“Allegra,” he said softly.
Chapter Five
Screams, blood, horror…that cruel face taunting her, eyes half-crazed, standing over her father’s still body.
Blood, so much blood. Rivers of blood spreading out over the glass tabletop in streaming runnels. The white carpet and cream-colored walls were spattered wildly with bright red drops. The blood from her father’s shattered head moved in a flood of red to the edge of the table, gathered trembling on the beveled edge of the table top, then spilled over, falling to the carpet in thick, slow drops. Drop, drop, drop…
Her father lay still, oh-so still, beloved face turned to her. His eternal smile was gone, gone was the humor in his eyes, gone the gentleness of his handsome Irish face.
He was gone. Her father was gone. Dead. No more.
And then that cruelly crushed head, impossibly, moved. Turned toward her. The eyelids opened and she saw her father’s blue-green eyes. His dead mouth opened too and, horribly, he spoke in a deep, deep voice, shockingly unlike her father’s light tenor.
“Allegra,” he said.
Her father was speaking from beyond the grave. Oh God, he was dead and he was talking to her.
“Allegra,” said the deep voice that wasn’t her father’s, coming from her father’s dead mouth.
Her father never called her Allegra. “Allie,” he called her, mainly. “Allie-me-darlin’” when he’d had a few too many. And his voice was Irish-light, not as deep as midnight.
His dead mouth opened wide, preternaturally wide, mouth and teeth stained with blood.
“Allegra,” the deep voice repeated out of her father’s mouth, and it was as if it came from the bowels of hell itself…
Allegra gasped in horror, bolting upright. She banged her head sharply against something hard, metallic, and dropped back down again, stunned.
“Jesus Christ!” that deep voice said, and a strong hand tugged her across the cold floor. She was lifted up and held tightly.
“Medic!” Someone bellowed high above her head. “Get me a fucking medic!”
Allegra jumped at the bellow. She blinked against the darkness, then remembered—with a wild cruel lurch to her heart—that blinking wouldn’t help clear her vision. Nothing ever would.
She lost her foothold on reality, it slid right away from her, plunging her into a slithering, sliding nightmare world. She couldn’t see! Where was she? What—there had been gunshots, screams…
“Move away,” a new male voice said, then more sharply, “Listen, mister, let go of her. I need to examine her.”
She’d been leaning against Douglas’ strong body, massive arms holding her. She didn’t want to leave this safe haven, ever. She snuggled more tightly against him.
“Let her go now, I need to see if she’s concussed.” The medic sounded exasperated.
The arms loosened and another male hand, smaller this time, carefully touched her forehead.
“Miss, are you seeing double?” a man asked.
“She doesn’t see anything at all, she’s blind,” that deep voice said, and suddenly everything snapped into focus. Parks Foundation, opening night, jewel thieves…
“Douglas!” she gasped, swatting away the hand carefully touching her forehead. She leaned forward until she touched Douglas, hands moving over a huge chest, up to his broad shoulders, down his arms. “Are you all right? I heard shots. Oh, my God. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he rumbled. She was pulled back against his chest. Strong arms went around her. “What about you? That was some crack you took.”
She burrowed her face against him, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled into his starched shirtfront. “I’m okay, it’s just a little sore.” Someone was trying to turn her around and she jerked her shoulders away. “I don’t need any help. Make him go away.”
“Miss, I think maybe we should take you into the hospital overnight for observation.” That second voice again. “You’ve got a nasty bump—”
Allegra’s heart lurched again with panic. “No!” she said sharply. “No hospital.”
No hospital, not ever again. The very smell of hospitals made her stomach queasy to the point of pain. She’d spent months on a bed with those smells, blind and tied down by IV lines like some prisoner.
“I won’t go to a hospital, not for anything. I just want to go home.” She raised her head. She couldn’t see Douglas but he could see her. She knew her desperation was showing on her face. “Please, I want to go home,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Suzanne and John can drive me—”
“They’ve already left,” Douglas said, and she knew her shock must be showing. She’d come with Suzanne. It never even occurred to her that Suzanne would leave her here, just forget about her. Allegra’s grip on her control slipped just a bit further. “Oh, God, then how—”
“I told Suzanne I’d take you home,” Douglas said swiftly. “She wanted to wait for you, but she was feeling shaky, so John took her home. Don’t worry, Allegra. I’ll drive you back. But don’t you think a doctor should see you first? Maybe that medic’s right. Maybe you should be checked into the hospital.”
Allegra tried to sound rational and calm—Oh no, I don’t think that will be necessary—when what she wanted to do was scream. Just the thought of a doctor at a hospital made her feel she was sliding into a black hole she could never get out of again. “No.” Her voice was shaking. She waited a moment to be sure she had control over it. “I’m fine. I just bumped my head, nothing serious. I didn’t black out or anything. I’ll be fine.”
She looked up anxiously, knowing she was in this man’s hands, trying desperately to figure out what he was deciding. She had no other way to get home, save calling a taxi. She was absolutely certain he wouldn’t allow it. If he thought she needed hospital care, he’d take her there. Her heart pounded at the thought. “Please,” she whispered.
