When Lightning Strikes

  She tried to smile, but didn't know if her face had moved or not. "Help me" slipped from her mouth, though it hadn't been what she'd intended to say. She didn't know what she'd meant to say.

  He spoke. She heard the rich, gravelly rumble of his voice, but the words were meaningless. She blinked, tried to make sense of what was happening, what she was feeling. Her heart was racing so hard, she couldn't hear anything else. She had a sudden, ridiculous image of it exploding out of her chest like the thing in Alien.

  She couldn't breathe. It felt as if invisible hands were

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  coiling viciously around her throat. She gasped and tried to gulp air, but all she could draw were shallow, panicked breaths.

  He moved toward her; the movement seemed lightning fast. She wanted to meet him, find comfort in his arms, but she was rooted to the spot, helpless and paralyzed.

  He touched her arm, and the pain was so intense, so unexpected, that she screamed. He drew back immediately. "Follow me," he said in a long, drawn-out voice that seemed to take forever.

  He led her to the bed, where two bedrolls lay side by side. She dragged herself to the bed and collapsed on top of it, letting her legs dangle over the side.

  Very gently he lifted her legs onto the bed, but even that simple touch was excruciating. Her skin felt as if it were on fire, burning slowly, inch by inch, up her legs. Every whisper of his breath on her flesh hurt, every movement of the air was agony.

  Biting her lower lip against the pain, she leaned back into the pillows he'd pulled from somewhere. The dank smell of long-unwashed linen filled her nostrils.

  "This is going to hurt," he said.

  He touched her calf and the sensitive skin exploded in pain. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Beside her, she heard the wrenching hiss of fabric being ripped. Then he slid something beneath her knee, pulled it taut, and tied it down.

  She whimpered and tried not to cry. Fire seemed to race through her body, burning her skin. She tossed restlessly from side to side, moaning softly.

  He leaned down beside her. She felt the warm, moist strains of his breathing against her forehead. "You're going to be okay...."

  It was a lie. She could hear the fear in his voice; it

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  matched her own. For some absurd, illogical reason, she wanted to assure him that she would be all right.

  She opened her eyes to look at him.

  And saw nothing but blackness.

  She blinked, tried again.

  Same thing.

  Icy fear shuddered through her, left her gasping and terrified. "Oh, my God .. . Killian, I can't see you."

  "It's okay, Lainie. It's okay. The blindness is temporary."

  "No." She meant to scream the denial, but couldn't manage it. The word slipped from her dead mouth, cracked and too soft.

  His hand was on her forehead, and even though it hurt to be touched, it soothed her.

  He was beside her, right beside her. She heard the tinkling splash of water, then the comforting feel of a cold, damp rag on her fevered forehead.

  She sank into the warm bedding. Darkness curled around her, threw her into an impenetrable void where nothing existed, where even her pain was lessened. It beckoned her, that darkness, drew her forward with a sly, seductive voice. She didn't want to go. She'd been in that darkness before, and she wasn't sure she could find her way out again.

  But everything seemed so far away now, so small and meaningless. Nothing made sense, nothing mattered, and she was so tired. She just wanted to go to sleep....

  "Don't leave me, Lainie." She heard the voice, heard the ragged edges of fear in it, and she frowned. Who was talking to her? Where was she?

  The darkness lured her into its cool shade again. Once she was there, the fire in her skin dwindled into nothingness, the jagged pain in her abdomen and legs lessened. From somewhere came an even in-and-out

  whisper of sound, like an evening tide washing on a sand beach. It was soothing, that sound. So soothing .. . She closed her eyes, letting herself drift into the painless darkness, letting herself forget.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  f

  The night was cold and black and filled with whispered sounds. Somewhere an animal howled. The billowing, reedy sound pierced the darkness, left a lingering edge of disquiet in its wake. Everything had taken on a hazy, unreal quality. Killian felt like a shadow himself, walking woodenly through a foreign, unearthly landscape.

  "Jesus," he cursed, and dumped the now tepid water on the ground. He was acting like a tenderfooted fool who'd never been in the desert's darkness before, instead of a man who'd lived alone and on the fringes of danger for half his life.

