Deeper than the Night

Chapter Twenty-three

Kara pulled the truck off the road. Putting the gear shift in park, she slipped out of her gown, wondering how she'd turn the engine off without the key. Tearing the flimsy garment into strips, she bandaged Alex's arm, then made a thick pad and pressed it over the wound in his shoulder, tying it in place with another strip of cloth. That done, she removed the heavy collar and chain from his neck and tossed them out the window.
She felt Alex's forehead, wondering if it felt hotter than usual. Fumbling on the dash, she turned on the heater, then put the truck in gear and pulled onto the narrow two-lane road once more. She drove with no destination in mind. She didn't know where they were, didn't know where to go for help. She couldn't go home, even if she knew which direction to go, couldn't check Alex into a hospital even if she could find one. The road was deserted. Not so much as a gas station or a telephone.
She imagined pulling into a gas station and asking for help, grimacing as she pictured the reception they'd get.
She considered turning around. Maybe there was a town behind her. Maybe she should try and find a cop. Too bad she didn't know where to find a donut shop, or a police station. She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her throat as she pictured herself walking into some small-town precinct, stark naked, and telling them that she had escaped from a mad doctor who wanted to get rich selling alien blood to wealthy sick people.
She tried to rouse Alex, but he was unconscious. Or dead.
No! She put her hand over his heart, relieved by the faint but steady rise and fall of his chest. He was alive, thank God. Not knowing where else to turn, she murmured a prayer, begging for help, for a place to hide until Alex was better. She was hungry and tired and afraid, so afraid.
And then, as if in answer to her prayer, she saw a rustic cabin off the side of the road. In the moonlight, it looked like a fairy-tale cottage. Snow White's house, she thought, or maybe Piglet's. It was a pretty little place, located on the edge of a small lake.
"Thank you, Lord." She whispered the words over and over again as she pulled off the road, put the truck in park, and set the brake.
Opening the door, she slipped out of the truck and went to look in one of the windows. Shivering with the cold, she walked around the cabin. She found a note on the front door. Ripping it free, she carried it back to the truck, squinting to read it in the headlights.
Lucy, Tried to get hold of you, but you'd already left. Something came up at work and I had to go back to the city. Stay if you want. Will call you next weekend. Randy.
Below that, was another scrawl.
Randy, Sorry we missed each other. Call me at work next Friday. Phil's getting suspicious. Will call you before then if I can. Love, Lucy.
Crumpling the note in her hand, Karatried the door. It was locked. She frowned for a moment, then ran her hand over the ledge above the door. Nothing. She glanced at the flower pot sitting on the porch, then grinnedas she lifted it and found a key.
"Thank you, Randy," she murmured. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside.
It was a quaint little one-room cabin, the perfect place for a rendezvous. There was no phone, no electricity, a single window that overlooked the lake. A Coleman stove stood on a small square table; there was a box of groceries on the sink top. She poked inside, finding a loaf of French bread, mayonnaise and mustard, apples, oranges, bananas, paper plates and cups, a bottle of rum. An ice chest revealed a carton of milk, a couple of steaks, some lunch meat and a variety of cheeses. There was also a six-pack of beer, and a two-liter bottle of 7-Up.
A pair of sleeping bags were spread in front of the fireplace; there was a good-sized pile of wood on the hearth, a box of matches on the mantel, and a Coleman lantern.
Pleased that Lucy had decided not to stay at the cabin without Randy, and grateful that she hadn't gone inside and seen the groceries, Kara murmured another prayer of thanks, then hurried outside.
Alex lay across the seat, his eyes closed, his breathing rapid and shallow. He'd told her once that he'd never been sick, that he had always recovered quickly when he was hurt. She wondered if his body's ability to heal itself included gunshot wounds.
"Alex? Alex, wake up!"
His eyelids fluttered open and he stared at her, his gaze unfocused.
"You've got to get up. I've found a place to stay."
He nodded, groaning softly as he sat up.
"The engine," she said. "Can you turn it off?"
Grunting softly, Alex reached under the dash and disconnected the wires. The sudden silence seemed deafening.
"Put your arm around my shoulder," Kara said. "It's not far."
He didn't argue. Kara groaned as she shouldered some of his weight. Mercy, but he was heavy! One step at a time, they made it into the cabin.
Kara helped Alex get settled on one of the sleeping bags, then went to close and lock the door.
She was surprised and relieved to find the cabin had running water and clean towels.
She felt the bile rise in her throat as she began to wash the blood from Alex's shoulder. The bullet hole was small and ugly, and it didn't go all the way through.
