An Inner Fire (18 page)

He took a deep swallow of the unpeated, smooth Scotch, waiting for the woody heat to smooth his ragged, torn edges. In fourteen days, he would be a wanted man. Zavragin would get to him before the police.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Grayce stepped into the elevator and pressed number thirty-four, the top floor of Davis’ condo building. His distraught message from last night played over and over in her mind—“I’m at the Emergency hospital. Mitzi’s in trouble.”

Davis was at the elevator when the door opened. He was dressed in a wrinkled blue shirt; several buttons were undone, revealing black chest hair. A five o’clock shadow darkened his chin; a shadow of vulnerability darkened his eyes.

“Thanks for coming.”

She took his callused hands in hers. “How are you doing?”

He gripped her hands tight. “Better, I think. Exhausted, and at the same time, wound up.”

He looked so lost. His second chakra was diminished. “It must’ve been awful.”

He swallowed hard. “I’ve been angling to get you to my place. I should’ve known you’d come for Mitzi.” His forced smile never left his lips. His face and eyes were as flat as his energy.

“How is she?”

“I can’t tell. She just sleeps. Dr. Herrick said she might be like this for another day or two.”

“I spoke with Phil on the way over. Mitzi’s labs are all normal.” She was glad Davis didn’t know how close Mitzi had come to kidney failure. “I can’t believe she ate chocolate.”

“She didn’t eat it. Someone poisoned her with chocolate.” The violence in his voice lashed across her skin, making her breathless.

“Poisoned?” She could barely get the word out. It seemed like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the condo.

“Who would poison Mitzi?” She had been so worried about the threats against Davis; she hadn’t considered that they would try to hurt Mitzi.

“I’ve no idea, maybe a neighbor who got tired of her barking.”

Mitzi had saved Davis’ life twice. Whoever was after Davis was going to try a third time, and they were insuring their success.

Davis pointed to the living room. “Here’s our patient.”

The spacious room was dark except for a lone corner lamp and the lights from the city below. Mitzi was lying on an oversized bright pink circular bed in the middle of the room.

“Pink, Davis. I wouldn’t have thought it was your color.”

“Daphne, my ex-girlfriend’s taste, not mine.”

She tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy, the sudden and unfamiliar feeling of rivalry toward the woman. She heard a gentle thump and moved closer to Mitzi. The lack of an enthusiastic greeting from the spunky poodle told her more than Phil’s entire medical description.

She knelt next to Mitzi’s bed. “How are you, girl?”

The poodle looked up, her dark eyes dull and listless.

Grayce met Davis’ stare. His eyes were more than tired—they were vacant. He was as fragile as Mitzi. She wanted to fix them, make it all better. “You’re both gonna be back to your old selves in a few days.”

She didn’t need to perform an extensive exam to know Mitzi’s diagnosis. The poodle’s chi was low from the assault to her body. Her lung points most likely were inflamed. Going through the logical process of diagnosis helped her separate her emotional reaction to this newest threat against Davis and Mitzi. She needed to focus on healing the damage.

She didn’t touch Mitzi but ran her hand an inch above her fur, searching for any change in temperature, any reactive acupuncture points. “You’ve been poked and prodded. Do you think you can tolerate a few more needles?”

There was the gentle thump again. “I think that’s a
yes
.” She smiled at Mitzi and then Davis. “The treatment will balance her energy and speed up her healing.”

“I’m sure you’ll help in any way you can,” he said.

She pulled the needles from her jeans pockets, then settled herself into a crossed-legged position next to Mitzi and spoke in a gentle voice, “I know you’ve been through a lot.”

She placed the needle into the top of Mitzi’s head to release the stagnant chi. Grayce was blasted with raw emotion. Cold stark fear arced between Mitzi and her.

Unprepared for the raging force, Grayce’s body reacted. Anxiety pressed her down, holding her too tight to move, too tight to breathe. Her heart sped up as did her breathing.

Mitzi’s eyes were on hers. The dog licked Grayce’s hand; her tongue was hot, too hot.

Exhaling deeply, Grayce closed her eyes and visualized Mitzi cavorting, jumping. She centered on the joy, raising her own vibrations with Mitzi’s exuberant movements. She then placed the needles making her way down Mitzi’s spine.

Grayce rotated the needles. Hot currents moved between them, an excess of blocked chi. She opened her mind and heart with the image of a strong Mitzi, vital and vigorous. A blaze of agony seared Grayce’s brain, as if she had been forced to stare into a blinding light. A snake filled her vision, slithering down into blackness, into emptiness.

Her heart pounded. Her breathing got choppy. This was the energy of the poisoner, an animal killer.

She needed to calibrate the spiking energy. She began to remove the needles. She left the lung point’s needles in place to intensify the treatment of the emotional center.

Mitzi’s muscles start to relax. Stretching her paws out in front, she slept.

Grayce breathed into her center and deepened her visualization, delving into the darkness. The snake twisted on a man’s arm.

Mitzi gave a god-awful howl and started to shake, jarring Grayce out of her meditative state.

“What the hell is going on?” Davis voice grated on her ears, irritating her already hyper-vigilant state. He stood over her and touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

With his other hand, he petted Mitzi. “You okay, Mitzi?”

Grayce didn’t have any way to describe the treatment. Nothing like this had ever happened.

Dread pressed on her chest, making each breath a strain. Mitzi licked her hand. The now cool, wet tongue brought her back. When Grayce rubbed the soft, springy fur on Mitzi’s chest, she could feel the dog’s racing heartbeat.

“Nothing. Mitzi and I…we’re fine.” Avoiding Davis’ gaze, she busied herself removing the final needles. She had never had a patient get agitated in response to acupuncture. A few might get restless but never frenzied like Mitzi. Clearly, the acupuncture had released a whole flood of blocked energy.

