White Lies (6 page)

           
 
"Can you hear me?" she whispered
shakily, her eyes locked on him. "Or do you somehow sense my touch? Is
that what it is? Can you feel it when I touch your arm? You must be scared and
confused, because you don't know what happened and you're trying to reach out,
but you can't seem to make anything work. You're going to be all right, I
promise you, but it's going to take time."
The voice. Something in it drew him, despite the pain that waited to
claw
him whenever he left the
darkness. He feared the pain, but he wanted the warmth
of the voice more. He wanted to be closer to it... to her. At some
point too dim for
him to remember or
even comprehend, he had realized it was a woman's voice. It
held tenderness and the only hint of
security in the black swirling emptiness of his
mind and world. He knew very little, but he knew that voice; some
primal instinct
in him recognized it
and yearned for it, giving him the strength to fight the pain
and the darkness. He wanted her to know he
was there.

           
 
His arm twitched, the movement somehow too
slow to be an involuntary spasm of cramped muscles. This time Jay didn't jerk
her hand away. Instead she rubbed her fingertips over his skin, while her eyes
fastened on his face.

           
 
"Steve? Did you mean to jerk your arm?
Can you do it again?"
Odd. Some of
the words made sense. Others made no sense at all. But she
was there, closer, the voice clearer. He
could see only darkness, as if the world
had never been, but she was much nearer now. Pain racked his body,
great waves
of it that made sweat
bead on his skin, but he didn't want to let go after getting
this far, didn't want to fall back down into
the black void.
His arm? Yes. She
wanted him to move his arm. He didn 't know if he could.
It hurt so damned bad he didn 't know if he
could hold on, if he could try
anymore.
Would she go away if he didn't move his arm? He couldn't bear being
left alone again, where everything was so
cold and dark and empty, not after
getting
this close to her warmth.

           
 
He tried
to scream, and couldn't. The pain was incredible, tearing him
apart like a wild animal with fangs and
claws, ripping at him.
He moved his
arm.

           
 
* * *

           
 
The movement was barely there, a twitch so
light she would have missed it if her hand hadn't been on his arm. He had
broken out in a sweat, his chest and shoulders glistening under the bright
fluorescent lights. Her heart was pounding as she leaned closer to him, her
gaze riveted on his lips.

           
 
"Steve, can you hear me? It's Jay. You
can't talk because you have a tube in your throat. But I'm right here. I won't
leave you."

           
 
Slowly his bruised lips parted, as if he were
trying to form words that refused to take shape. Jay hung over him, breathing
suspended, her chest aching, as he struggled to force his lips and tongue
through the motions of speech. She felt the force of both his desperation and
dogged determination as, against all logic, he fought pain and drugs to be able
to say one word. It was as if he
couldn't
give up, no matter what it cost him. Something in him wouldn't let him give up.
Again he tried, his swollen, discolored lips moving in agonized deliberation.
His tongue moved, doing its part to shape the word that would remain soundless:

           
 
"Hurt."

           
 
The pain in her chest became acute, and
abruptly she gulped in deep breaths of air. She didn't feel the tears sliding
down her cheeks. Gently she patted his arm. "I'll be right back. They'll
give you something so you won't hurt any longer. I'm only leaving you for a
minute, and I promise I'll be back." She flew to the door and jerked it
open, stumbling into the hall. She must have been there a lot longer than it
seemed, because the third shift had gone home and the first shift was back on
duty. Frank and Major Lun-ning were standing at the nurses' station, talking in
low, urgent voices that didn't carry; both men looked up as she ran toward
them, and a sort of disbelieving horror filled Frank's eyes.

           
 
"He's awake!" she choked. "He
said that he hurts. Please, you have to give him something—"

           
 
They bolted past her, practically shoving her
to the side. Frank said, "This wasn't supposed to happen," in a voice
so hard she wasn't certain it was his. But it had to be, even though the words
didn't make any sense. What wasn't supposed to happen? Steve wasn't supposed to
wake up? Had they lied to her?

           
 
Had they expected him to die after all? No,
that couldn't be it, or Frank wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to get her
to stay.

           
 
Nurses were scurrying into Steve's room, but
when Jay tried to enter she was firmly escorted back into the hallway. She
stood outside, listening to the muted furor of voices inside, chewing on her
bottom lip and wiping the slowwelling tears from her cheeks. She should be in
there. Steve needed her. Inside the room, Frank watched as Major Lunning
swiftly checked Steve's vital signs and brain-wave activity. "No doubt
about it," the major confirmed absently as he worked. "He's coming
out of it."

           
 
"He's on barbiturates, for God's
sake!" Frank protested. "How can he come out of it until you lessen
the dosage?"

           
 
"He's fighting it off. He's got one hell
of a constitution, and that woman out there in the hall has a strong effect on
him. Adrenaline is a powerful stimulant. Enough of it, and people perform
superhuman feats of strength and endurance. His blood pressure is up and his
cardiac output has increased, all signs of adrenaline stimulation."

           
 
"Are you going to increase the
dosage?"

           
 
"No. The coma was to keep his brain from
swelling and causing more damage. I was almost ready to begin bringing him out
of it anyway. He's just moved up the timetable a little. We'll have to keep him
on drugs for the pain, but he won't be in a coma. He'll be able to wake
up."

           
 
"Jay thought he said that he hurt. Can he
feel pain, as drugged as he is?"

