Fever (9 page)

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Authors: Joan Swan

BOOK: Fever
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She released her shirt and shoved her hand into his line of sight. “This level of heat does not happen to everybody.”
“If you don’t want a scar, stay out of the way.” He nudged her hand to the side and continued stitching. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
As he made another stitch of her inner tissues, she tensed and turned her head away. Her fingers curled and released in the fabric of her shirt.
With her attention averted, Teague followed each stitch with long, steady pressure from the fingers of his free hand. He’d purposely chosen hand sanitizer instead of gloves because he’d never tried to heal through a barrier, and he wasn’t about to start now. And though he might not be able to wipe out her injury instantly, he could speed the healing and hinder scar formation while helping with pain relief. Of course, the whole sexual attraction thing that seemed to flow in its wake—that he hadn’t counted on.
As he steadied her skin and muscle for each double stitch, his subconscious kept whispering reminders of how soft and warm she was. Kept influencing him to peek at her supple belly and the swell of her breasts. He succumbed briefly to a vision of himself hovering over her, kissing his way up that belly toward those breasts, and the simmer in his body boiled to life. He imagined sinking down, pressing his body to hers, feeling all that satin skin against his own. He felt the supple play of her nipple against the roof of his mouth as he suckled, the roll of muscle and pressure of flesh as she arched against him in pleasure.
In the next instant, his traitorous mind replaced his own image with Luke’s. His fantasy shattered, as violent as boiling water on frozen glass.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah’s voice brought Teague back to where his hand hovered over her ribs. “Why’d you stop?”
He shook his head, clenched his teeth and resumed. “Just making sure I’m catching all the edges. It’s not going to look like a pretty package when I’m done. I’m exverting the edges so the skin won’t pucker and sink in, leaving a big divot. But it’ll invert on its own and heal flush.”
Hannah put one arm behind her head and watched Teague work.
“How long have you and Luke been together?” He hated the fact that he couldn’t keep these nagging questions inside. That he cared about the answers.
She didn’t immediately respond. Her brows furrowed, gaze steady on the ceiling. “I don’t know.” Her response came clipped and irritated. “I don’t keep track of that kind of thing.”
“Well, like weeks, months? What?”
“I supposedly hold some sort of leverage for you. Why don’t you already know this?”
“Why are you so evasive? Just answer the question.”
“I don’t know, a few, several ... a couple months ... maybe.”
He frowned at the bizarre answer. “Has he introduced you to Kat?”
“I work a lot. I don’t have much time to socialize.”
Halfway up the gash, Teague paused and took a closer look at Hannah’s face, trying to read her. “Some vague answers from someone who’s supposedly hot and heavy with the guy.”
Her light eyes flicked toward his. “Who told you that?”
“Friends.”
“I thought you didn’t have any friends.”
He looked away, irritated with her sharpness. Or maybe more irritated with the truth of the statement. Time for a change of subject.
Teague channeled all his focus, sent the heat down his arms, through his palms and into his fingertips as he slid his skin over hers, each pass healing another several hundred thousand cells at a time. “Am I hurting you?”
“Not much. Whatever you used for anesthetic is working.”
It’s called touch.
That topical junk had only been a prop. A scapegoat on which to lay the pain relief. Teague had learned how to hide his abilities years ago. His thoughts of the past brought his mind back around to Luke, to Kat, to all that had happened, to all that had gone wrong in his life.
Hannah closed her eyes on a half-sigh and laid her head back again. Supple muscle moved beneath velvet skin. Teague would have to be dead not to notice.
“What do you see in Luke, anyway?” The words were out before he had a chance at a second thought.
Her lashes lifted halfway. “By your tone I think the question you
wanted
to ask was what does
Luke
see in
me
.”
“Maybe. Since he broke up with ...”
Teague shook the thought of Keira from his mind. He would have liked nothing more than to call on his long-time friend for help in this situation. She would have been there in an instant. But Keira had left the fire service for the F.B.I. months before, which only increased her risk of personal and professional catastrophe if she was ever connected to him. And unlike Luke, Teague would never put her in a situation where she would be forced to choose.
