Midnight shift, p.5
Midnight Shift, page 5
His mind was flooded with images of a house on fire, a young Benie running from room to room, until she saw a man and a woman, her parents, lying on the floor of a study, flames licking up around them. She screamed as she tried to get to them, but the ceiling collapsed on top of their bodies, and an explosion threw her out into the hall. Her jeans caught fire, and she beat frantically at the flames. Grief and anger and fear roiled within the distraught young girl.
He remembered the shriveled burn scar on her leg and knew she was reliving a horrific memory from her past.
As a telepath, Trace’s power to read minds traveled in two directions. He could also project his thoughts into other people’s heads, and sometimes into their dreams. In a few cases, it was the only way to communicate with some of the species he’d encountered. Reluctantly, he invaded her dream, placing his consciousness inside her own. He knew she might be angry with his incursion on her private memories, but he wouldn’t let her fade away from him.
In her dream, Benie ran from the burning house and stood on an unkempt lawn. Her long, red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, while tears streamed from her light green eyes as she looked up at the burning house. She looked so young as she hugged her arms around her shoulders, huddled in despair.
“Why?” she asked when he approached. Then she did a double take, looked at him again, the expression on her face telling him how wrong it felt to have him there.
“I want to help you.”
“You can’t help me. No one can.” Her expression changed again to one of deep thought, and Trace wished he could read the mind of her dream self, but he couldn’t penetrate deeper than experiencing the moment as she had.
“I’d like to try,” he said gently.
She scooted back as he approached, weary and on alert. “Who are you?”
An ache of disappointment fluttered in his chest. Benie didn’t recognize him. Of course she wouldn’t, not in her current state. “Trace. Trace Calder. I’m here to help.”
“Too late, Trace,” she whispered. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t snuck out to hang with Ian, this wouldn’t have happened. I could’ve stopped it. I need Ian. He’ll know what to do.”
Who was Ian? Benie’s dying mind had chosen to make her last moments full of the worst memory of her life, and she wanted another man to help her through it. She hadn’t called for Trace. She didn’t even know who he was in this dream world of hers.
Trace’s wolf struggled to get loose. The pure visceral reaction surprised him. If he didn’t get his emotions under control, he’d make the situation worse. He forced himself to calm down. “It’s not too late, Benie. I’m going to help you find a way out.”
“My parents are dead.” She held her leg where her pants had burned through to the skin.
“Can I take a look at that for you?”
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
“Then no. I’ll heal. I always do. I’m a real good healer.” Bitterness tinged her words. “I need to get back to Ian’s. That’s the exit strategy. If anything happens, I’m to go to Ian’s. Ian can help me. He’s smart.”
“I’m smart. Maybe I can help,” Trace said, trying to keep Benie in the here and now.
She smirked. “No way are you Ian-smart. He is off the scale genius.”
He wondered if this Ian was more than a pimply-faced kid who tutored her in algebra. He closed the distance between them with two long strides. Crouching down next to her, he said in his most calming voice, “Benoica Dilian, this isn’t real. Not anymore.”
“It’s all real.”
Trace got the distinct feeling she wasn’t talking about the nightmare. “What’s real?”
She looked up at him, her eyes naked and raw with emotion. “Things that go bump in the night, monsters that hide under your bed and in the closet, the boogey-man. The boogey-man is real.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Benie blinked. “Trace?”
“Yes.”
Anger flittered across her face as she bit off each of her next words. “Get. Out. Of. My. Head!”
Trace didn’t just leave the nightmare. He was thrown out. Hard enough that his body jerked when he came back to his own awareness.
A moan tore from Benie’s lips, sweat beaded her skin, and her eyes slowly opened. “Get Ian,” she rasped.
Fantastic, she’d awakened from the dream and was asking for this ghost from the past.
“Ian was a long time ago. I’m here now.”
“No,” she responded. “Ian Arent. Number’s in my cell phone.”