"Alex? Alex, what should I do?"
He glanced at the bloody hole in his shoulder. "Now might be a good time for one of us to faint."
"Very funny."
"Yeah. Mind if I go first?"
"Don't you dare faint on me!" The wound continued to ooze blood and she pressed the cloth against it in an effort to stop the bleeding. "I don't think the wound in your arm is too serious, but your shoulder ... I think the bullet's still in there."
"I'm afraid you're right." He dragged a knuckle over her cheek. "Think you can get it out?"
"I don't know."
"I can do it if you're not up to it."
"You!"
"It wouldn't be the first time."
"You've been shot before?"
"Once, a long time ago."
"When? Where?"
"In the Dakotas." Alex frowned, remembering. "You've heard of Custer?"
"Of course."
"I was fighting with the Cheyenne. Beautiful people, the Cheyenne."
"The Cheyenne? You were fighting on the side of the Cheyenne at the Little Big Horn?"
"Hell of a fight. Custer was an idiot to divide his troops the way he did." He grimacedas pain surged through him.
"Are you all right?" Kara asked anxiously.
He nodded. "I missed the main battle, of course, but there was still some fighting going on after dark. I was prowling around the hill where Reno and some of his men were holed up when I took a bullet in my leg. I dug it out myself. I don't recommend it."
"Thanks," Kara muttered dryly.
He mentioned the battle so casually, a battle that had taken place a hundred and twenty years ago. She looked into his eyes, trying to imagine the life he'd led. America was an infant when compared to most of the countries of the world, and Alex had been here almost from the beginning. Sometimes she forgot how old he was.
"Kara?"
"I'll do it." She spent the next few minutes looking for something to use as a probe, finally settling on a thin-bladed knife she found in a drawer. She heated it over the Coleman stove, then rinsed it with rum. "Maybe you'd like a drink of this?" she suggested, offering him the bottle.
"Why not?" Alex lifted the bottle and took a long swallow. "Not bad." He looked at the knife, at the way it shook in her hand, and grinned. "Maybe youshould have a drink. Might steady your nerves."
Kara took the bottle and stared at it. She'd never been much of a drinker, but she took several long swallows, felt the expensive liquor slide smoothly down her throat.
"Ready, doc?"
Kara nodded, and Alex lay back on the sleeping bag, his hands clenched. "Go on," he said. "Get it over with."
One more drink. A deep breath, and she was ready. She'd seen it done in living color in movies,' read about it, and still she wasn't prepared for the blood, the feel of the knife slipping into flesh. Once, Alex took hold of her hand, steadying her.
She gave a triumphant gasp when the tip of the knife hit the bullet. Moments later, the slug lay in her palm.
She looked at Alex, looked at the bloody chunk of lead in her hand, and knew she was going to faint.
Alex caught her before she hit the floor. Feeling a little light-headed himself, he covered Kara with the sleeping bag, then rose, unsteadily, to his feet.
Picking up a clean washrag, he doused it with rum, swore a violent oath as he pressed the cloth over the wound in his shoulder. He rigged a bandage by tearing a white cotton dish towel into strips.
Aware of the approaching dawn, he stretched out beside Kara and closed his eyes.
He woke abruptly, his gaze drawn to the bright light filtering through the thin curtain. He couldn't endure the sun, not now, not after all the blood he'd lost.
"Kara." He shook her shoulder. "Kara, wake up!"
"What's wrong?"
"The window. Cover it."
"What?" She blinked at him for a moment; then, as comprehension dawned, she scrambled out of the sleeping bag, picked it up, and draped it over the curtain rod. "Is that better?"
Alex nodded. "Thanks."
Crossing the room, she knelt beside him. The bandage on his shoulder was stained with blood. The material looked very white against his bronzed skin. "How do you feel?"
"I'll be all right."
"I know, but how do you feel?"
"Weak."
"You should eat something. And drink plenty of water."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm serious. You need to rebuild your strength. You rest, and I'll fix breakfast. French toast okay with you?"
"Fine."
"You saved my life again," she said softly.
"My pleasure."
She basked in the love shining in his eyes, wishing he wasn't hurt,that they could spend the day making love.
"Maybe tomorrow," Alex said, his voice low and husky, his eyes dark with promise.
Kara felt her cheeks grow hot. "You're reading my mind again."
His smile was slow and lazy and not the least bit guilty.
Kara's cheeks grew hotter. "I'd better fix breakfast."
He slept all that day, leaving Kara to wander around the small cabin. She found a blue-and-yellow sundress in a box next to the stove and put it on. It was a trifle large, but it beat running around naked.