“In recent years,” Teague continued, “he seems to prefer the meek, bombshell, save-me type.”
“And since you see me as obnoxious, plain and independent, you don’t think he could find anything about me attractive.”
Hardly. “You might be obnoxiously independent, but you are not the least bit plain.” A fact which pissed him off when he thought about it too much and led him to his next taunt. “You know he’s a player, don’t you? Doesn’t stay with any woman long and often goes back and forth between two or more?”
The emotion that passed through her eyes appeared more relieved than surprised or angry. “So? What makes you think I’m not a player, too?”
He shrugged, but something deep in his gut tingled the way it did when a situation wasn’t quite right. “Guess you just don’t strike me that way. How did you meet him if you work so much?”
“Why the twenty questions?” she snapped. “What is it about Luke that you’re so obsessed with? What do you think you’re going to gain by keeping me?”
That tingle in his gut grew into a burn. He paused mid-stitch and looked at her again. She answered too many questions with questions. She was too defensive, too evasive. Something she’d said earlier, something that had seemed offbeat at the time, popped to mind again. “What did you mean when you said I’d cut your professional throat?”
“When?”
“Inside, after that woman came up to us.”
She heaved a breath and closed her eyes. “I’m competing for my job against someone else. This other guy is a total manipulator. By the time I get back, he’ll have wormed his way into making everyone believe they can’t live without him.”
“You already have the job.” He knew at least that much from his hasty research, from the stories his teammates had told him on their occasional visits to the prison. “You’ve had it for two years. How can you be competing for it?”
“They’re cutting back. Only keeping one of us, and he’s got seniority. They’re letting one of us go in two weeks.”
“Where’s the competition? Seniority usually wins out. Why don’t they just let you go?”
Alyssa shot him another angry look. “Because I’m
better
. Way the hell better. I work my butt off while he schmoozes.” The anger seemed to drain her energy. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “He’s a frigging con man. No one like that is going to beat me.”
He admired her fight. Saw his own reflection in her struggle. And felt guilty for interfering in this important piece of her life, not to mention all the trauma and injury she’d sustained in the last few hours.
“Don’t worry.” He tied off the last stitch and cut the nylon. “I’ll have you back to your boyfriend and your job before you know it.”
“Then what? Where are you going? What are you going to do?”
Teague brought up an image of Kat’s face, those big, dark, sparkling eyes. He savored the idea of feeling her in his arms. The security of knowing where she was every moment of the day. The peace of having control over her safety, her growth, her well-being. The pure, unadulterated joy of hearing her laughter, experiencing her unconditional love.
A smile started in his soul and ended up on his face. “Then I disappear, and you’ll never have to see me again. I’ll be like a bad dream.”
She rolled onto her side and pushed herself to a sitting position. Her hands darted out and grabbed his. “Let me see your hands.”
He tugged back in automatic reaction, but she held firm. His smile vanished. “Why? Let go.”
“Let me see them, and I’ll let go.”
Exasperated, he turned his hands over and indulged her inspection. To humor her, not to feel her skin against his. Not to experience the gentle heat of her strong fingers. The pad of her index finger skimmed his palm, sending an erotic signal directly to his groin.
“Okay, enough.” Teague pulled out of her grasp. “See, no magic bullet. Just normal human parts. Now lie down so I can finish.”
“But—”
“No more buts, Hannah. Lie down.”
She stared at him with lingering questions in her eyes, but he was done. She was getting too curious and way too comfortable and, dammit, so was he. He needed to put a stop to all this small talk. And then get the hell away from her before he did something really stupid. Like told her the truth. Or found something else completely inappropriate to do with his mouth, like taste every inch of that glorious body.
She obviously sensed he was serious, because she obeyed.
Teague cleaned the wound with another dose of hydrogen peroxide, plastered it with Neosporin and bandaged her up tighter than he probably needed to. “There. It’s about time to pick up Taz.”
Hannah sat up and pulled her shirt over that tight belly. But this time she didn’t look at him. She didn’t touch him. And she sure as hell didn’t speak to him.
And that, he knew, was the way it should be. The only way it could be.
