedding rings were in Tom’s bag. If they were gone I was going to be really, truly upset.

“Ms. Reilly.” The ER doctor stepped through the curtains as the cops were stepping out. He’d been working on me for a while, but this was the first time I’d felt well enough to really look at him. He probably stood six foot two, thin, and balding. What hair he had was that sandy shade between blond and brown, as were his brows. The lashes that framed his hazel eyes were practically invisible behind a set of thick rimless glasses. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in freckles. He had my clipboard in his left hand and a pen in his right. “I think you’re ready to be released. I don’t see any need to keep you overnight, so long as you have someone staying with you—as you obviously do.”

I found myself blushing. From his tone of voice I could tell that Tom had been making his presence known. Normally he’s very laid back. But don’t push him. And he is very, very protective of me. And of course Joe was here, and he’s just so subtle.

The doctor smiled, but it didn’t warm his features. It was a reflex only, bedside manner, not something he really felt.