Tempt Me (27 page)

Melvin quickly examined Bailey's face, peeled back her lips, and looked at her hands and nails. Glanced at his.

Rafe’s breath flash-froze. Did she really suspect him of—

“Bailey Brown, right? She works for your brother.” Rafe could almost see her shifting puzzle pieces around, turning them this way and that, trying to complete the picture. “Human.”

Rafe nodded, relieved. “She’s been having stomach problems, but I don’t know what kind.”

“Could be a perforated ulcer,” she said. “Come with me.”

They walked toward the door leading back to the examining rooms, the soft soles of Melvin’s winter boots squeaking against the linoleum floor. Melvin badged them in. “Page Penn,” she called back to the person behind the reception desk. “What's open?”

“Exam Two.”

She nodded. “Please ask the valet to take care of Mr. Sebastiani's car. It's parked out front.” She glanced at him. “Keys?”

“They're still in the Jeep.” He’d probably left it running. “Um, watch out for the blood...” he called weakly. But the worker was already scurrying to obey Melvin's directive. Ah, screw it. The valets here probably dealt with leaking body fluids every day of the week.

“Follow me.” Melvin quickly strode down the hall.

“Sure is busy here.” He shifted Bailey's slight weight in his arms.

“Full Moon Saturday night.”

He followed her into a small room painted what was probably supposed to be a comforting shade of sage green, but instead reminded him of the pea soup that Regan had puked up in
The Exorcist
. Gleaming medical instruments were mounted on the walls, sharing space with cheerfully framed posters reminding parents of the benefits of vaccination, and advising wolves of the proper placement of their tick medication. Sample-sized bottles of VampScreen sat in a basket on the desk. While Melvin tossed her long winter coat onto the visitor's chair, Rafe set Bailey on the examining table. Her skin looked white as the paper sheet covering the bed, and despite the jostling, her eyes stayed closed. There were no blankets, so he covered her with his coat again.

Dr. Melvin quickly checked Bailey's vitals, wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around her upper arm. It hissed and pumped as Melvin rhythmically fisted the bulb.

Bailey lurched up, coughing, spraying blood on his coat and Melvin's yellow silk blouse. Melvin grabbed a small plastic pan and placed it in Bailey's hands. “Let’s take a minute.”

While Bailey coughed, sputtered and spit, he supported her with an arm around her shoulders. Finally, she settled, quieted—and her eyes stayed open.

“Do you have a history of ulcers or gastrointestinal problems, Ms. Brown?”

Bailey looked at Melvin’s blouse with dismay. “Oh, God. Look at the mess I've made.”

“Never mind that,” he said. “Just answer the damn question.”

“Can I have some tissues, please?”

Rafe plucked three or four sheets of institutional-grade tissues from a light blue box and handed them to her. She spit into the tissues, wiped her mouth, and then crumpled them. “Where should I—”

Rafe plucked them out of her hands. “Answer the question.”

“Would you like Mr. Sebastiani to step outside?” Melvin asked Bailey.

Ah, hell.

After a slight hesitation, Bailey shook her head. “My stomach’s been sore for, oh, three or four months now.”

Before they started seeing each other. For some reason, the thought brought him the slightest bit of relief.

“I know I’ve let it go too long.” She shot Rafe a guilty glance. “Wyland scheduled some diagnostic tests for early Tuesday morning.”

Not an early-morning meeting, then. She’d lied to him.

“Do you know which tests?” Melvin asked patiently.

Bailey shook her head. “The details are on my phone.” She glanced at him again. “Did you happen to bring it?”

He shook his head. He hadn't thought to bring the infernal phone with them, but...reaching into his pants pocket, he withdrew Bailey's pillbox. “She's also been taking these.”

Melvin took the container from him and quickly flicked it open. “Prescription?”

“Experimental—and confidential,” Bailey answered, shooting him an annoyed glance. “Developed by Sebastiani Labs. They counteract pheromone intoxication in humans.”

Melvin took in his barely-buttoned shirt, and Bailey, naked under his T-shirt. A couple more puzzle pieces probably clicked into place.

There was a token knock at the door. “Come,” Melvin said.

The door opened, admitting a harried-looking man sporting a heinous case of bed head. His badge, clipped askew on the pocket of his wrinkled white jacket, identified him as Dr. Adnan Penn, MultiSpecies Trauma.

