Mystical Love (71 page)

• • •

Shock waves shook Logan's frame, and in one brief instant, he sank into a pool of throbbing pain and a mysterious ripple of moving images. His mind was suddenly pitched through a white vortex and then thrown out the other side. A vision of an alleyway washed through his mind, and he recognized the place at once.

And then he saw himself standing next to the mouse, both of them witnessing a replay of his deadly shooting last summer as if standing behind a plate-glass window. He saw his “other” self. Arm raised, gun poised out front, moving towards an approaching figure. In the span of an instant, he saw another gun firing and a speeding bullet heading his way. He winced as he saw the bullet hit its mark and watched as his “other” self collapsed to the pavement.

His rib cage suddenly ignited with tremendous pain, and as quickly as he had been whipped into the vortex, he was whipped back out. He gasped under the barrage of floating pain and then willed his head to stop swimming. He came back to reality with a mental thud, firmly clutching the mouse's hand, and then, out of the blue, he heard tortured gasps. He followed the sound, spotting Sonny's short, red hair glistening in the sun. Mesmerized by the sight, Logan drew in his breath. And then his gaze slid to her face. Once again, he felt an insane urge to sweep her into his arms and taste her lips. He chucked that thought, and her hand.

Free of his grasp, the mouse grabbed her torso and doubled over. At the same time, Logan's rib cage started throbbing again. The pain lasted all of ten seconds and then waned; however, Logan realized the mouse was absorbing his injury into her own body. He didn't know how she was doing it or how she was standing the pain. All he knew was she was experiencing the exact moment his world had come crashing down, a bullet ripping through his flesh.

The scar on his rib cage suddenly stopped aching, but the mouse's look of pain morphed into distress before she collapsed to her knees and threw her arms around her chest, rocking back and forth. Alarmed, Logan dropped beside her.

“Miss Blake!”

“Don't touch me,” she warned through gritted teeth. “The exchange isn't c-c-complete.” Her last word was stuttered, and Logan fell silent. Not complete? What else was left? His rib cage was without pain for the first time since the shooting. She had quite literally taken the pain away, and that was impossible. He glanced at the mouse's face again, noting the blood now dripping from her nose. He reached in his back pocket and hauled out a handkerchief.

“You're bleeding.”

Her fingers shot to her nose. “Perks of the trade,” she quipped. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and threw her head back in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

Logan frowned at her sarcasm and shoved her fingers away, mopping the streaming blood with her hankie.

“You're an insane wench, you know that?”

“And a danger to everyone I meet,” she mumbled. “Why do you think they keep me hidden away?”

“Don't joke. You could've been killed absorbing that wound.”

She pushed the hankie away from her face. “Don't be so melodramatic. You caused the connection, not me. The bleeding will stop momentarily. It always does.”

True to her words, the flow soon stopped, and she scrambled to her feet, settling her gloves back into place quickly. He handed her the hankie again, and finding a dry spot on it, she wiped the base of her nose. In seconds, her face was dry, and she was pocketing the hankie.

“How come the Meta Corps files are incomplete?” Logan asked. “Why don't they say you've the ability to link minds?”

“If you were Meta Corps, would you want the public to know?” Sonny asked. “People are frightened enough of talking with the Other Side; would you place more fear in them by telling them it's possible for two minds to link up and experience the same moment together?”

She bit down on her lower lip, and Logan sensed she'd been about to add something else. She obviously didn't trust him enough to reveal it.

“Very well,” she continued. “You've managed to convince me it makes perfect sense for Meta Corps to monitor me from time to time. After all, they own a piece of me.”

He growled impatiently. “I'm no babysitter, Miss Blake. I'm here to find a serial killer. You happen to have an incredible talent for touching objects and getting supernatural answers. And as you know, that's a talent Meta Corps uses to its advantage. Besides, your personal file reveals you've saved countless lives over the years.”

Sonny made a face at him. “Admitting that must've hurt your ego.”

“More than you think.”