“Okay.” Douglas sounded reluctant. “But promise to tell me if you get dizzy.”
She was dizzy all the time. Morning, noon and night. She’d been dizzy since she lost her sight. “Promise,” she said fervently.
“If she’s not going to the hospital, make sure she doesn’t feel faint,” the medic said. “And she should come in if she has a headache, difficulty in concentration, depression or anxiety.”
That more or less described how she felt every waking minute of every day. No blow to the head was going to change that.
“Do you—” Douglas began.
“Absolutely,” she lied. “I promise.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” the medic said reluctantly.
“I’ll take care of it.” Douglas’ deep voice was so calm. It reassured even her, and it must have reassured the other man because she heard footsteps walking away. Douglas pulled her against him once more.
“Where’s Claire? Is she okay?” Her voice was muffled against his chest, his big hand curved around the back of her head, holding her tightly. It was a shockingly intimate embrace, almost more intimate than the kiss under the stage had been, because it was out in the open. But she didn’t care.
There was enormous confusion in the room. She remembered the big hall of the Parks Foundation from…from before. From when she could see. Claire had said that they were expecting around two hundred people to attend the opening. And it seemed as if all of them were talking at the top of their voices. Nearby, she could make out a few women sobbing and two sharp male voices raised in loud anger, voices echoing off the high ceiling. Radios crackled loudly in the background and every once in a while an official-sounding voice told someone to move along.
There was no focus to the sounds, it was one big wall of restless, confusing noise, the sounds bouncing around the walls until she almost couldn’t tell up from down. Since her accident, she’d never been in a room with more than two or three people in it. She spent days and days on her own in her silent apartment, with only some background music for company. At no time since she’d lost her sight had she been
unable to locate the source of a sound.
The utter chaos disoriented her, made her dizzy. The only safe and solid thing was Douglas Kowalski, tall and broad and strong, unmoving, the still center of her world. As she clung to him, the dizziness receded slowly until the noises became recognizable as individual voices. The mass of people was shuffling toward the exit. Her heart stopped beating the frantic tattoo of panic.
She took in a long, deep breath, then another.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
He knew. Somehow he knew.
Allegra swallowed. She lifted her head from his chest, suddenly ashamed of herself. The freak little flash of nightmare, the gunshots, the screams—they’d disoriented her badly, like falling into a deep hole you didn’t know was there. She usually had better control over herself than this.
She frowned. “You didn’t tell me where Claire is.” A sudden fear made her clutch his arms. He hadn’t forgotten to tell her where Claire was, he was holding something back. “Where is she? Is she okay? Oh, God, I hope nothing’s happened to her.” Allegra swiveled her head, as if she could see Claire in the room.
“I imagine she’s at the hospital,” Douglas said calmly, holding her as she jerked. “Claire’s not hurt in any way, don’t worry. But Bud took a round in the chest. The medics took him away and she went with him.”
Oh, God, poor Claire… “Can we—can we find out if Bud’s okay? Who do we ask?” Bud had to be all right, he simply had to be. The alternative—that Bud was dead, killed trying to save them—was something Allegra couldn’t even think about. Claire was wildly in love with Bud. Claire had suffered so much already in her life. She’d had so much taken from her, ten years of her life sacrificed to leukemia. How could she take the loss of the love of her life only a few weeks after meeting him?
Before—in her previous incarnation as Allegra Ennis, happy singer and harpist—Allegra would have been absolutely certain that Bud would be okay. He’d have a mild flesh wound that served to patch things up between him and Claire. That was the way the world worked. Some bad things happened now and again—but not too bad. Just enough to make you appreciate what you had. And then they were put right again immediately.
But she knew better now. Big bad scary things happened all the time, things that could never be put right, ever again. The world was full of sorrow and pain, losses that would never be regained. Pain that was everlasting.
“Please find out if Bud’s alive,” she whispered to Douglas, shivering at the thought that Bud might be dead and that Claire’s heart would be broken.
“Okay.” Douglas released her and stepped back. “But first, put this on. They’ve got all the doors open, and it’s cold. Then I’ll go find out if anyone has word from the hospital.”
A second later, his jacket was dropped around her shoulders. She recognized it by the smell and the size. It smelled faintly of mothballs and soap. No aftershave. Just as he wore no aftershave. And it was huge. It had covered her almost like a blanket while she’d been lying beneath the stage, waiting helplessly.
She put it on, grateful for the extra warmth. It hung past her knees, but it was warm. When she wrapped herself in it, the worst of her shivering went away. She waited for news, trembling, but not from cold.
Footsteps coming back. “Okay,” Douglas said, touching her arm. “Here’s what I know. He’s been taken to Laurel Park Hospital and he’s in surgery right now. I’ve got a number to call for more information.”
“I’ve got Claire’s cell phone number, too, if she’s got it with her.”
“Well, that’s that, then. There’s nothing more we can do here. I want to get you home and get something warm inside you.” A large hand took her upper arm, swimming in his jacket sleeve. “Let’s go, honey.”
They hadn’t taken more than ten steps when Allegra stopped, shocked that she could forget. “Oh my God! Dagda! I was about to leave Dagda behind!”