           
 
"If he was conscious enough to
communicate, he was conscious enough to feel pain."

           
 
"Can he understand what we're
saying?"

           
 
"It's possible. I'd say he definitely
hears us. Understanding is something else entirely."

           
 
"How long will it be before we can
question him?"

           
 
Major Lunning gave him a severe look.
"Not until the swelling in his face and throat subside enough for me to
remove the trach tube. I'd say another week. And don't expect him to be a fount
of information. He may never remember what happened to him, and even if he
eventually does, it could be months in the future."

           
 
"Is there any danger that he might reveal
some classified information to Jay?" Frank didn't want to say too much.
Major Lunning knew that Steve was a very important patient, but he didn't know
any of the details.

           
 
"It isn't likely. He'll be too dazed and
confused, maybe even delirious, and at any rate, he still isn't able to talk. I
promise you, you'll be the first to see him when we take the trach tube
out."

           
 
Frank stared at the still form on the bed; he
had been unconscious for so long, it was hard to accept that he could hear or
feel, that he had even made an attempt to communicate. But knowing what he knew
about the man, Frank realized he should have been prepared for something like this.
The man never gave up, never stopped fighting, even when the odds were so
strong against him that anyone else would have walked away, and because of that
he had survived in many instances when others wouldn't, just as he had this
time. Most people never saw past the easy grin to that enormous, fearsome
determination.

           
 
"What's the likelihood of permanent brain
damage?" he asked quietly, remembering that Steve could hear, and there
was no way of telling how much he could understand.

           
 
Major Lunning sighed. "I don't know. He
received excellent, immediate care, and that counts for a lot. It may be so
minimal that you won't be able to tell the difference, but I wouldn't put my
money on anything right now. I simply can't tell. The fact that he woke up and
responded to Ms. Granger is totally out of the expected range. He leapfrogged
over several stages of recovery. I've never seen anything like it before.
Normally the stages are stupor, where it would take vigorous stimulation to
rouse him at all, then delirium and extreme agitation, as if the electrical
processes of his brain had gone wild. Then he would become quieter, but he'd be
very confused. In the next stage he would be like an automaton. He'd be able to
answer questions, but unable to perform any but the simplest physical tasks.
The higher brain functions return gradually."

           
 
"And the stage he's at now?"

           
 
"He was able to communicate, as if he
were in the automaton stage, but I think he's lapsed back now. It must have
taken a tremendous effort for him to do that much."

           
 
"As you cut down on the barbiturates,
he'll be able to communicate more?"

           
 
"Perhaps. This one incident may not be
repeated. He may revert to the more classical stages of recovery."

           
 
Exasperated, Frank said, "Is there
anything you're certain of?" Major Lunning gave him a long, level look.
"Yes. I'm certain that his recovery depends on Ms. Granger. Keep her
around. He'll need her."

           
 
"Is it safe for her to be with him while
you bring him off the drugs?"

           
 
"I insist on it. She may keep him calm. I
sure as hell don't want him thrashing around with that tube in his chest. Will
she be able to take it?" Frank lifted his brows. "She's stronger than
she looks." And Jay was oddly devoted to Steve in a way that he hadn't
expected and could not quite understand. It was as if something pulled her to
him, but there wasn't any basis for that kind of attraction. Maybe later, when
he was awake—his effect on women had always had his superiors shaking their
heads in disbelief. But he was little more than a mummy now, unable to use the
charm for which he was famous, so it had to be something else.

           
 
He had to let the Man know what had happened.

           
 
Suddenly the door was shoved open and Jay
entered, giving them a hard, bright look that dared them to throw her out
again. "I'm staying," she said flatly, moving to Steve's side and
putting her hand on his arm. Her chin lifted stubbornly. "He needs me, and
I'm going to be here."

           
 
Major Lunning looked from her to Steve, then
at Frank. "She's staying," he said mildly, then consulted the file in
his hand. "Okay, I'm going to begin decreasing the barbiturates now, to
completely bring him out of the coma. It will take from twenty-four to
thirty-six hours, and I don't know how he's going to react, so I want him under
full-time observation." He glanced up at Jay. "Ms. Granger—may I call
you Jay?"

           
 
"Please," she murmured.

           
 
"A nurse will be in here with him most of
the time until he's completely off the drugs. His reaction may be
unpredictable. If anything happens, it's important that you move away from the
bed and not hinder anything we have to do. Do you understand?"

           
 
"Yes."

           
 
"Can I trust you not to faint and get in
the way?"

           
 
"Yes."

           
 
"All right. I'll hold you to that."
His stern military gaze measured her, and he must have been reassured by what
he saw, because he gave an abrupt nod of approval. "It won't be easy, but
I think you'll hold up." Jay turned her attention back to Steve,
dismissing everyone else in the room as if they no longer existed. She couldn't
help it. He crowded everyone else out of her consciousness, flattening them
into one-dimensional cartoon characters. Nothing mattered except him, and since
his agonized attempt to talk to her, the feeling was even stronger than before.
It shattered her and terrified her, because it was so far outside her previous
experience, but she couldn't fight it. It was so strange; Steve was exerting
far more power over her now than he ever had before, when he'd had full use of
his senses and body, and his full range of charm. He was motionless and, for
the most part, insensate, but something deep and primal pulled her to him. Just
being in the same room with him made her heart settle into a stronger rhythm,
heating her flesh as her blood raced through her veins, energizing her.