She laughed at the confession. “But just think. If you hadn't come, you would've missed seeing my incredible talent in person, and of course, if you hadn't come, you would've had no one to insult every five minutes.”

“I haven't insulted you every five minutes. Perhaps only every ten.”

A small hiss pummeled his ears. “How on earth have you managed to stay alive without some woman bludgeoning you to death?” She whirled around. “It really is time we parted company permanently.”

“Have I insulted you again too soon?” he mocked her.

“You've managed to insult me quite thoroughly, and you know it,” Sonny answered, whirling back. “So rather than inflict my ‘spiritual shit' on you any further, I'll return you to the front desk of the hotel and bid you good-bye.”

“Without telling me whether you've had a chance to look at the evidence I sent?” he queried, as she stepped away. She swung back, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Good heavens! No one said this was a rush job.”

“Well, it is.”

“Well, if you paid more attention to what you call ‘spiritual shit,' you'd know that Spirit can't be rushed. It reveals its truth in its own time and in its own way, and not before.”

“I'm not a patient man, Miss Blake.”

“Well, then, Spirit is about to teach you a very
big
lesson.”

A glimmer of a smile surfaced on his lips. “At least Spirit sent me a gorgeous teacher to look at. It should make the lesson very entertaining.”

His gaze met hers, as if expecting her to mount a comeback; however, a loud boom rocked the crisp air, startling the pair. A split second later, a bullet shattered the water pitcher beside them, sending shards of glass splintering in all directions. Sonny whirled away with a screech, clutching the front of her dress in fright.

Logan's fight-or-flight instincts kicked in at once. He upended the table, grabbed the mouse's elbow, and jerked her down. Another bullet ricocheted over their heads, and he forced her to the ground, covering her body with his.

“Bloody hell!” he cursed. “I knew the moment I saw you you'd be trouble. Why the hell do I always have to be right?”

• • •

“Call the bastard off, Miss Blake, or I'll strangle you, here and now.” He made a move to throttle her, but Sonny deflected the chokehold by grabbing his hands. Good Lord, he thought she had set him up to be killed. Locked in his stare, Sonny felt nothing, heard nothing, except the loud beating of both their hearts. A second later, a cluster of pinpricks settled in front of her eyes, and she knew she was going to faint. Closing her eyes, she let her mind float away.

Out of nowhere, pain jarred her cheekbone, followed by a sudden rush of air coursing back into her windpipe. Immediately, strong fingers hauled her to a sitting position against the back of the overturned table. Sonny's eyes flew open at the contact. The rotten swine had hit her. She could feel the imprint of his palm on her cheek. Her hand flew upward, along with a scathing comment about men who hit women; however, a spasm of coughs erupted from her vocal cords, slicing off the taunt. Swallowing air, she managed a hoarse croak.

“Who wants you dead?”

An icy silence greeted her question, and Sonny realized she had asked the wrong question. Someone wanted
her
dead.

You are in grave danger.
Hadn't that been her father's words?

Once again, she found her face and hair under intense scrutiny, and then, lightning-quick, Logan hunched in front of her, shading her from another round of shrapnel whizzing over their heads.

“I can tell by your face you know you asked the wrong question,” he finally stated, craning his head as the air around them went quiet. “The question really is, how the hell are we going to stay out of the bastard's line of fire? This table is going to come apart if it gets hit a few more times.”

Before she could offer a suggestion, another barrage of gunfire chewed the canopy above their heads. Once again, the pair clung to each other. The arbor on their left sheared, sending wood shavings and mangled flowers raining down on their heads. Sonny clutched Logan's chest. Once again, her breath was cut off midstream, but this time she knew it was from the smell of a cowhide jacket.

Almost as soon as it began, the gunfire stopped, leaving an unearthly smell of gunpowder hanging in the air. Sonny covered her nose to suppress a sneeze. Lightning-quick, a gun appeared in front of her face, and she gasped. Her fingers clenched the barrel, sliding it away from her nose. For the first time, she felt a real tremor of fear. Someone did want her dead.