“Okay.” Apparently this Ian character was in the not-so-distant present.
“Okay.” Benie’s eyes closed as her pulse became thready. Her breathing had turned into belabored wheezes and pants, and Trace worried he was too late. Again.
He rubbed his eyes and scratched his suddenly itching right shoulder. He’d call this Ian guy, but he didn’t like it. He kept one hand on Benie’s wrist, keeping watch on her pulse as he dialed Ian Arent with the other. He put his phone on speaker.
“This is Dr. Arent,” a male voice answered.
A doctor. Thank God. Maybe Benie was thinking clearer than he’d thought. Trace said, “My name is Trace Calder. Benie Dilian has been poisoned.”
*
Benie came to with a pounding headache. She felt awful. Awfully hung over, that was. She was in her own bed, dressed in a clean white nightgown, and she had panties on. Though she didn’t check the color. Not important. Somehow, she’d made it home, but couldn’t remember how or when she’d arrived.
Funny, she didn’t even remember going out for a drink. Or the dozen she must have downed. She tried to sit up, but both her arms ached like they’d been beaten with a hammer.
What the hell had happened?
She lay still for a few minutes, trying to sort the puzzle of memories. She stiffened as they slowly floated back. First the shifter tracker attack, then sex with Ian, then meeting Trace Calder, and then dry humping Trace Calder, then the polandrial, and finally getting her ever lovin’ ass kicked. Two OW attacks and two hook-ups all in a twenty-four hour period. It had to be a record.
“Shit, I’m a chaos magnet and a slutty one at that.” The polandrial had spiked her. Trace had said the poison was fatal, but she didn’t feel dead. “If this is the afterlife, someone’s got a terrible sense of humor.”
Ian stepped in through the open door. The afterlife was looking better and better. He was clean-shaven, handsome, and…worried. “Ian.”
The lean and lanky yet delicious genius crossed the room quickly and sat on the bed. He threw his arms around her. “Goddamn it, Benie. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Just another day in the life.” She patted his back. “No harm, no foul.”
His eyes widened in astonishment. “No harm, no foul? You’ve been out for three days.”
Shock made her silent. For two seconds. “No wonder I feel like hammered shit.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t seem to get her mouth to cooperate.
Ian brushed a piece of hair back from her face, and even as bad as she felt, his touch sent a wicked shiver down her spine. His blue eyes were blood shot, but otherwise, he looked…healthy. Somehow, healthier than normal. His shoulders were a little wider, chest broader, and his arms bigger. Nothing most people would notice, but Benie had studied Ian for many years, and she knew him and his body better than she knew her own. The minor differences startled her.
“I’ve never seen you this sick before,” he said. “Ever.” His brow creased with worry.
“I’m okay now.” Or at least she hoped she was. She made a concerted effort to sit up, ignoring her protesting muscles. “See,” she said when she’d managed the herculean feat. “I’m right as rain, so don’t fuss over me.”
His mouth pursed in a cute little bow, and he managed to look slightly offended. “I don’t fuss.”
Benie shook her aching head. “Can I get some water? My mouth is dry. And maybe some aspirin…or stronger if you’ve got it.”
“Someone ask for water?” Trace Calder said from the doorway.
He walked into the room carrying a glass of ice water. His dark blond hair was neatly combed, a contrast to Ian’s messy curls, and his light brown eyes fixed on her. He had a strong jaw and a Roman nose. Both read as uber-masculine, and wow, he rang all her bells and confused the hell out of her. She understood that he’d probably helped Ian get her home, but if she’d been out three days, why was he still at her apartment? And why was she so goddamned happy to see him?
She narrowed her gaze on the glass of water in his hand. “What did I tell you?”
“I know,” Trace replied. “Stay out of your head.”
“What are you doing here?”
Ian leaned back, looking none too happy. “He insisted on staying.”
“If you want me to leave…”
“Stay,” Benie said quickly, the compulsion to keep Trace near overrode her good sense. Not even Ian’s crest-fallen expression could make her take it back. “Stay. Please.”