Davis was bent over both of them, his voice filled with worry. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but your breathing got loud and fast. And then Mitzi gave that howl, like in Belltown.”

“We’re fine. I was picking up on Mitzi’s experience, feeling her stress.”

Davis helped Grayce from the floor. They stood toe to toe. She could feel his warm breath on her face, the heat from his body, the clean fresh smell of him. She clung close, needing her senses to be revitalized by his integrity.

“Mitzi’s going to recover quickly. But it’s too bad I don’t treat humans, you look like you need acupuncture.”

“A glass of wine will have to do. No Grey Goose tonight,” he said.

“I could use a glass of wine.” She had never meant that more than now. The image of the man’s scarred arm was burnt into her mind.

“I’ve only got red.”

“Red sounds perfect.”

She followed him into the shiny metal kitchen, the exact opposite of her kitschy space. Davis’ was new Seattle. Hers was definitely old Seattle, overflowing with plants and her cat Napoleon. His refrigerator was bare, unlike her fridge, covered with pictures of her patients. The cold silver shined back at them.

He opened the wine bottle. In his stark, impersonal kitchen, she felt his solitude. He didn’t spend much time here.

He pulled the cork out of the bottle. “If it weren’t for Jim Herrick, I don’t know if Mitzi would’ve made it. He’s an amazing vet.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t available.” She started to move toward him to touch him, to connect. He turned and reached for the glasses on the shelf above.

He poured the wine, his back to her. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

Was he angry? He must regret his emotional message on her phone. Always in control, Davis wouldn’t have wanted his feelings exposed, to be vulnerable. He rarely let his guard down, even with himself.

“I wish I could’ve been with you and Mitzi. I’ve been having trouble sleeping so I turned off my phone.”

His body was taut, hovering over her. “You don’t owe me any explanation. It’s really okay.”

She inched closer to him, wanting to ease his guilt, his burden. “It must’ve been hell. I know how much you care for Mitzi.”

“It’s over. Mitzi’s fine. I’m fine. We’re just tired.” He pulled his lips back in imitation of a smile, but managed only to contort his face into grimace.

“Anyone would’ve been scared.”

The heat in his look would have caused a lesser woman to run for cover. His jaw muscle pulsated in the hollow of his cheek from his clenched teeth.

“You know you’re off the clock now. I’m fine, just tired and pissed. Someone tried to kill my dog.”

She tried to remind herself his attack wasn’t personal. “I’m not working now, just a friend, willing to listen.”

He began to pace in his shiny kitchen, taking up more of the cold space. “Why do women always think talking about something makes it better? I’m going to get the guy who hurt Mitzi. End of story.”

Grayce was offended. Not by his attack, but because he had lumped her together with other women, other women like Daphne. After their time together, she believed they were becoming friends, more than friends. A flush came to her face. “It was just an offer to talk, Davis.”

She sipped her wine. She wasn’t going to apologize for trying to help him. It was time to go. She had helped Mitzi. Davis obviously didn’t want her help tonight.

She put her glass on the grey granite. “I should be heading out. It’s late.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s late. I’ll walk you down.”

“No, don’t leave Mitzi. I’m fine.” She walked to the living room to say good-bye, but the poodle slumbered deeply. What had his anger been about? She couldn’t think about it right now.

She gathered her coat and purse. Davis watched her. She walked toward the door.

“Good night.”

He touched her arm. “Grayce, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be an ass. It’s just been a hard few days.”

She patted his hand. “You’ll feel better when you get some sleep.” She walked to the elevator.

She wasn’t surprised that Davis didn’t want to process his feelings, but the disconnect hurt. He was exhausted and needed sleep. After treating Mitzi, she was worn out, too. She stepped onto the elevator, ready to be home. Based on Davis’ reaction tonight, he would never accept her intuition. Intuition got too close to feelings, emotions.

How could she explain to him, in any logical terms, the impending threat she perceived to him and Mitzi and now her vision of a man’s scar?

She had to keep her focus on preparing herself, save her energy for the coming battles with his enemies. She didn’t know why she was involved in protecting Davis and Mitzi. But the w
hy
wasn’t important now—only the
how
.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Why the hell had his boss picked this bar? The boss sat across from him in the slick cushioned booth. Fuck, nobody needed to park under a chandelier to throw back a few cold ones. Benson missed the J&M with its wood tables and waitresses in tight ass jeans and its perfect location, close to the station but far enough away that you wouldn’t get spotted having your morning belt. In his new line of business, the J&M was off limits.

“You want another?” Benson signaled the waiter.

The commander shook his head.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Benson asked.

The commander never got pissed, but you knew when he was disappointed, just like his old man. Except unlike his old man, he never beat the shit out of you.

“What’s with the red hair?”

Benson ran his fingers through his hair like the commercial. “It’s a statement. I’ve always wanted to be a redhead.” Benson laughed, but the commander didn’t. “It’s my signature: fiery red, get it?”

The commander tapped on the table, his massive finger beating a slow rhythm, like all the years at the station. “There’s a bit of a complication with your signature.”

“What complication?” No one, not even the commander, could reprimand him now. He was a free agent.

“You and your red hair were seen. A woman saw you.”

“The woman takin’ care of the dog?”

“You knew someone saw you?” The commander never raised his voice, but the way he asked felt like he had.

“I had to shut the fucker up, he kept barking.” God, this was just like work. Nothing about what a good job he’d done. No respect for how perfect the shed burned, or how perfect he had planned. He purchased each item from a different location, paid cash for the five gallon container of chlorine from a pool supply store in affluent Bellevue, the gallon canister of brake fluid from the hood in White Center, the thin cotton rugs from Kmart.