  Bending slowly, knees creaking, he dipped the tin bowl into the cold creek. Cool water sucked his fingers and spilled over the back of his hand. He glanced up. Moonlight slithered across the rippling water, turned it into a snakelike silver chain against the black earth.

  He straightened and turned back toward the cabin. He took a few heavy steps, then stopped. Suddenly and without warning, he was overwhelmed by it all. For the past three or four hours, as Lainie lay in the rickety bed, writhing in pain at the slightest touch, her brow beaded with sweat, her face a pale, deathly blue, he'd managed to focus on the simple acts of caring for her and nothing else. Each task, from dressing her to repairing her torn

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  underwear to bathing her hot face, had occupied his thoughts so completely that nothing else had penetrated his dazed mind.

  But now there were no tasks, no needs to be met, nothing between him and a wrenching sense of fear.

  He stared at the squat little cabin. It sat low to the ground, huddled against the darkened mesa. Stray remnants of moonlight caught on the broken windows, glazed their jagged peaks. Torn, dirty curtains hung limply behind the craggy mountains of glass. The acrid smell of smoke rode the crisp nighttime air.

  They shouldn't be here.

  That was the thought he'd kept at bay through sheer force of will since Lainie was stung.

  It came at him now hard, crippling in its intensity. Guilt exploded in his chest, left him reeling and sick to his stomach.

  This cabin was miles off course. Around noon, he'd turned them slightly south, so slightly she hadn't even noticed.

  Of course she hadn't noticed. She'd trusted him, and because of that, she lay dying in a seedy cabin in the middle of nowhere.

  A low, agonized moan slipped into the night.

  The sound jerked Killian out of his stupor. Cursing silently, he raced toward the cabin and flung the door open. It crashed into the wall behind him, rattling the timbers, raining dust from cracks in the sod roof.

  "I'm right here, baby," he murmured, sloshing the bowl of water down on the wobbly bedside table.

  She thrashed weakly on the bed, twisting the covers around her body. Her eyes were closed. Damp, spiked black lashes fluttered against ashen, blue-tinged cheeks. Her lips were pale, the color of sun-bleached bones. A lilac-gray tinge darkened the hollows beneath her eyes.

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  He plunged the dishrag in the water and twisted the excess moisture from the fabric, then gently pressed it to her brow. His fingertips brushed her skin, felt the fire-hot temperature. God, she was so hot....

  She made a throaty, choked sound of pain.

  He stared down at her, feeling utterly, desperately hopeless. The emotions swamped him, left him weak and shaking and more afraid than ever before in his life. It was all because of him that she was here, that she was dying.

  He'd turned away from the Rock. God help him, he'd wanted her all to himself....

  He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. Pain twisted his heart until every breath hurt. "Take me instead, God. Please ... don't let her die...."

  He took her hand; it lay limp and unresponsive, the skin painfully hot against his. He had a sudden, desperate urge to sweep her into his arm
s and hold her tightly, so tightly she could never get free. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her fevered temple, lingering, breathing in the scent of her.

  She didn't respond, and gradually he drew back. With a tired sigh, he remoistened the washrag, barely hearing the splash of the water on the metal bowl. Pressing it to her brow again, he closed his eyes. "Jesus, Lainie," he whispered harshly, "don't leave me. I'll get you to the Rock. I'll get you home, just don't die on me."

  He hunched forward, pressing an elbow into the flimsy, dust-scented mattress, rubbing his tired face. Tears scalded his eyes. Suddenly the brevity of their time together overwhelmed him. He'd fooled himself somehow into thinking he could steal some portion of her life, that he could purloin time that wasn't meant to be.

  But God had answered him with devastating speed. Lainie wasn't supposed to be his. He wasn't meant to

  find this kind of love and caring in his life. He'd given up that right a long time ago, when another woman had died, all alone, waiting for the man who'd promised to love, honor, and cherish her, waiting for the husband who wouldn't return in time.

  How had he forgotten? He'd known that Lainie was the only chance he'd have to redeem his lost soul ... and he'd thrown it away, been exactly the worthless, selfish man he'd always been.

