What You Can't See (22 page)

“Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll have to schedule surgery—”

“Do it here. Get what you need, or I’ll walk like this.”

“But you’re signing your life away. I won’t be responsible for any relapse. Your throat can swell up in less than thirty seconds and you’d be up shit creek. It’ll be the end.”

“So noted, now get these tubes out.”

Less than thirty minutes later the tubes were removed and the hole in Zach’s neck and trach sewn shut. “Take it very easy, Mr. Garett. I want to see you in my office tomorrow, the nurse will give you the info.” He went on to give Zach a list of dos and don’ts.

As he listened to the doctor’s droning voice it occurred to Zach for the second time he didn’t have any clothes. “Where are my clothes and belongings?”

“I—” The good doc looked at the nurse.

She hurried to answer. “You went to the ER then to ICU before you came down here. I’m not sure what happened to them. I’ll go look.”

Zach nodded.

Zach just wanted out, and would have put on a dress if that’s what it took. After the doc left with stern warnings, Zach jumped into the shower in his room, brushed his teeth, and just as he wrapped a towel around his waist the nurse came in with a plastic bag.

“All I could come up with was scrubs and a pair of size thirteen plastic clogs.”

Zach nodded. The nurse’s gaze ravaged his body and he felt a heat begin at his groin. But it wasn’t for the buxom blonde standing in front of him with hungry eyes drinking in his body. No, it was for the haggard-eyed woman who was devastated he wasn’t listed in the weekly obit.

Zach smiled, the gesture tugging at his lips. Another time and another place and he would have nailed Nurse Betty right then and there. Now? He had no interest.

“I get off in about twenty minutes, I’ll be happy to drive you home,” the nurse offered.

Zach nodded. “Thanks.” He took the bag from her, dropped the towel, and walked naked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and his dick flexed in response. Maybe he wasn’t as dead as he thought he was after all.

Less than an hour later he was standing in front of his modest single-story house. It nestled snugly in the Oakland hills with a stellar view of the bay and San Francisco, which was why he’d paid a small fortune for it. That, and Danica had had her heart set on it. It was supposed to be the house where they lived happily ever after and raised their children.

He walked around to the side gate, pushed it open and made his way to the alarm keypad hidden beneath a faux dryer vent. He pushed in the code to open the garage door. The eerie creaking of the heavy wooden door as it rose grated on his nerves. Despite Raiden’s healing, he was still one fucking bruise. He wanted to soak in the hot tub, take a few Vicodin, chase them with a couple of beers, and sleep for a week.

The sword he’d taped to his back warmed. Zach cursed at it. Reaching behind him, he pulled it out. Staring at it in his hand, he scowled.

Memories of Michael and his crazy mission erased any thoughts of rest and relaxation. It was just as well; he’d never been one who could just take it easy at will—another character flaw Danica routinely pointed out. He knew how to relax, he just liked to work more.

When he entered his house, stark walls greeted him. After he and Danica broke up he removed every remnant of her from the house—he wanted no reminder of her. Yet every time he entered his bleak house it was a constant reminder of what he’d had to give up.

He tossed the key and the sword onto one of the few pieces of furniture he had, an oak piece that had belonged to his grandmother. Zach kicked off the offensive clogs and padded his way down the hallway to his room. Despite his beat-to-hell body he moved quickly.

He dressed in comfortable jeans, a black T-shirt, and worn cowboy boots. A few Motrin later he realized his car was most likely still at the PD. He shrugged. It was a perfect day for a bike ride. Five minutes later he roared down the street on his Harley. It didn’t get much better than the roar of a V-twin between his thighs, the power of the engine, the speed, the rush, the thrill of a precision piece of machinery.

He smiled. He could think of one thing that beat the thrill of a Harley ride, an altogether different kind of ride. He opened the throttle, his blood warming to the chase.

Twenty minutes later he rolled up in front of the Hope Chandler Museum of Ancient History. He’d only visited here once before.

Three years ago, to return his fiancées few belongings she had left at his house. She’d nearly torn him in half a second time. If was the only time in his life he hadn’t returned a blow.