Just as he reached down and offered Hannah a hand getting to her feet, headlights swept over the truck’s rear entrance, darting beneath the partially open door like knives.
Teague shoved the supply bags to one side of the truck and turned to watch. Waited for them to either go off or retreat. But they remained on and focused on the truck.
Apprehension crept under Teague’s skin. He shifted toward Hannah, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Outside, a car door closed. Footsteps neared the lift gate.
His heart kicked into high gear. He pressed his mouth to Hannah’s silky-soft, floral-scented hair and murmured, “Do the smart thing here.”
S
EVEN
A
cid swirled in Teague’s stomach. This was it. Faced with the very confrontation he’d planned to avoid at all costs. And the question remained, did he have what it took to use the Glock if push came to shove?
“Follow my lead.” He took a breath and forced out the remaining words. “Or I’ll shoot him.”
Several raps on the metal door made Hannah jump. Teague tightened his arm around her.
“Hello?” a voice called. “Police. Anybody in there?”
“Yes, sir.” Teague lifted the rear door, then shaded his eyes against the headlights. The cop was young, early twenties with a face so clean-cut fresh he’d have been on the dessert menu in prison. No partner sat in the passenger’s seat of the unit, no additional unit hovered as backup. “Evening, officer.”
The cop’s hand hovered over the butt of his weapon. “Can I see your hands, please?”
Teague removed his arm from Hannah and held his hands out, palms up. Hannah lifted hers as well.
“Okay,” he said, hand easing away from his gun. “Just leave them where I can see them, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Teague relaxed his arms, but turned his hands so the clovers on his knuckles wouldn’t show.
“What are you two doing here tonight?”
“We’re moving this weekend.” Teague softened his voice into an eager-to-please tone. “Just stocking up on some supplies. Am I parked in a bad spot or something?”
“No.” The cop’s serious eyes assessed Hannah, who had her head turned to avoid the light, which, luckily, also hid the healing bruises on her other cheek. “We had a report of a possible abuse situation. I’m just checking the area. Are you all right, ma’am?”
Hannah lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the light and hesitated long enough to push bile up Teague’s throat. Finally, she said, “I’d be better if those lights were out of my face.”
Someday, he’d look back on this moment and laugh. Although this wasn’t the best time for her to show it, he had to admit, he liked this girl’s spunk.
“I’m sorry, officer.” He offered a contrite smile. “She’s a little ... stressed ... with the move.”
The young man shared Teague’s grin. “My wife and I almost divorced when we moved here so I could take this job. Where are you headed?”
“Keizer, Oregon.” Teague said the first thing that came to mind—his cellmate’s hometown. “Just south of Portland.”
“Pretty country.” The officer took another look at Hannah, then stepped to the side, allowing them to exit. “You two have a good night. Good luck with your move. I’ll wait until you’re safely on your way.”
Teague climbed from the truck and turned to help Hannah down, pulling her close to keep pressure off her injury.
“You can go to sleep now, honey,” he crooned as he walked her to the passenger’s door. “I know you’re tired.” He helped her into the cab and whispered, “Good job, Hannah. Don’t make any mistakes now, and he’ll go home to his wife.”
“Shut up.” The angry words scraped out of her throat. “I hate your manipulation. I hate what you stand for. I hate
you
.”
Her opinion shouldn’t sting, but it did. “You hate what you see. You don’t know anything about me.”
She laid her head on the seat and turned away, a clear gesture of disgust. Teague shut the door and waved to the officer before rounding the hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. When he reached over Hannah and cuffed her hand to the door, she turned her head the opposite way and pushed back into the seat as if she couldn’t get far enough away from him.
Better, he decided.
Teague kept his eyes on the cop in the side-view mirror as he dug beneath the dash and restarted the truck, connecting the wires by feel alone.
 
Hannah didn’t say a word as Teague slowed in the lousy neighborhood where he’d dropped Taz and slid up next to the curb where the man paced the gutter. No girls stood beside him. In fact there was no one on the street at all. Teague set the parking brake and slid into the center seat, leaving the driver’s spot open for Taz.