He stopped, too. “Who? Who’s Dagda?”
“Not who, what.” Though Dagda was as alive to her as any of her friends. “My harp. I can’t leave him here. He’s irreplaceable.” The greatest harp maker in Ireland had crafted Dagda. Charlie McKerron had died two years ago of a heart attack while playing in a pub, drunk as a lord. He’d never craft another Dagda. “You’ll need the carrying case. It’s in the wardrobe room. Dagda’s heavy with the case, though. About sixty pounds.” Allegra thought she heard a little snort.
“Okay.” Douglas pulled lightly on her arm to nudge her to one side. They must have been at the big open front doors because she could feel people jostling her as they streamed by. A gelid wind was blowing in from outside, and she could feel little needles of sleet against her face. In the distance, engines were starting up. The smell of car exhaust filled the chilly air. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to take you to my car, turn on the heat, then I’ll come back for Dagda.”
“In his carrying case.”
“In his carrying case.”
She lifted her face to him, worried. “Dagda’s very delicate. He needs to be covered carefully with a blanket. It’s inside the case itself. The cold is bad for him, warps the wood.”
“Right.” There was a note of humor in the deep voice. He smoothed out the frown between her brows with his thumb. “Correction, then. I will take you to my car, then come back for Dagda and the case. I’ll tuck Dagda up nice and warm in his blanket and put him in his case with a hot water bottle if necessary, then bring him back to the warm car. How does that sound?”
It was a feeble stab at humor but it made her smile. “Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and scooped her off her feet.
“Oh! What are you doing?”
He was carrying her as easily as most men could carry a child, walking down the big formal granite staircase to the gravel driveway. She could hear his shoes making a crunching sound on the gravel. When he spoke she could feel the vibrations of his deep voice against her side.
“There’s snow on the ground and big ice patches. Your shoes are very pretty but they’re not good for snow.” She had on strappy, open-toed satin sandals.
“Well, boots don’t go well with evening gowns.”
“No, of course not. Not even green satin boots would do.” He held her high in his arms. The only way to keep her balance was to put her arms around his neck. Her cheek was next to his and she could feel the muscles of his face move in a slight smile.
She’d never been carried as an adult. Now she realized why it figured so largely in novels and movies. Such a delicious feeling, romantic with the romance of another era. It was like being transported to another place, another time. He did a good job of it, too. He wasn’t huffing or puffing or staggering. He breathed normally, walking with an even stride, as if out for an evening stroll. Those strong muscles she’d felt weren’t just for show, they were real.
Douglas was strong and he was brave. If she lived to be a thousand years old she’d never forget him saying he was hoping he could stop a bullet for her. He’d been deathly serious. He’d covered as much of her as he possibly could, leaving her with no doubt that he was willing to take a bullet.
He’d left her only when he saw his friends were going to try to face the thieves on their own. He could have saved his own skin, easily. Just stayed under the stage with her, knowing help was on the way. But he’d chosen to stand by his friends, unarmed. She was sure of that, that he had had no weapons. She’d felt every inch of him, the front of him, at least. The memory of the only lethal weapon he had, his hot, hard, huge penis, made her blush.
He kissed like a dream. That was a pretty powerful weapon, too.
She’d actually forgotten the danger, forgotten everything, while he was kissing her. She’d been lost in a world of heat and vital power, holding on to that immensely strong body as if it held life itself. In a flash, the kiss had gone from a sweet meeting of lips to raw, pure sex. A steep descent into glittering passion. He’d been huge against her, pr
essing hard against her mound. She’d felt her body preparing itself for him, opening like a flower. At one point his penis had fit between the folds of her sex, rubbing against her, and she’d started shaking, lifting up against him to feel more of that vital power and heat. Every time she did that he swelled even bigger, so she could feel the ripples of his erection against the open folds of her sex. It had been the most exciting thing in the world.
When he’d rolled off her she’d been a minute away from climaxing.
What an extraordinary man. He’d made her smile, given her courage and protection, and turned her on like no other man ever had. And now he was carrying her, so she wouldn’t get her feet wet.
They were at his car. Or SUV, judging from the height. She heard the “whump” of the doors unlocking remotely and he managed to open the passenger door and get her inside without jiggling her. A few seconds later, he was in the driver’s seat, turning on the engine. His seat creaked as he reached behind him. A soft blanket was carefully tucked around her. The cab was already heating up.
“Here, if your harp rates a blanket, you should, too. It’ll be warm in here in just a minute. I’ll go get Dagda and then drive you home.”
Allegra reached out, touched his forearm. He was wearing only his shirt in the bitter cold because he’d given his jacket to her. “Do you want your jacket back? I’ll be fine with the blanket.”
“No. You keep it. I’ll be right back.”
She reached into a tiny pocket sewn into the bodice of her gown. “Here’s the key to Dagda’s case, and my purse is inside the case.”
“Okay.”
Her hand was still on his arm. The arm was warm and hard, like the rest of him. When he moved, she tightened her grip. “Douglas?”
He stilled. “Yeah?”
“Thanks—for everything.”
He cleared his throat. “No problem. Don’t move now.” A second later the door closed behind him.