“Sorry to wake you, Adnan,” Melvin said. “I'd appreciate a consult.” Melvin quickly ran down the particulars. Several words and phrases jumped out in bold: possible perforated ulcer. Experimental drugs, possible OD. Human.

“You brought me a human?” Penn said as he peered down Bailey’s throat with a handheld scope.

“The pills she took were developed to reduce the effects of incubi pheromones on humans,” he snapped. “I wasn't about to take her to Hennepin County.”

Melvin patted his arm. “Calm down, Rafe. She's in good hands.” She looked at Penn. “Endoscopy?”

Penn nodded back. “We’ll know more about the right course of treatment once we know exactly what we're dealing with.” He looked at Bailey. “But I think it’s likely you’ll need surgery tonight.”

Bailey dropped her head onto her upraised knees.

“Relax for a moment while we make some arrangements.” Melvin spoke to Bailey, but her hand was on his, steady, stable and reassuring. “We’ll need to do some blood work, and I'll send a nurse in to help you clean up.” She glanced at Rafe. “We also need more information about the medication she’s taking.”

“Call Jack,” Bailey rasped. “I want Jack.”

Pain lanced through him at her words, but he rested a comforting hand on her back. “I will.” She was shivering. “Could you ask the nurse to bring some blankets?”

Melvin nodded. “She’s a little shocky. The blood loss doesn't help.”

Rafe stood sentinel while the phlebotomist battled Bailey’s tiny veins, filling too many vials with blood she couldn't spare. A faerie nurse came in next, carrying towels, washcloths, and a hospital gown. Waves of Jamaica lapped in his voice, low and comforting, as he filled a basin with hot, soapy water. When the man helped Bailey out of Rafe’s T-shirt, now stiff with dried blood, it was all he could do to not step in and take over.

“Now, what happened to you, hon?” The slim man’s voice was warm and caring, but his emotions and touch were entirely professional. Nonetheless, Rafe stayed until Bailey was clean and warm, shivering with pleasure under the weight of two heated blankets.

“She's dozing off,” the nurse said with a gentle smile. “Why don’t you step out for a moment and get something to drink, take a break? There's coffee and tea in the family rooms off the lobby. I can show you—”

“I know where they are, thanks.” He and his family had spent endless hours in the family rooms last year, waiting for news about Lukas and Scarlett after they were attacked. “Will you stay with her?” He didn’t want to leave Bailey alone, not for a single minute, but he had some phone calls to make.

The man studied him, and nodded.

“Thank you.” With a quick kiss to her cheek, he made himself leave the examination room. On autopilot, he found the family room where he and his family had spent the most time last year. Decorated in Early Institutional Living Room, with several stiff couches and chairs, there was a full-sized refrigerator, an aquarium, a coffee maker that ran twenty four hours a day, a door that closed, and a landline phone. He made two calls, to Jack and Lukas, telling them that Bailey was having stomach problems, that they were at Memorial, and that she’d probably need surgery before the night was over. He'd fill them in on the details when they arrived.

Hanging up the heavy black handset with a clatter, he sat back on the couch, staring at the colorful fish as they darted through a castle play fixture, unaware of time passing until he felt a warm weight on his shoulder.

Lukas's hand.

“Is she okay? An ulcer, right? Damn it, I should have hauled her little ass to the doctor myself.”

Rafe almost smiled. Lukas’s case of bed head was worse than Dr. Penn’s. Dressed in a pair of army green pants, barely-laced steel-toed boots, a black T-shirt, and no jacket, Lukas looked like he was going to war. He noticed his brother assessing his garments just as carefully, especially his bloody shirt, chest and hands. “She had an appointment with Wyland for Tuesday morning,” he said, defending her. “Her stomach was a little more impatient than that. Taking those damn pills didn't help.”

“What pills?”

The door opened again as Jack arrived, looking so alert that Rafe suspected he hadn't been to bed yet. Maybe he'd interrupted a hot date with his phone call.

“What happened?” Jack asked.

Rafe filled him in.

“What pills?” Lukas repeated.

Jack’s lips tightened.

“You knew?” Rafe glared at him.

“She promised me she'd be careful with the dosage, that she’d talk to somebody at SL.”

“What pills!” Lukas bellowed.

“She's been taking pheromone intoxication meds for weeks,” Rafe said. “Gobbling them like candy.”