He’d stood unmoving as she lashed out at him with her fists and her words. He stood silent while her heart tore into a million little pieces. Pieces he alone could put back together by telling the truth. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was too much at stake. He wanted to explain that to her. To let her know she was collateral damage in a very deadly game, and that maybe she should be grateful she got out, or as she so bitterly corrected him, was forced out. Fired.

Zach breathed in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He hung his helmet from one of the handlebars, then strode into the dark building. Quiet greeted him. The exhibition part of the building was closed for renovations. He walked farther into the cavernous hallway. He heard her voice long before he saw her. Farther down the hall, next room to the right. His booted footsteps landed imperceptibly on the black marble floor.

Her voice became louder, more defined. It was a strong voice, a voice that carried authority. It was also all female. He remembered the low throaty timbre of it when she begged him for more. She was insatiable in bed. He missed that. He missed a lot of things.

Zach stopped at the edge of the room. He’d heard she worked her way up from a night-grunt security guard to head of security for the building. She was dressed in a tailored dark pantsuit and low sensible heels, just as she was earlier today when she came to his hospital room. Her face, while still too piqued for his liking, was now fairly animated. She’d been a beauty, now she was but a mere shell of it. Her radiance had dulled. A dark hollowness filled her eyes. And he was responsible for it.

Zach sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Regret filled his soul.

Danica’s skin warmed. Her heart rate cranked up several notches. She dismissed the feeling, trying to focus on her conversation with the man who had stood stalwartly by her these last three years. Asking nothing, offering only his shoulder.

She held her breath, and tensed, waiting for the unnerving feelings to pass. Seconds pounded by. Gone. Letting out a long breath when the world did not come crashing down around her, she relaxed.

The sensation returned. It built, too persistent to ignore.

Zach.

She felt him long before she saw him. She always could. It was an odd sixth sense she had when it came to Zach Garett. She knew the minute he entered the building.

Impossible!

Zach was in the hospital, weak as a puppy, where he’d been fighting for his life for three days. There was no way he could be here.

There! She felt it again. His presence. Stronger now.

Her heart rate fluttered and climbed. Her mouth became dry and her hands trembled. To hide that annoying fact she slid them into her pants pockets and continued her conversation with Mark Santos.

Zach’s pull was too strong. Danica looked up and locked shocked eyes with the only man she’d ever loved. Her body surged and she leashed the impulse to rush to him. Then it locked. Frozen. Immobile. Instead she could only stare speechless at him. His haunted look shook her to her core. Something was very wrong. She felt Mark stiffen beside her.

Zach’s body increased in size. A primal warning.

His penetrating stare shifted from Mark back to her. His lips twitched and she immediately knew his signature half smile would follow. She scowled, daring him. Mark turned when he realized her attention was no longer on him. Zach’s eyes flashed in surprise before narrowing ominously. He stepped forward and into the large room being renovated for the Caladian exhibit.

“Well, well, well, Marcus, you certainly don’t waste any time, do you?” Zach said, his voice low and husky. Danica gasped. Just two hours ago he could barely move. He’d had a trach tube in his throat and couldn’t speak! With the exception of the small flesh-colored Band-Aid below his Adam’s apple he looked the picture of health. Better actually. The dark stubble on his chin added a mercenary look to his hawk-sharp features. His deep tawny eyes glowed suspiciously, like a bird of prey fixated on its next meal. Her body warmed despite her anger at the man.

“What do you want, Zach?” she asked, trying to head off what looked like an impending dogfight. While she wouldn’t mind seeing Zach get his ass whipped by Mark, she didn’t want any disruption in the museum.

“Holy shit!” Mark said in good humor and surprise. He hurried past Danica toward his partner. “I can’t believe you’re standing here, man. I heard you’d be down for weeks. How the hell are you?” He extended his hand in friendship.

Zach’s nostrils twitched and his eyes widened as if he were suddenly startled. The distinct odor of sulfur swirled around his partner. Mark, an Immortal?

Adrenaline rushed through Zach’s body and before he gave thought to his action instinct took over. He leapt, clearing the ten-foot span that separated him and his deadly rival.

