The Departed (10 page)

* * *

HOSPITALS were all the same in some aspects. Too brightly lit, smelling of antiseptic and faintly of illness and death. The stink of illness and death weren’t necessarily something the average person might pick up, Dez knew, but she’d been in too many of these places. She couldn’t miss it.

Then again, maybe it was her imagination. Maybe she knew the death and the illness lingered and that lingering stink was some manifestation of her mind. And what did it matter…even though, logically, she knew why she was thinking about it. It was a way to distract herself, just another mind game, something to keep from thinking about the fact that she was walking down the long, overly bright hallway next to Taylor.

A way to think about something other than the low, cold whispers she felt in the hall.

They were there. Some of the departed…not all of them rested, not all of them called for help. Some of them just lingered, their cold, dry touch like a skeletal hand on the nape of her neck. She could feel their presence and now that she’d allowed herself to think about them, to focus, her mind reached out and tried to lock on one of those whispers. Tried to grasp something real…a voice, something,
somebody
she could help.

But their voices, they were so indistinct, like listening to dry leaves skittering down a street. There were no words, hardly any feeling left to connect to those disconnected souls.

She jumped as Taylor curled his hand over her nape, his fingers digging lightly into her skin. “Stop it,” he murmured, leaning in and speaking almost directly into her skin.

“Stop what?” she asked sourly. She would have glared at him, but the firm hold he had on her skin kept her from doing that, and she was reluctant to break that contact. Just like always, his touch made everything else fade away.

“You know what. You’re not shielding. I can see it. Shield up or you’ll be a mess before I even get you to her room.” His voice lowered when she tensed and tried to pull away.

“You don’t get to boss me around anymore, Jones.”

She tried once more to pull away, but this time he herded her into a narrow dip in the wall. A quick glance showed that it led to the chapel. She glared up at him. To her surprise, he was glaring back, his pale blue eyes glittering at her, and his normally emotionless face was anything but. “I’m not trying to boss you around, damn it. You’re walking around looking like you’ve got death dancing on your shoulders and you’re not doing shit to stop it. Should I just
ignore
it?”

“What does it matter to you?” She shouldn’t be looking at him. She told herself that, told herself to look away, to look anywhere but at him. She couldn’t, though. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. Swallowing, she rested her head against the wall and repeated, “What does it matter to you?”

A heavy breath rushed out of him, his shoulders rising and falling. His blue eyes, so fiery hot and so unlike the cool, icy professionalism she was used to seeing, bored into hers. “Just shield up, damn it.” Then he shoved off the wall and stalked away.

Immediately, Dez sagged a few inches and covered her face with her hands. Damn it.
What in the hell…
Damn it. Her knees were shaking. Her belly felt all tight and hot and jittery, and damned if she knew why.

You damn well do know
—

No. She wasn’t thinking about that—

She took a deep breath and lowered her hands. Then she looked up and gasped when she realized Taylor had returned, silently. One hand came, curled over the back of her neck. “This is why it matters, damn it.” He hauled her against him and as his mouth crushed against hers, her brain clicked off, shut down…

And her body came to life. After more than a year of existence, Dez felt like she was living again. His free hand gripped her hip, keeping her body pressed close to his while his other hand tangled in the short strands of her hair to yank her head back.

This wasn’t just a kiss, she thought. It was…more. It was everything. He breathed her in, just as she breathed him in. After so much time apart from him, she felt complete again. Whole.

His tongue stroked across her lower lip and she opened for him with a groan. He didn’t waste a second, pushing deep inside. She bit him lightly and his long, lean body shuddered, crowded her back against the wall.

Dimly, she knew they couldn’t do this. Dimly, she knew they needed to stop.

But she didn’t
care
.

He was touching her. Finally, he was touching her again and it was so wonderful, so beautiful, she thought she might die. And then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended.

He tore his mouth from hers, panting. Pressing his brow to hers, he stared into her eyes. “Damn you. You know why it matters.”

“If it matters that much, you shouldn’t have let me walk,” she challenged.

He sighed, one hand restlessly kneading her hip. “It’s because you matter that we can’t do this, Dez.” He closed his eyes and then pulled away. Not just physically.

Mentally. She felt it, that slow mental withdrawal. Her heart ached inside, and those words made it all that much worse. She
mattered
? Hell, if she mattered…then she shook her head. She couldn’t think about this right now. She had a job to do. And not just the one that Taylor had brought her here for—she’d made a promise to Tristan and even if he’d moved on, she would still keep that promise. She couldn’t leave until it was done.

She wouldn’t acknowledge the disturbing sense that she had something else here that awaited her.

That disturbing sensation in the cemetery.

Those vague, faint whispers.

She needed to cling to something—cling to the fact that she could just finish this job and get the hell away from Taylor Jones before he broke her heart all over again.

HE’D lost his mind.

Taylor knew he’d lost his mind. The last thing on earth he should have done was put his hands on her. The last thing he should have done was put his mouth on her. The last thing he should be thinking about was doing it again.

But he was.

Damn it, maybe he really was closer to losing his mind than he’d thought. Not that it would take much of a push, being here. He needed to focus, needed to get a grip. Needed to get whatever information he could out of Desiree, get her
out
of this place, and then see if the team was needed here. He wasn’t so certain they were, and if nothing else, he could still trust his instincts on that.

In short, he had no time to think about her, but as she pushed around him and strode down the hall in front of him, all he could do was stare at the sweet, round curve of her ass. He had to stifle a groan as he remembered digging his fingers into those curves, how she’d shuddered and moaned under him, how she’d rocked up to meet him.