An image of the Lovers card floated through her brain, and she willed it away. This was no time to think of hot, sweaty sex with a Glock-toting Meta Corps agent. Her inner voice suddenly chimed in.

What's the old adage? Be careful what you wish for? You wanted a man's man, and now you've got one. How do you like him so far?

Sonny shivered at the question, and then she heard the click of a chamber sliding into place. The toad carried a gun. Was he bent on using it? She peered around the edge of the table, studying the surrounding trees.

“Can you tell where he's shooting from?” she asked.

She was slammed back against the wood roughly.

“Stay put, you fool! You want to get yourself killed?”

Startled by the ferocious command, Sonny raised her gaze a few inches. Rotten swine! Why was he pretending to be worried about her now, when it was so obvious before he would enjoy seeing her boiled in oil.

Glancing up, she caught sight of his upturned chin and grimaced. His gaze was scouring the surrounding shrubbery with the same intensive stare he had given her face moments before.

“Perhaps you should fire your gun. Show him we're not defenseless,” she said.

The hint of a smile crossed his lips. “Right. Fire my gun against a hi-tech rifle. That's great advice, Miss Blake. Where did you come up with that pearl of wisdom?”

“I do my best thinking when being shot at.”

His gaze returned to the surrounding rocks and trees, and then on to the cascading waterfall on their right. “Do me a favor. Let me do the thinking.”

Sonny studied the dark shadow kissing his cheekbones and ventured a soft observation. Was there anything he wasn't good at?

“Being nice to women,” he muttered, as if reading her thoughts. His head swiveled around to study the drop-off behind them. “I think it's time we go. Get ready to run.” The command was so unexpected that Sonny could do no more than stare at him as if he had grown two heads. Talking with him was like taking a roller-coaster ride through a dark tunnel. You could never see the next dip in the tracks. “Get ready to run, I said!”

“Run?” she managed to stammer. “Run where?” She braced her back against the table. “No way; I'm not going out there. We can wait.”

She felt a breath of hot air on her right cheek. “Don't argue with me, Miss Blake. It makes me want to leave you under this canopy to face our sniper alone.”

“Go ahead and leave then,” Sonny sniffed. She poked his chest with her finger. “Just leave me your gun when you go. I'm not afraid to fire at the bastard. Unlike you, I'd enjoy going down with a fight.”

Lightning-quick, Sonny found her neck in a viselike grip and the back of her head pinned to the table. Nose to nose, she felt his steely blue eyes bore into hers.

“You
never
want to know what it's like to go down with a fight, Miss Blake. Don't
ever
say anything so stupid again in your life!”

Sonny's mouth went dry, stunned by his sudden attack. Heavens but he had a low boiling point. Did he think she was insinuating he was to blame for getting himself shot last summer? Why couldn't he see she had said it because she was terrified of being shot the same way? She lifted her hands, winding her gloved fingers around his wrist. To her surprise, she felt a stirring of her senses and severed the connection immediately by jerking her fingers away. She couldn't afford to send them both into an unexpected vision. His fingers relaxed as if he knew her thoughts, and she managed to sneak a breath before whispering, “I'm terrified. When I'm scared, I babble.”

His face moved away, and she could breathe again. Absently, she rubbed the front of her neck.

“Get ready to run.”

The command came again, and Sonny rocked her head. “That part I meant. I'm not leaving the safety of this canopy.”

“We can make it to the chapel.”

Sonny's gaze shot to the path on their right. The chapel was at least fifty yards away.

“Wake up, Miss Blake. We're out of here.”

“I'm not going.”

“You're going.”

Her brain searched for another excuse. “I can't run in this dress. It's simply too tight.”

“Christ but you're an aggravating wench.”

To her astonishment, his fingers gripped the hem of her dress and ripped the right-side seam up over her hip. Sonny stared in horror at the shredded fabric.

“I don't believe you did that.” She placed a hand over the sheared material and tried to piece it back together. “You've ruined a Michael Kors original. You're going to burn in hell for that.”

“The devil will have to stand in line to get me. Now, do you have any other objections as to why we can't leave this canopy?”