Ian stood. “I’ll get a bath running for you. The warm soak will do your muscles some good.”
Nodding, Benie fought the urge to beg him to stay, too. Watching Ian leave, as Trace came all the way into the room, all she could think was that she wanted them both. Why couldn’t she have them both? If there was any justice in the world…
Quickly, she glanced at Trace. His expression hadn’t changed. Thank God. Maybe he’d finally listened to her and wasn’t doing his mind voodoo at the moment. That would be novel.
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
“I think you know why, Benie.” He sat next to her on the bed and took her hand.
The warmth of his touch created an unquenchable longing. She didn’t understand why, but she needed Trace Calder. Needed him as much as she needed Ian. She felt like she was betraying Ian, her best friend in the world and the only person she’d ever been able to count on, for another man she barely knew. No not a man, she reminded herself. An OW.
“You shouldn’t have stayed,” she forced herself to say. Still, she couldn’t let go of his hand. “Ian has always taken good care of me.”
“I know,” Trace said. “He was quite fond of telling me so. Repeatedly.”
Benie put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. “Ian can be protective. He thinks of me like a big sister.” The last sentence had cost her pride.
“Yeah, right.” Trace shook his head. “Well, one thing you weren’t wrong about is that he’s definitely off the scale genius. Reading his mind is like reading Greek. You know he actually thinks in numbers most of the time?”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Benie sipped the ice water. “Hey, when did I tell you about Ian?”
“Uh, well…” He hesitated. “You woke up briefly and told me to call him.”
“Oh.” All she could remember now was demon spikes, pain, more pain, then lights out. “Well, he really is very smart.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Trace reached out and stroked her hair.
Excitement rushed through Benie, and her pulse thundered in her ears. God, Trace flipped all her switches.
He smiled when she peered up at him. “You’re disappearing again,” he said.
She didn’t want to be attracted to Trace or in love with Ian. Her emotions were as out of control as her camouflaging skin. She fought the tears threatening to well in her eyes. I am a bad ass slayer, Benie reminded herself. I will not cry.
Trace took off his tight black T-shirt and unholy smokes his chest looked carved from solid stone. The mischief in his warm brown eyes as he knelt down in front of Benie, told her that he knew exactly the kind of effect he had on her. Taking off his shirt was an obvious tactic by the telepath, but damn, if it didn’t work. Benie couldn’t stop staring at his gorgeous body.
He drew her gaze to his when he wiped her eyes with a corner of the T-shirt. Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek. Whatever he was going to say next was cut short by an accusation from Ian.
“You had sex with him!”
Ian sauntered over, anger making him even sexier. Not the time or the place, Benie, she reminded herself. “I did not!”
“Lie,” he replied. Ian twisted so his left shoulder was to Benie. “See this?” He pointed to a green tattoo she’d never seen before. It was a circle with a line through it. The line slashed left to right pointing down toward his mid spine.
“What the hell is that? And when did you get it?” she asked.
“I’m not sure but it showed up after we, well, you know. And now I see this.” He pointed to the back of Trace’s right shoulder. Trace spun with a look of surprise. He hadn’t noticed it either, but he had a mirror image of Ian’s tattoo only the line swooshed right to left toward his spine. “Hence, there is correlative evidence that you had sex with him too.”
“Okay, Grisham. We didn’t have actual sex.” Trace’s mouth pursed sourly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Ian stared at Benie with clear accusation.
She shrugged, making a distance gesture between her thumb and index finger. “We might have made out just the teeniest-tiniest bit.” She wanted to tell Ian that it didn’t mean anything. That what she did with Trace was just a horny hormonal one-off, but she didn’t want to lie. Not to Ian.
“There is nothing teeniest or tiniest about me,” Trace countered.
Ignoring his remark, Benie said, “Maybe it’s got nothing to do with sex. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with me at all. I don’t have any ‘not allowed’ tattoos on me.”