Taz hefted himself into the front, revved the engine and took off down the street. He smelled of sweat, sex, booze and something else, something dark and disgusting Teague couldn’t place.
“What the hell took you so long?” Taz asked. “I banged them both twice and still had time to spare. I was about to make that phone call.”
Right.
“With what?”
Taz pulled a cell from his back pocket and tossed it in the air. Teague automatically caught it. Small and light, the thing barely registered as a weight in his hand. What did register was the dark, sticky liquid that smeared onto Teague’s hands.
“What the fuck ... ?”
“Sorry.” Taz laughed, low and superior. “She really wanted to hold on to it. Had to beat her unconscious before she let go.”
Teague vaguely registered Hannah’s dismay. He dropped the phone on the floorboard and wiped the blood on his jeans.
“Sonofabitch,” Teague muttered, stomach roiling. “Stop somewhere, man. I need to wash my hands.”
“How about a motel? My homies are going to meet me in Chowchilla tomorrow morning. Then you and I part ways.” Taz let out an extravagant yawn. “I’m tired. Those jigaboos can fuck, man. Those fat lips are the best for blow. They can fucking suck white off rice—”
“Enough,” Teague barked, thoroughly disgusted—with Taz for being who he was, with himself for not making the phone call he should have made to the cops. “We’ll find a motel for the night.”
“Wouldn’t be in such a bad mood if you got yourself some real pussy. That rice-picker ain’t got no meat on her bones and all she uses her big mouth for is spewing shit.”
“There.” Teague pointed to a building not much bigger than a shack, with a neon motel sign. At this point he’d sleep in a hole in the ground just to get away from the bastard. “Stop there.”
Taz pulled in and parked the truck in the back of the lot along a border of trees with an empty field beyond. Teague got out the driver’s side after Taz and rounded the truck to help Hannah down. Just as he released the cuff from the door handle, Taz jerked her arm from Teague’s grasp.
“Get two rooms,” Taz said. “I’m gonna teach her some respect. We’ll need privacy.”
“You’re a disgusting excuse for a human being,” Hannah spat, jerking against Taz’s grip. “I’ll kill you before you touch me.”
Taz’s face twisted in fury. His hand rose, fingers curled into a fist. Before he made contact, Teague knocked Taz’s hand down and shoved the animal away from Hannah. “You know the rules. She’s mine. Period.”
Taz pulled something from his pocket. A familiar
shhhhh-click
sounded loud in the darkness. An icy mix of dread and fear perked beneath Teague’s breastbone as he stared at the long, serrated blade reflecting in the single light illuminating the parking lot.
Fucking A. Would this night ever end? “And where the hell did you get that?”
“Amazing what whores carry around nowadays. As for the rules—
fuck
your rules. She’s been nothing but a mouthy cunt and it’s time for some payback.”
“You’re drunk. Don’t do something you’ll regret tomorrow. Go get two rooms, Taz, but she’ll be staying in mine.”
“New rules.” Taz stood his ground, twisting the knife in his hand. “Play by them or get your ass out of the sandbox.”
“You’ll have to go through me to get to her.” Teague’s chest rocked with quickening shallow breaths. His skin burned. Sweat trickled down the indentation of his spine. “Without me, you’re SOL.”
“Guess I’ll be taking my chances, because that bitch is going to pay.”
Taz lunged at Hannah and jabbed. Teague dodged, caught Taz’s wrist and twisted. A sense of déjà vu lightened his head. Only this time, he’d make sure Hannah didn’t get hurt for her unsuspecting role in Teague’s plan.
He poured all his energy into the heat sparking through his body like electricity. Taz screamed just as the scent of burnt flesh wafted past Teague’s nose.
“Aaaaahhh! Let go, you fucking freak.” Taz went straight for the dirty fight and dug his teeth into the fleshy palm of Teague’s hand.
“Fucker.” Teague pounded Taz’s temple with his free palm, ending the bite.
All Teague’s pent-up hostility exploded, and he directed every flash of frustration right back into Taz. They kicked and twisted. Their heads knocked together. If it weren’t for the damn knife, Teague would have had the asshole pinned in seconds.