Zach’s body crashed into Mark’s, the velocity of it sending them both crashing into the wall a good eight feet behind Mark. Plaster cracked and fell in chunks to the floor.

Danica’s screams sounded far off. Mark shoved him off, his strength surprising Zach. But then he understood. As a solider for hell he would possess strength no mortal man could claim. Zach grinned. Well, he might be mortal but he had righteousness on his side. He dove back into Mark, and would have pulled the sword and slit his throat right then and there, but he knew Danica would wig out, and no explanation on earth would calm her down. He shoved his arm under Mark’s chin and dug his elbow in the bastard’s throat. “I want you out of here now,” he softly said. Surprisingly Mark nodded and in a gesture of surrender raised his arms. Zach didn’t trust the bastard, but he didn’t underestimate Mark either. The man was smart, and the last thing he would want to do at this point was tip Danica off. That was okay, Zach was going to give her an earful himself.

Danica grabbed Zach by the shoulders, shouting, “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

Slowly Zach stood. He stepped back, away from Mark. Danica helped Mark to his feet. “Oh, my God! Are you all right?”

Mark swiped at his bloody lip after giving Zach a hard glare. Then being the actor he was, Mark slipped an arm around Danica’s shoulder and said, “I’m fine.”

Danica turned to glare at Zach. “Please leave,” she softly said.

Without looking at her, his eyes trained on Mark’s smug face, Zach said, “I will, but I’d appreciate it if you’d indulge me for a few minutes before I go.”

Their gazes clashed. “I don’t owe you one minute of my time.”

“Maybe you should listen to the lady, buddy,” Mark said, stepping in front of Danica.

Zach smiled and assumed a fighting stance. “Bring it on, brother.”

Confusion riddled her features as Danica looked back and forth from one man to the other. “What the hell is going on here?” Danica demanded.

Mark laughed, his eyes sparkling, a dark undercurrent lurking just beneath. “You want to tell her, Zachary, or should I?”

Zach growled low. He turned his attention back to Danica but kept a sharp eye on his nemesis. “Danica, I need two minutes.” He’d be damned if he was going to let Santos give his demonic version of what was going on, and besides, he wasn’t sure Danica could handle the entire truth.

Danica left Mark and walked over to Zach. She pushed him back toward the entryway. “I’ll give you two minutes in my office,” she said, then turned and led the way down a long hall then another before they entered her small office tucked innocuously in the farthest corner of the building. Once in the room she slammed the door shut behind Zach then whirled around to face him. “What the hell do you want?”

Zach ground his teeth. His fists opened and closed, strength surged through his muscles. He could feel the pulse of it. His senses opened, acutely aware of everything around him.

He could smell Danica’s essence. It mingled with her fear of him, and lurking just beneath it, passion.

“When did you and Mark become so close?”

“Nothing about me is any of your damned business.”

Zach moved closer. Hostility raged. Not at her, but Mark. The minute he stepped within feet of the man he smelled it.
Sulfur
. A fucking Immortal! “Tell me, damn it!”

Danica blanched at his anger, and backed away, fear flashed in her wide eyes. “He’s helping with security for the event we have planned. And whether you like it or not, he’s my friend.”

It cut deeply that she was afraid of him at that moment, but that was the least of his worries right now. Mark needed to go. Discreetly. That fact didn’t faze him. Since the accident, he felt deeper, was stronger, and even if he hadn’t got a whiff of the sulfur stink of Mark, signaling which side of the earth he was on, his gut told him Mark was pure evil. He knew that as surely as he knew the sword lying against the small of his back would be Mark’s ride back to hell. “Get rid of him.”

“Is that what you came here to tell me? Are you so jealous I’ve moved on?”

“You haven’t moved on. I can see it in everything you do. It’s in your eyes.” He moved closer, his nostrils flaring. “I can smell it on you, Danica.”

She slapped him. “Fuck you, Zach Garett.”

He grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away but his strength surged. He opened her fist with one hand and pressed her palm to his cheek. For a moment he closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of her. Her hand trembled. He opened his eyes to see hers moist with tears. One fell to her cheek.

He wiped it away with his thumb. “I never told you I was sorry.”