Flame's Dawn (16 page)

When she pressed her finger to his lips, he froze in place, gripping her wrist like a lifeline.

“I have no right, either, Barnaby. Neither of us is a whole person.”

“Maybe we can be whole together.” He rubbed his chin. “God's teeth, I'll beg if necessary.”

Her heart pounded. “No, you don't—”

His grip on her hand ached, but she wouldn't make him let go for a million dollars.

In the early morning light, his eyes shone, and the big man opened his mouth to speak twice before getting the words out. “We have no guarantees. As long as I'm Indebted, you will be in danger. And if you're with me, your normal human life is gone. We have to hide.”

“I'm good at hiding.” She studied the handsome sweep of his hair over his forehead. “Do you really want out of your contract?”

“Yes. But I don't even know if it's possible.”

“Then I want to help you try. And no, I don't care about being in danger. I'm getting pretty good at it.”

His blue eyes lit up, and his brows rose. “Could we try?”

“There's nothing I want more than to be with you for whatever forever means for us. We'll go find those scrolls in Vietnam.”

“When travel is safe.”

“But soon. Together.” She twined her fingers in his. “Before we go back to Vietnam, would you help me free those women and expose the People's Palace?”

“After what you endured? It would be my pleasure.”

“Then we'll go make you human again.”

“I don't know if it can be done. Or if I would survive. If you object, I won't do it. I can stay Indebted and use my power to keep you safe from any new minions Jerahmeel sends.”

A cold chill ran down her spine. “What do you want, Barnaby?”

Pulling her hand up, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I want to become a real man for you. Only you, Jane.”

“Then that's what you should do.”

He pulled her close and kissed her. She returned it with interest, pouring her love for him into the contact.

When he leaned back, he ran his index finger down her cheek until she shivered.

“One question, sweetling,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Could I have that spoon back? You're going to strangle it.”

She hiccupped a sob and laughed. “Of course.” She loosened her grip until he gently extricated the utensil, but the lack of something to hold on to made her heart patter.

Until she focused on Barnaby.

She had anchored him to this world.

And he was her anchor.

Thank you to the indomitable Gwen Hayes, who graciously turned this manuscript around in record time, complete with her fabulous feedback. I also appreciate Crimson Romance editor Julie Sturgeon's amazing edits, always spot-on and continually pushing me to make these books so much better.

Thanks to hubby, who is ever eager to provide character name suggestions (“Buck Naked”) and title possibilities (“Flame Gone Out Then Exploding Again”). For a guy who has no clue about the romance genre, he's really ... not very helpful. But he's supportive, and that's fine.

Finally, as I conclude this series and the journey while writing it, the last thank you goes to my patients. Their trust as they allow me to travel with them through their pain, joy, fear, hope, death, and life is what has created the rich texture in the stories. Without my patients, there would be no writing.

The Tet Offensive (phase I) began late on January 30, 1968. Numerous surprise attacks occurred on that date up and down the Ho Chi Minh trail and reaching into Saigon. These attacks continued through March of 1968. This campaign was a major turning point for the entire Vietnam War. U.S. losses tallied at approximately 4,000 troops killed and 20,000 wounded during this time period.

While the U.S. Embassy in then Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) did have an incursion made into its outer walls by the Vietcong during the Tet Offensive, military police repelled and killed the small invading force. In this story, I took liberties with the extent to which the embassy was breached. Also, to my knowledge, there were no helicopter transports that night. However, I'm always haunted by Dutch photographer Hubert van Es's iconic photo taken on the final day in Saigon right before the city finally fell to the North Vietnamese in 1975. It's that image I had in my mind when I wrote the helicopter-roof scene. Then I added the big explosion, which is an acknowledged embellishment.

The People's Palace and Tim Thompson are modeled very loosely on the People's Temple and leader, Jim Jones. As you recall, Jim Jones's cult moved down to South America, mixed up some Kool-Aid, and from there, things went poorly for everyone involved.

The music referenced in this novella is from the Billboard charts late in 1967/1968 and in 1973/1974, though a few songs may have technically been released after the events of the story.

Last but not least, if you are a TV Land junkie/nerd, you'll have called me out on the timing of the
The Bionic Woman
reference. I know. The Bionic Woman (who is way more awesome than the Six Million Dollar Man, IMHO) debuted as a partner for Steve Austin in 1975. So yes, a year premature on the mention, but come on now, Lindsay Wagner was awesome in those tracksuits. I couldn't resist the reference!

Thank you for picking up a copy of my book. It's readers like you who encourage writers to keep creating new worlds. Would you please consider leaving a review at your bookseller or Goodreads? Better yet, tell someone else about the book. And of course, readers are always welcome to provide feedback or ask questions here:
[email protected]

For readers who like to cue up the music before reading, here's the playlist for this novella. I hope you enjoy listening to these songs as much as I did! These tunes totally put me in the 1968/1974 mood ...

While editing this novella, I had Melanie's “Lay Down (Candles in the Rain)” on eternal repeat.

Holy hell, she needed to kill someone.

Impractical stiletto leather boots snapped against concrete as she strode up the chipped sidewalk near the Warehouse District of New Orleans. Dilapidated, abandoned buildings clashed with garish bars that depended on sports fans, college students, and tourists. This section of Port Street wasn't a main road or a well-to-do area of town. Good. That meant fewer tourists but more denizens like her—beings that worked best in the shadows.