Ian shook his head. “Seriously? Think about it. The only thing this guy and I have in common is you. The data supports the conclusion that you’re the cause.”
“Oh sure, blame the sick chick.” She put her hand to her forehead as a sudden blast of an icy chill and dizziness took hold. “I don’t feel so good.” She saw the skeptical look leave Ian’s face as her eyes fluttered and then she passed out.
Chapter 5
Ian shook Benie, trying to wake her up while he checked her pulse. Her skin was cold to touch. He guessed her temperature was under ninety-five degrees. Dangerously low. He’d been so angry with her, maybe he still was, but her well-being was the most important thing in his life. Always. “Her heartbeat is rapid and weak.”
“Shock?” Trace asked.
Ian wished he would go away. Just fucking leave. He cursed himself for sending Benie to the guy in the first place. It was his fault that she even knew Trace Calder. He’d heard her ask Trace to stay. He didn’t know what hurt worse…that she made out with Calder or that she actually might care about the man. Did he really have a right to be angry? After all, he’d told her that what happened between them hadn’t meant anything. So, even if it had meant everything to him, could he really blame her?
“I don’t think so. If it was, her legs being raised would have brought her back around. I think her body is still fighting the poison. She’s hypothermic, so let’s get her to the bath. It’s already filled, and it’s the quickest way to warm up her core temperature.” Ian grabbed Benie’s upper body and gestured to Trace. “Help me get her in there.”
Trace picked up her legs and they carried her to the next room. Gently, they placed her in the tub. Ian got in behind her, clothes and all, and held her head up out of the water. There were no scientific explanations for what was going on with Benie, and he was scared for her. Perhaps more frightened than he’d ever been. He looked at Trace, who had sat on the edge of the tub. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“That doesn’t happen to you a lot, does it?”
“What?”
“Not understanding stuff.”
“Oh, more than you’d think.”
Sure, Ian was confident where science and theory were concerned. For example, he knew how the heart developed from the embryo stage into full maturity, could even explain how it physically worked down to the micro-cellular level, but in matters of the heart, he was virtually clueless. His whole world could be broken down into two parts: Research and Benie. Which meant half of his world was just barely hanging on, shivering and cold in his arms.
Ian couldn’t allow himself to think like that. He shook the thoughts from his head. “I don’t know what to do for her. Her blood work is never normal, so I can’t tell if what’s going on is fatal.”
“I can try what I did at my house, going into her mind, trying to reach her that way, but…”
“But what?”
“She’s not going to like it.”
“She’ll get over it.” He gestured for Trace to begin. “Do what you have to do.”
Ian watched as Trace closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly let it go, slipping his hands into the water until they made contact with Benie’s abdomen. A pang of jealousy swept Ian, and he fought the urge to pull Benie away from the other man. He didn’t have to like whatever relationship had started between Benie and Trace, but he’d be grateful if it fixed her.
“What’s she thinking about?” Ian asked after a few moments.
“She’s in a basement. It’s filled with weapons, floor pads, and several punching bags, along with a wooden fight dummy.”
“That’s at her parents’ house.” Ian used to watch her train there in the basement. She’d been magnificent to watch.
“The one that burned down?”
“How did you—never mind.” Apparently, Benie had shared a lot with Trace, and it twisted Ian’s guts in a knot. But there were bigger problems at hand than his jealousy. “What else do you see?”
“Benie is working out, moving from one area to the next, like a practiced routine.”
Before Ian could ask more, Trace shook his head. “I’m going in. I can’t share her dream and talk at the same time.”
Holding Benie tight with one arm, Ian stroked her forehead and neck with his free hand. Even in the warm bath, she still felt cold, but at least her shivering had stopped. Trace’s eyes jerked behind his closed eyelids, as if in REM sleep. The scientist in Ian couldn’t help but wonder what kind of data he could gather from an EEG of Trace’s brain waves.