Late in the afternoon, she went outside and sat in the sun. Head back, she gazed out at the lake, her mind wandering. Her first thoughts were for Gail and Nana. What had Barrett done with them? Were they home, waiting for her, or_good Lord, what if they were locked up in the same building where she and Alex had been held? And what about Barrett? Was he looking for her even now? Had Alex killed Handeland? Was she ever going to have a normal life again? If she left the state and changed her name, would she be able to get on with her life?
She watched the sun set in a splash of orange and ocher. It was so peaceful here, she mused, so quiet, while her whole life was in constant turmoil. Once, after watching a James Bond movie, she had wished for a little excitement in her life. Well, she'd found it. In spades. She pressed a hand to her head, feeling a headache coming on.
And then she felt Alex's hand on her shoulder. He knelt behind her, his fingers massaging away the pain, his presence driving away her doubts. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the wonder of his touch.
"Better?" he asked.
"Hmmm, yes. Alex, I've got to go home. I've got to find out what happened to Nana and Gail."
"They aren't there."
He came around to sit beside her and she studied his face. He looked better. The dark smudges were gone from his eyes, the lines of strain and weariness had almost disappeared.
"Do you know where they are?"
"I overheard Barrett ask Kelsey if they'd been found yet. I think they managed to get away. I'm sure they're safe."
Kara relaxed, her worries for her sister and grandmother somewhat alleviated by Alex's assurance that they had escaped.
Alex caressed her back and shoulders. Her skin was smooth and soft and warm beneath his fingers. Her hair smelled of sunshine. Bending forward, he pressed his lips to her shoulder. Clad in the colorful sundress, with her hair tumbling down her back, she looked young and innocent and as vulnerable as a newborn kitten.
Alex swore under his breath. She should have been home with her family, looking after her sister and her grandmother, dating a man who could give her children. Instead, she was here, with a man who had brought her nothing but trouble. She'd probably lost her job. Her life was in danger. She had no idea where her family was, or when she'd ever be able to go home. And itwas all his fault. His hand stilled, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulder.
Kara turned her head so she could see Alex's face, the smile dying on her lips when she saw his expression. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying." She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read his mind. After a moment, she frowned. Why couldn't she read his thoughts as she usually did? And then she realized that he had erected a barrier of some kind.
"That's not fair," she said, her voice thick with accusation. "You read my thoughts whenever you wish. I should be able to do the same."
"Life is unfair, Kara." He lifted his hand from her shoulder and stood up.
Kara stared at him. He was naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist. A faint breeze blew over the lake, ruffling his hair. The setting sun left its signature across the sky in bold strokes of crimson and ocher, casting his figure in shades of gold and bronze. He looked like the Greek god Apollo, she thought, strong and handsome and possessed of remarkable powers. She tried again to read his thoughts, and again she couldn't penetrate the wall he had erected between them.
Slowly, she stood up. She willed him to turn around, to acknowledge her, to confide in her. She ached to go to him, to take him in her arms and tell him she loved him. Instead, she crossed her arms over her breasts and attempted to shield her own thoughts.
Minutes passed, and still he stood there with his back toward her. Her patience at an end, Kara turned on her heel and walked back to the cabin.
She made dinner because she needed something to do. They had been so close only a short time ago. High on a mountaintop, they had exchanged vows to love and cherish each other. They had made love, their joining more than just physical intercourse. And now it felt as though they were hundreds of miles apart.
When dinner was ready, she started for the door to call him, only to find him standing there, his dark eyes filled with unbearable sorrow. She wondered how long he had been there, and what he was thinking to make him look so sad.
"Sit down," she said. "Supper's ready."
With a nod, he took a place at the table. She'd fixed steak and eggs. His steak was rare, just the way he liked it.
They ate in silence. Kara refused to meet his gaze, and he ached for the pain he had caused her, was causing her even now, and yet he said nothing. He'd known all along it had been wrong for him to interfere in her life. For two hundred years, he had carefully avoided attachments to humans. It was time to end his relationship with Kara before it was too late, before he ruined her life completely, or got her killed. He could not endure the guilt of knowing his mere presence put her life in jeopardy, could not have her death on his hands. Somehow, he would get her safely home, reunite her with her family. And if he had to kill Barrett to accomplish it, then he would do so without a qualm.
Rising from the table, he thanked her for the meal, then crawled into the sleeping bag and closed his eyes. Leaving her wouldnot be easy for either of them. She might miss him for a time. She might even hate him. But someday, when she had a husband and children and a normal life, she would thank him.