Taz elbowed Teague’s ribs. Teague tightened his grip on Taz’s wrist and jerked on his arm, dislodging Taz’s elbow and pounding the other man in the chest. Taz grunted, the sound an eerie guttural wheeze.
“Come on, asshole.” Teague panted through the words.
“Give. ”
Taz’s body went rigid a second before he lost all strength. The brunt of his weight fell on Teague, and he staggered.
A sick sensation slithered into Teague’s gut. He pulled back and found Taz’s eyes glassy. Blood streamed from one side of his mouth. In a flash of panic, Teague let go. The other man slumped to the ground and rolled onto his back. Teague’s eyes landed on the knife sticking out of Taz’s chest, the blade buried. Taz coughed. His body jerked. Blood bubbled in his throat and erupted out his mouth.
Teague’s own stomach heaved in response. Fiery terror burned through his chest.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, Chriiiiiiiiiiiist, no!” He dropped to his knees, slid a hand behind Taz’s neck. “Taz, you dumbass. Taz. Shit.
Taz!
”
Taz’s eyes rolled back in his head. Air wheezed in and out of his lungs in wet, bubbling, labored breaths. He went still. Then limp.
“Fuck, fuck,
fuck
!” Teague shook Taz’s shoulders. “Taz!”
Teague pushed his fingers against Taz’s throat, hoping for a pulse. If he was still alive, Teague could call for help, then run. But no blood beat beneath Teague’s fingers. He repositioned, searching for the faintest beat. But, again, nothing.
He dropped Taz’s head, curling and flexing his fingers as a mental argument flitted around beneath his skull.
You can’t save him now, you idiot.
But I have to try.
You can’t even heal a freaking cut.
But I have to try.
With a quick jerk, Teague pulled the knife from Taz’s chest and tossed it aside. The residual gurgle made Teague’s stomach flip and fold. With his hands layered on top of each other, he rose up on his knees and used a CPR position to compress the wound. He ignored the warmth of the blood, the softness of Taz’s belly, and leaned into the pressure.
Teague’s entire body staged an uncharacteristic revolt. His stomach rose to his throat. He gagged, and heaved, but managed to keep himself from puking. How many times had he been in this position in his career? How much blood and dismemberment had he seen in his life? Never once had he gone queasy. Yet never once had he been the cause of the injury.
With closed eyes, Teague focused and forced a rush of energy straight from his chest down his arms. He envisioned Taz’s heart kicking to life. Willed him to live.
He had no sense of time, no idea how long he tried to infuse life back into the limp body. Exhaustion was the decider. By the time Teague fell back on his heels in defeat, he was drenched in sweat, his arms shaking, his breathing labored, his stomach swirling like a wild river eddy.
His legs brought him upright, and he staggered backwards until his ass hit the hood of the truck. He’d killed Taz. He’d
killed
a man. Horrifying reality ambushed him. He looked around, scouring the parking lot for witnesses. The area was empty.
His mind turned to Hannah. Shit. Hannah. Good God.
Hannah
.
Breathing hard, he wiped the thick, quickly-cooling blood off his hands and onto his jeans. Teague peered toward the passenger’s side of the truck. Empty. His stomach bottomed out. He pushed himself into a sprint toward the other side of the truck. He pivoted around the open door. Empty.
“Hannah.” It was absurd to call to her, but her name burst from his throat anyway. He jogged to the back. Threw open the door. Empty.
Gone. Hannah was
gone
.
He turned in an arc, his eyes darting through the night, searching the darkness. The office, the parking lot, the tree line on the opposite side of the property. Movement. A shadow. Someone darting into the eucalyptus grove.
Relief, fury and fear mixed with adrenaline, pushing a bellow deep from his gut.
“Hannah!”
 
With one arm pressed to her injured side, Alyssa sprinted across the parking lot and into the opposite bank of trees. Creek might have called her name, but she couldn’t hear much over the beat of blood in her ears, the raspy pant of her own breath.
She’d only been running for a few minutes, but her lungs burned and her side ripped. She stopped and rested against a smooth tree trunk, peering into the distance but finding nothing but shadows.

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