  The realization sickened and shamed him. He hadn't changed. After all the talk of redemption and second chances, he'd proven himself to be unworthy of the opportunity. The woman of his dreams, of his heart, had asked only one thing of him, and he'd cheated her.

  Why had he turned away from the goddamn Rock?

  "I wouldn't do it again."

  Silence answered him, black and mocking.

  He sat that way forever, hunching and shaking beside her bed, mired in a haze of self-loathing and regret. He mouthed an endless series of prayers, offered a continual stream of penances to the Almighty in exchange for just a word from Lainie, just a word.

  She coughed. It was a whisper of sound, barely more than a ripple of hot breath.

  It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't dreamed it. He brought his head up slowly, staring at her through gravelly, aching eyes. She lay perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling, her face drawn and tight, her mouth curved in a heartbreaking frown. Shallow breaths shuddered through her chest, made the blankets rise and fall too quickly. She coughed again, a harsh, rattling hack that sounded like music to his ears after so many hours of bone-jarring silence.

  Her eyes were open. Sweet Jesus ...

  He leaned closer, feeling the rapid thudding of his

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  heart. Hope flared in the darkness, gave him a shimmering ray to reach for. "I'm right here."

  She said something; at least he thought she did. It was a rustling flutter of breath that might have been you stayed.

  He drew the washrag from her forehead and gently eased back the sleeping bag. Heat radiated from her body in a rush. He moved slowly, so as not to disturb her, and climbed onto the bed beside her. The old wooden bed planks creaked and groaned beneath his weight.

  He stretched out on top of the covers, molding his body to hers, curling an arm protectively around her waist. "I'm right here, Lainie," he breathed against her ear, kissing the hot, damp swell of her earlobe. Very gently he rocked her, whispering an endless stream of loving words in her ear, hoping against hope that somewhere she heard, that somehow she knew.

  "C-Can ..."

  The sound of her voice brought his rocking to a sudden stop. Time seemed for a heartbeat to hang suspended, waiting. He tightened his hold on her and didn't dare to breathe.

  "C-Can't see . .."

  "I'm right here, Lainie. Right here beside you." He stroked the moist side of her face, eased his fingers through the damp curls at her temple.

  "Talk," she whispered brokenly.

  Talk. He racked his mind for something to say, but he knew it didn't matter what he chose. She just wanted to hear his voice, wanted to know that she wasn't alone in the darkness.

  "You asked me once about Emily," he said quietly, still stroking her hair, still pressing his lips against her face. "She wasn't murdered. She ... she killed herself."

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  Images, stark and cold and terrifying, whirled through his mind in a heartbeat. The grave he'd come home to, the empty house in the middle of an unprotected prairie, the note .. .

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus, the note. He hadn't thought about that in fifteen years, hadn't let himself remember. But now it was back, riding in the forefront of his mind, reminding him with sharp, undisputable proof of his failure. / needed you, Johnny. I waited so long... . Where were you?

  Where were you Where were you Where were you? The horrible question circled through his mind and stabbed his heart. It flung him back in time, so long ago, made him remember.

  "I wanted to get back to you, Emily. I tried-----" His

  voice cracked, broke on the clog of tears in his throat. What did it matter now that he'd been in some stinking hellhole of a Mexican jail? What difference did excuses make? He'd promised to be beside her always, until death, and he'd broken that vow.

  Beside him, Lainie twisted slightly and made a quiet, breathy sound that might have been his name. He drew back.

  She turned slightly and met his gaze. Her eyes were wide and vacant, the skin beneath them bruised and swollen. Tears glazed her hazel eyes. Slowly she brought a hand up and reached for him.

  His breath caught, his pulse thundered in his ears. He leaned toward her, let her hand mold to his unshaven cheek. The hot, moist column of each finger burned through his skin. "I forgive you, Johnny."

  Killian froze. For a single beat of his heart he couldn't breathe or think or move. He could only feel, a stunning, mind-boggling combination of hope and fear.

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  "Emily?"

