ON EDGE (Decorah Security) (2 page)

The explanation didn’t help. He glanced over at the sleeping man. “But we’re in the Naval Medical Center. Gordon’s in his bed.”

“The planes can merge—briefly.”

When his brow wrinkled, Ariel shook her head. “But I shouldn’t have told you any of that.”

“Why not?”

“Does it sound like the truth to you?”

He considered the question. “I don’t know.”

“You should go back to your bed.”

He was on the floor with his crutches scattered around like matchsticks. It was going to be a hell of a job getting to his feet. He pictured the maneuver. A grim-faced, dark-haired man, graceful as a fallen donkey trying to right himself when he was still harnessed to the cart shafts.

“Let me help you.”

That wasn’t so great either. She looked too fragile to hold his weight.

“I’m too heavy for you.”

“I am stronger than I look.”

She held out her arm, and he figured he could always let go if he started to pull her over. But she braced her legs and stood without bending while he pulled himself up.

When he was erect, she steadied him with one hand at his waist. He should back away, but something had happened between them that he couldn’t explain. She had said he wasn’t supposed to be in this place. Did she mean it was forbidden? Or that he had somehow walked through an invisible doorway?

Whatever she’d meant, he
was
here, and he couldn’t stop himself from gathering her closer, holding her for a long moment, feeling her warmth, breathing in her scent. Everything about her was intoxicating to him. When he reached to stroke a hand through her raven hair, her breath caught.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

“We shouldn’t have met.”

“Yeah, I guess a guy with one leg . . .”

She leaned away from him, her eyes fierce. “This has nothing to do with your leg.”

“What is it then?”

“I have a job to do.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“Too dangerous.”

“I
did
help, didn’t I? I mean, I got to Gordon’s room before you did.”

She considered that. “Yes. It is strange that you did. But it can’t happen again. You must forget me.”

The one called Lilith had said something similar, but he wasn’t going to forget either one of them. Instead of protesting, he murmured, “If you’re going to vanish from my mind, it doesn’t matter what happens now, does it?”

She tipped her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“This.”

If it had been just another day in the real world, he would have backed away from her. But this encounter was in a different category, like a dream and yet not a dream. He brought his lips to hers for a kiss that started off sweet and soft as he judged her acceptance. When she didn’t pull back, his intent became more demanding. It had been eons since he had kissed a woman, eons since he’d even thought about it or wanted to. Now he was focusing on every subtle nuance of her lips on his. She didn’t try to pull away, but he felt her shock at the contact. He gathered her in, wanting more of her—wanting everything from her.

She seemed to know little of kissing, but he felt her relax into the sensuality of the moment, and he felt his own body harden in answer to her response.

He stroked one hand up and down her back, loving the lithe curves of her body. He was thinking about where the two of them could get horizontal when he felt her push against his shoulder.

“You should not.” She caught her breath. “I should not.”

His eyes blinked open. “Why not?”

“We should never have met.”

He had forgotten that he was a man with one leg, a man whom no woman was going to want.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She raised her face, searching his eyes. “Are you really sorry?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She’d gone from protest to reassurance in the space of a few moments.

“You liked it,” he said. It wasn’t a question but a statement.

“Yes.”

He watched her swallow hard.

“But my liking it is all right because you won’t remember it.”

“The hell I won’t,” he answered with conviction. “And what kind of logic is that?”

“You’re not being logical. I don’t have to be, either.”

Before he could say anything else, she eased away from him and bent to retrieve his crutches from the floor. She handed them to him, and when he had put them back into position under his arms, she took a step away, looking him up and down. He stood his ground, wondering what she saw exactly. He was damaged goods, but when a man had called for help, he’d reacted like the old Frank Decorah.

“You were brave to come in here.”

“I had to.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For the kiss. And the rest of it.” She turned and walked out of the room. As she did, the light changed, moonlight flooding through the window as though a cloud had suddenly been blown away by the wind.

From the bed, Gordon called out, his voice groggy, “Frank?”

He turned back to his buddy. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You screamed.”

“Did I?”

“Do you remember anything?”

“A nightmare.”

“About what?”

He considered the question for long moments, then finally said, “I’d rather forget it.”

Frank cupped his fingers around the man’s shoulders. “Don’t give up. Things will get better—for both of us.”

“Maybe.”

“For sure.”

One of the nurses poked her head in the door. It was the one they called Nurse Ratched behind her back, the one who tried to run the ward like a prison camp.

“I heard Lieutenant Gordon call out. What did you do to him?” she demanded.

“Nothing. I heard him too. I came to find out what was wrong.”

“But I didn’t see you come down the hall.”

Frank shrugged.

He’d seen her sleeping at her desk, but maybe everybody had been sleeping—except him. And perhaps none of them remembered it.

Chapter Two

The squeaky wheel on the meds cart woke Frank at six thirty in the morning. He lay in bed, remembering the night before. He’d had a nightmare or something, because what he recalled couldn’t be real. He’d heard Roger Gordon scream and made it into his room down the hall in time to see a woman in black leaning over him, getting ready to suck the life out of the man.

And how had he figured that?