Tonight, there must have been a football game or another equally inane reason to imbibe, judging from the amount of people out. Of course, drunkenness was not a crime, despite what she might think of her former husband, God rest his bastard soul. No matter, she would find some kind of louse among the lushes before this night ended.

Farther down the street, the quality of the architecture deteriorated. Dozens of motorcycles were parked outside one raucous establishment. No peppy zydeco tunes here. Instead, tired metal beats drifted into the street. Yes, this area would do nicely for her evening's goals.

Just another night in a city, obtaining her requisite kills. The macabre had become routine. How sad.

A few men leaned against the cinderblock storefront, faint light illuminating the tips of their cigarettes. When she sauntered by, paused, and pretended to contemplate entering the bar, she had their attention. Let them take note, lulled into a sense of security.

Enjoy the view while you can, boys.

One man caught her knife's interest—the blade craved criminals. What remained of the man's bone-straight hair had been pulled into a thin ponytail, and a leather vest strained over his belly. Its fringe was overkill, along with silver detailing that glinted on the new motorcycle boots. He probably owned one of those souped-up custom Harleys parked front and center.

Leather-clad motorcycle guys were generally sexy, but not tonight's fare. Too bad.

Despite his ridiculous getup, her knife began to pulse on her leg, begging for her to reach into the slit on her leather pants, slide the knife from the sheath beneath her boot, and shove it into ...

Got a criminal. Now to reel him in. Might even get the Meaningful Kill tonight
.

Tossing her fake hair back off her shoulders, she reveled in the waist-length blond waves. She rarely wore her natural hair down, so this wig brought her to a whole different state of being. Part of her costume was designed to attract certain types of criminals. Part of the costume freed her spirit. So long, mild-mannered nurse. Welcome back, Ms. Blond Bombshell.

Hell, if she had to spend eternity killing criminals, she might as well look good doing it. She had read all the popular books. Who didn't love a sexy demon-slaying chick?

Beside the victims, of course.

She caught the man's eye and licked her lips, a deliberate act that would have been socially unacceptable in her previous life. But this evening's wardrobe veered away from the taffeta, crinoline, and hoops of antebellum evening soirees. Even her torso confined by the black bustier felt like freedom tonight. In a disguise, she could become any woman. The better the disguise, the faster she could forget her real self.

Cursed to kill for hundreds of years as an Indebted, at least she could dictate her attire and the method of carrying out her job. Small victory, but it provided a modicum of control.

When his friend nudged him, the balding man drained his can of beer, crushed it against the wall, and dropped the crumpled metal on the concrete. Despite his nonchalant stance, the glint in his narrow eyes gave away his lust.

He pushed away from the wall. “What's a honey like you doing down here?” His voice sounded like nasally gravel and instantly grated on her nerves.

“Seeing if there's any action.”

She glanced at his groin and raised an eyebrow. His Adam's apple bobbed once, twice. With the heels, she topped him by several inches, so his line of sight naturally came to rest on her ample bosom.

Keep looking, nasty guy. It'll be the last thing you see before this night is over.

“What'd you have in mind, beautiful?” His voice oozed over her like sewage slime.

“Let's see where the night takes us.” Trailing a hand over her hip, she drew his attention, just like the demon-stalking heroines in the popular novels. Ironic, really, if one considered who was the true demon here.

“I do like a woman who knows what she wants,” he drawled, adjusting his jeans.

“Try to keep up ...”

“Right behind you, babe.”

Babe
. Yuck. Anything but “babe.”

She strolled away, giving the man time to contemplate her leather-clad backside. He couldn't help himself. Her heart pounded in anticipation as she led him down the street for a few minutes in search of a location far enough away from the bar. Spying an open gate between two dilapidated buildings, she slipped in ahead of him, giving her backside enough of a wiggle to complete the seduction.

Summoning her best thespian skills, she acted delicate and wilted but still enticing while she leaned against the cement wall inside the abandoned building's courtyard. The man took the bait and boldly placed one hand on the wall next to her head.

As he leaned forward, she tilted her head away. “What's your name, big guy?”

He wetted his lips and leered. “Decker.”

She trailed a finger down his chest. “All right, Decker. Now, I'm sure you're not a good boy. Am I right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He flicked his gaze away and down.

Guilty. Excellent.

“Anything you've ever done that's particularly bad?”

“Like, sexually?”

Good grief. These men thought about nothing else with an attractive woman in front of them. That single-mindedness in her prey was why she excelled at her job, why her disguise helped her accomplish her goals. The possibility of sex worked every time. So predictable, these men.

If not for the need to stay ahead of her quota of kills, she'd have walked away and tried again tomorrow night. This man was that disgusting. But this criminal would do for her knife's needs.

Twirling a long, flaxen strand of hair around her finger, she giggled. “Oh, Decker, I'm sure you're into all kinds of kink. But what I'm talking about is other naughty things. You ever been in jail? Or maybe should've been in jail?”

He snorted. “You the police?”

“Not even close. I like bad boys. They turn me on.”

He put his hand on the wall on the other side of her head and pressed his groin into hers. She resisted the urge to curl her lip and kick him in that offensive yet small bulge. Even though she might enjoy playing the temptress, she was never tempted, especially by a guy like this.

“What do you want to know?” His chest rose and fell more quickly now.

She batted her eyes. “Tell me the worst thing you've ever done in your entire life.”

“You don't want to hear it, babe.”

Babe
. Seriously. “Oh, yes I do. It turns me on—”

She froze.

What was that? A brief flicker of movement high on a nearby building distracted her. Seeing nothing, she dragged her attention back to the balding biker.