  "Johnny ..." She whispered his name and fell back into the fleecy covers, her eyelids fluttering shut again. The warmth of her touch slid away from his cheek, leaving his skin icy cold.

  Killian looked down at Lainie, too shocked to do anything but stare. It felt for a moment as if the world had shifted on its axis, as if a heady, dizzying magic had sprinkled down on him. Warmth seeped through his body, heating places that had been cold and dead for more than a decade.

  He stared down at the necklace, mesmerized by the hidden light caught in the purple stone. He remembered everything that Viloula had said about lessons and second chances and destiny. It all made sense. Emily had finally learned to survive.

  And Killian had betrayed her again. But Viloula was wrong about one thing. It wasn't Lainie who needed to learn something, it was Killian. And he'd failed.

  "Oh, Jesus ..." He took her in his arms and dragged her close, burying his face in the pale crook of her neck. "I've learned my lesson, God," he whispered harshly. "Please ... don't let it be too late."

  Tears scalded his eyes. He squeezed them shut and kissed her throat, breathing in the humid, feverish scent of her, losing himself in the sweetness that was hers alone. Love welled through him, mixed with the acrid sharpness of grief and fear and guilt.

  His hand slipped through hers, fingers threaded. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he knew they didn't matter right now. All that mattered was loving her, needing her like air, and letting her know that he was here.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears slip past his lashes. The hot moisture slid along her skin, dampened

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  flesh that was hot and too dry. Prayers swirled through his mind, whispered, desperate pleas he didn't have the strength to actually voice.

  Please, God, just make her get well. I'll do anything. Please ...

  That was all that mattered, only that. He'd get her to the Rock and walk away. He swore he would, swore it to God with every breath. He'd get her there?like he'd promised?and he'd walk away, and though it would break his heart, it would be worth it. He'd live the rest of his life without her, knowing that he would collapse into a life
less, heartless shell without her. Knowing that without Lainie, there was nothing for him; nothing but a lifetime's worth of endless, empty days and lonely nights. It didn't matter. All that mattered was her, and getting her back to her child.

  "Please, God ..." he whispered in a throaty, cracked voice that sounded like the rustling of dead leaves. "Please don't let her die. ..."

  Lainie drew in a shaky breath and tried to open her eyes. Light stabbed her, swirled inside a world that was cold and gray and distant. She slammed her eyes shut against it.

  Her whole body hurt. There was a painful sensitivity in her skin, as if her flesh had been scrubbed by sandpaper. She wedged her elbows beneath her and tried to force herself upright, but her arms were limp and shaking and she collapsed back into the pile of smelly pillows.

  She let out a weary, exhausted sigh. Jesus, she felt bad. She rested awhile; it could have been ten seconds or ten hours, she didn't know. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes again.

  The world swam before her. She blinked hard, tried

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  to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was washed | in gray, shadows within shadows, shifting, moving.

  "Thank God," came a ragged, torn voice from beside | her.

  At the voice, so painfully familiar, it all came back to I her in a rush. The sting, the journey, Killian, Kelly. She I struggled to sit up. Breathing hard, heart pounding, she I looked around, trying to see through the shadows that) surrounded her. "What day is it?"

  "Saturday morning. You haven't missed it," he said| in a soft, weary voice.

  Relief flooded her. Slowly, aware again of the pain,! she sank back onto the bed. Her heartbeat slowed. Then! she turned slightly, and the simple movement seemed to take forever. His shadow filled her vision, wavered. After endless minutes, he started to come into focus. Silver-gray hair lay in curled, matted disarray, framed a sun-darkened face that was creased with worry. His mouth was colorless, drawn tight-lipped and set off by deeply etched lines. In his eyes, so dark and bloodshot, she saw a resignation that broke her heart. He looked, | inexplicably, as if he were about to say good-bye.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, she would have sworn she saw the| sheen of tears. "I thought I'd lost you again."

  At the look in his eyes, so gentle and loving and filled with longing, she almost started to cry herself. She gave him a smile and hoped it reached her eyes, hoped it didn't look as brittle and false as it felt. "I have' an irritating way of surviving."