He couldn’t exactly say, but he’d known to the marrow of his bones that it was true.

He’d tried to fight her off, and she’d sent him sprawling on the floor. As she’d swooped in for the kill, another woman had rushed into the room and rescued him. She’d told him her name was Ariel. And the bad girl was Lilith.

That was about it, except for a very hot kiss and a bunch of weird details he could hardly believe. Ariel had told him he shouldn’t be there. She’d ordered him to forget what had happened, and he was pretty sure she was confident that the command would wipe out his memory of the events. But they were engraved on his mind as though someone had taken a wood-burning iron and gouged the scene into the tissue of his brain.

He winced, hating the metaphor, yet unable to shake the image.

He pushed himself up as he’d done the night before and swung his leg over the side of the bed. Only now he didn’t have to hurry.

Instead he reached for his crutches and hobbled into the bathroom where he used the toilet, then turned the water in the shower to hot.

He could lean his shoulders against the tile wall and stand up to wash without the crutches. After his shower he shaved, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes looked sunken, and the creases between his nose and lips seemed deeper. He was thirty-five, but he probably looked older. Then he went back to the bedroom for the prosthetic leg. Donning it was part of his morning routine. Since his stump tended to perspire in the sheath that held on the artificial limb, he sprinkled on an absorbent powder, then pulled the special sock over the stump of his leg, before fitting the prosthesis over it. When he was finished, he stood up to make sure it was comfortable and not going to chafe.

That was a big problem when you had an artificial extension on the end of a limb. Get it irritated, and you were in big trouble.

Dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt, he stepped into the hall. He’d been here last night. Well, not here exactly. Another plane of existence, Ariel had said. Where the light was eerie. Now it was normal morning light. He ran his hand along the institutional green surface of the wall. It felt cold and solid. If it was reality, what had last night been?

When he saw one of the day staff nurses watching him, he pulled his hand away and headed for the mess hall where the men and women in the program who were mobile ate.

Pausing in the doorway, he looked at the fifteen troops who were already there, not just Navy but from other branches of the service too. Most were sitting at the square Formica tables set far enough apart for easy access. Several orderlies were on duty, ready to assist anyone who needed help.

Gordon, who had lost both legs, was still in a wheelchair, which was pulled up at the table in the corner. He stared at Frank for a long moment, then back down at his plate on the table in front of him.

Frank stopped for a mug of coffee from the urn and carried it to the table.

“Join you?”

“Sure,” Gordon answered without a lot of enthusiasm.

“Be right back.” Frank got in the cafeteria-style line, picked up a tray and a plate, and served himself scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, which he carefully carried back to the table where he’d set his mug. Walking was one thing. Walking and balancing a tray of food was another, and he knew the orderlies were keeping track of him as he returned to the table.

He set down the food and pulled out his chair.

“So how are you doing?” he asked Gordon.

“Okay,” the man answered without mentioning anything about the night before.

Unsure how to proceed, Frank forked up some scrambled eggs and ate them.

“I woke up last night and thought I heard you,” he finally said.

Gordon’s head snapped up. “Heard me do what?”

“Did you call out for help?”

“No.” The flat denial left no room for argument.

He waited a beat before asking, “Did you feel like you might . . . give up?”

Gordon kept his gaze level. “What kind of question is that?”

Frank lifted one shoulder. “There were times when I felt like I couldn’t go on. You ever feel that way?”

Gordon pushed his fork around the plate. “I think we all do at one time or another.”

“Yeah. But don’t stop believing that you can make it. We’re all going to get through this.”

“And when we finish the program, then what?” Gordon asked.

“I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

“Oh, sure.” He gave Frank a fierce look. “I worked in a warehouse before I joined the Navy. I’m not going to be operating a forklift.”

“There are other things you can do.”

“I don’t need a bunch of bullshit about the wonderful kingdom of Oz from you this morning.”

“Sorry. I guess I was just feeling vulnerable.”

“Why? You’ve still got one good leg, and you’re up and walking.”

Frank nodded. “But I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, either.” He hadn’t planned to discuss his own fears, and maybe giving Gordon a pep talk wasn’t the way to go. But what was? Stay awake at night and listen for sounds of trouble?

He looked around the room. More of the men and women in the rehab program had come in, and there were now twenty-four of them eating or getting food. Were any of them at risk from that mind vampire thing? What if you were a woman who had lost a leg—or two? Was that worse than a man having his body image screwed up? Would she think that no one would love her with important parts missing? The way he felt when he wasn’t guarding his emotions.

He shuddered.

“What?” Gordon asked.

“Nothing.’ He wasn’t going to say he was imagining himself in bed with a woman, making love. One particular woman, actually. Only how the hell did you do it with one leg? He flicked a quick glance at Gordon. Or none?

He finished breakfast quickly, then stood up too fast, almost losing his balance and making a grab for the table. Everybody turned to stare at him, and he ducked his head to keep from making eye contact.

He felt their eyes on him. Were they feeling a wince of self- awareness as they watched him almost fall over? And which of them was susceptible to the thing that had tried to suck the life out of Gordon? It had looked like a beautiful woman. If you were female, did the vampire take the shape of a handsome man?