His heart raced and his hands weren’t entirely steady; his mind was focused on nothing but sex, Dez, and getting her naked. And then he realized that she was standing at a dead stop in the middle of the hallway. Standing still in that odd, eerie fashion that he recognized all too well.

He didn’t have to see the look on her face to know what was wrong. He already knew—he could tell by the strange, odd tension emanating from her. She felt something. He didn’t know what, but she felt something. Whatever it was, it broke her heart, too.

He wanted to reach out, touch her, reassure her, but after what had just happened, he didn’t dare.

But he couldn’t stay silent, either.

With the rest of his people, he could. With the rest of them, he could wait in silence even if the worry was killing him. But not with her. Although she was no longer part of his team, although she was no longer remotely connected to him…no. He couldn’t remain silent and wait and hope she’d share some small piece with him.

Down the hall to her right waited the cops and he suspected a few doctors and nurses were coming in and out of the room—this sort of shit just didn’t happen in French Lick, the middle of nowhere. Everybody wanted to look at the girl Dez had saved. She was already a hot topic of discussion and the story hadn’t even broken yet.

Shifting his body to conceal her as much as he could, he looked down at Dez’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I can feel her.” She blew out a troubled breath and shot him a quick glance before looking away. “I shouldn’t be able to—I’m shielded—but I can feel her. It’s the hell she’s in.”

Then she gave him a sour smile. “I guess that’s good news. I don’t think I’d feel her this strong if she wasn’t going to make it. Her soul is fighting hard. The soul and the body are usually pretty tightly linked. If her soul is clinging to life, her body is going to follow, I think.”

The look in her eyes was sad and lost. He couldn’t not touch her then, not considering how broken she looked, how defeated. Brushing the back of his hand down her cheek, he said softly, “You saved her life, Desiree. You shouldn’t look so sad about this.”

“Saved her life…after some punk bastards decided to torture and kill her for kicks. Shit. What good did I do in the end? She’ll have nightmares all her life over this.”

He narrowed his eyes, his mind focusing on that bit of information she’d let slip—damn her, he’d known she had more knowledge than she’d given up. But now wasn’t the time to interrogate her. When she would have turned away, he caught her shoulder. “What good did you do? How about the fact that she now
has
a life to have nightmares? The nightmares will be brutal, but she’s alive. She’ll have a chance to live, to heal. That’s a gift and you need to get that through your head. She’ll thank you for it; her family will. You saved her life. Be glad of that.”

“It’s not enough,” Dez whispered, her voice broken. “Not if she’s got that kind of pain in her. I should have gotten here sooner…”

“If that’s how it was meant to happen, it would have.” As a tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek, he brushed it away. That was one thing he did believe in. His people might be able to do what some called miracles. Some people called it other things—
hoaxes
and
bullshit
were the more polite terms. But for the most part, people saw things like what Dez did as a gift. She’d saved a life and she was beating herself up for not doing more. If she’d been meant to do more, she would have. “You did what you were meant to do, baby.”

It slipped out of him.

Her breath caught and she shot him a look.

It hung there between them, but what could he do, take it back?

Sighing, he stroked her hair back from her brow and said, “You did what you were meant to do. She’s alive…because of you. She can heal because of you. She can have a future…because of you. It’s a gift. Don’t belittle that.”

She gave him a smile, but he knew her heart wasn’t in it. Her shoulders slumped and she edged around him, likely following some unseen trail of misery, whatever it was that had put that heartbreak in her eyes.

She wouldn’t ever get over not saving that girl from everything. That the girl lived wasn’t enough—hell, it wasn’t enough for Taylor, either, but he’d take what he could get. Dez, though, she’d torture herself over this.

She could send off one of the lost, those who had already left this world, and do it with a smile, but a girl she’d saved, one who was alive, she couldn’t find something good in that.

As they approached the small knot of people gathered by the girl’s door, voices hushed and then went abruptly silent. As gazes cut their way and then shifted to the side, Taylor moved closer to Dez and rested a hand on her shoulder.

One of the cops, his face vaguely familiar, came away from the door. “Hey, there, Taylor. Long time, no see.”

Taylor tried to place the face—the guy was familiar, there was no denying that. The smile…yeah, Taylor had seen that smile before. But it was the eyes that gave him away. Hazel, flecked with gold. The last time Taylor had seen those eyes, they had been bright with amusement. Not so much now, but still, he recognized one of his old friends from high school. “Blake…Blake Hensley.”

“Yeah.” He gave him a tired smile. “Can’t say it’s a pleasure seeing you under such circumstances.” He glanced at Dez, and Taylor saw understanding, recognition flare in those eyes.

Taylor tensed, prepared to step in. Whether she still worked for him or not,
he
still considered her as his…no, one of his people, and he wasn’t going to let her get hassled for doing her job.

But apparently, small-town cop or not, Blake understood something about professionalism, because he didn’t lay into her right there, didn’t start with the questions or anything. Although that might have more to do with Taylor’s presence than anything else. Or perhaps the hospital.

She would have to answer the questions, would have to give a statement, but not here. Not now. She’d have some rest first and if Taylor had anything to do with it, it would also be at some place
other
than the police department. And he’d be there, too, if he could manage that.

“Is she awake?” he asked as the silence threatened to grow heavy and strained once more. Silence never bothered him, but he wanted this over and done so he could get Dez out of here.

The doctor glanced from Blake to Taylor and then at Dez. “Well…yes. But she’s restless, scared. I…”