“Why would she do that?”

Rafe turned away, staring at the fish tank again.

“To keep her thoughts clear while she worked so closely with Rafe,” Jack answered.

Jack’s answer was nowhere close to the whole story, but it would do for now.

Lukas jammed his hands into his hair. “That little idiot.”

“Who's your contact at SL?” Rafe asked Jack. “Melvin wants to talk to somebody about the meds.”

Lukas dropped his hands. “Melvin's her doctor?”

“One of them, yeah. Penn’s doing the tests, and if she needs surgery for a perforation, he'll do it.”

A flush crept up Lukas’s neck, turning it a ruddy pink.

“So she’s seen your junk,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Get over it.”

“I've seen a lot of men's junk,” Dr. Melvin said as she entered the room, a wry sparkle in her eyes. “Mr. Sebastiani, I hope your testicles have fully recovered? You never did come back for that follow-up appointment. Hello, Mr. Kirkland. Good to see you again.”

Melvin had changed her blouse. Instead of blood-spattered yellow silk, she now wore dusty purple cotton under a starched white jacket. Her winter boots had been exchanged for practical black flats.

It appeared she planned on staying a while.

“Bailey’s given me permission to fill you in on what we know about her condition.” She perched on the edge of the stiff couch. “She’s on her way to the Endoscopy suite with Dr. Penn. He'll confirm the perforated ulcer, see if there are any other areas we need to be concerned about. If he's right—and I think he is—she’ll be taken directly to the OR from there.”

“Is she conscious, able to consent?” Jack asked. “I've got her power of attorney if you need it.”

Of course he did. Resentment burned like a brush fire, but he managed to fight it back. Given Bailey's strained relationship with her family, Jack was probably the closest thing to next of kin that she had.

“She's tired, but awake and alert,” Melvin responded. “Is there anything about the experimental medication she’s taking that might compromise her thought processes?”

Jack shook his head. “If anything, her thoughts would be sharper.”

“Fascinating,” she mused. “You've taken this medication yourself?”

He nodded.

Melvin was looking at Jack's big, healthy frame with obvious interest. “Do you have information about their composition? I’d like to ensure there’s nothing in them that might interfere with anesthesia, or interact poorly with other medication we might need to use during the course of her treatment.”

Jack looked at Lukas, who nodded back. The decision to reveal confidential information to Melvin had just been made by Council members, not friends. “I have the specs in my office at Sebastiani Security,” Jack said. “I can be there and back in ten minutes.”

Melvin glanced at her watch. “Excellent.” She stood, and once again rested her hand on Rafe’s forearm, smiling reassuringly. “She's young and otherwise healthy, Rafe. She should be fine.”

As soon as Melvin left, Lukas and Jack huddled together, talking in bullet-point bursts and pressing buttons on their minis.

Rafe looked away. He was sick to death of those damn gadgets. His brother, and everyone who worked for him, were tethered to the damn things like dogs on leashes. “I need some air.”

He needed to wash Bailey’s blood off his hands.

Lukas halted his conversation. “Rafe?”

Rafe held up a hand, shook his head, and slowly walked out of the room.

––––––––

B
ailey.

The voice in her head was like a paper cut, stinging more than it should for its size. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed, whoever was bothering her would just leave... leave her to float, under the waves, above the pain.

She knew she was in a hospital. Crisp white sheets, the scent of institutional cleansers, and the soft mechanical beep of monitoring equipment circled around the perimeter of her consciousness, but she was calm under the waves, submerged yet breathing, occasionally breaking the surface to sip some air before slipping back under again.

Bailey. Wake up. Now.

Her eyelids flew open so quickly the bed spun like a whirlybird. Gasping, she threw out an arm to steady herself, and found Wyland standing by her bedside.

“So, you’re finally back with us.”

She scowled up at him. “That’s some bedside manner you've got there.”

“Whatever works.”

“Christ on a cracker.” She dropped her head back onto the too-flat pillow. If that was what a vampire thrall felt like, she was glad he hadn’t unleashed it on her before. He rested his palm against her forehead for several seconds, and then his cool fingers were at her wrist, taking her pulse.

“How do you feel?”

It was a fight to keep her eyes open, but she quickly assessed. There was a slight pain in her stomach, a distant sting, but nothing like the flamethrower burns she'd felt at Rafe's.