Healing Kiss, page 14
“Get a load of this. Pullman Hospital’s average patient recovery rate for terminal illness is thirty percent. But the year Lillian Milano worked there, the recovery rate jumped to fifty percent.”
Tristan stilled. “Impressive. But do you really think it’s because of Lillian?”
“Well, that’s the interesting part. The increase could be attributed to many factors outside of Lillian; however, we tracked down a few of her former patients from the year she worked there. Each miraculously recovered from a terminal illness. Each of them recount the same unique experience.”
“Which is?”
“I’m working up to that, buddy.”
Tristan held the phone tighter to his ear. Brian was clearly drawing the facts out for maximum impact.
“They all told stories about how Lillian held their hands until their symptoms disappeared. One young man told me he got a warm feeling up and down his body. Another described the sensation as being overheated. An older woman and her granddaughter couldn’t praise Lillian enough. Called her an angel sent from God to destroy the pancreatic cancer that ravaged the grandmother’s body—the doctors had told the family the grandmother had six months to live. That was more than three years ago.”
My God. Excitement curled in Tristan’s gut so he couldn’t sit still any longer. Heat raced up and down his spine. He picked up his phone, strode toward the window, looked out at the night. Hadn’t he thought Lillian had some miraculous way to heal the sick? He hadn’t believed it at the time, it seemed too fantastical, but he’d witnessed her ability himself. If it were true… He let out the breath he’d been holding.
Lillian might be able to cure his mother. And if he had inherited the disease…
“Still there?” Brian rumbled.
Tristan cradled the phone by his ear and tapped his fingers against the glass. A strange feeling filled his chest. Hope. It had been so long since he’d felt the emotion, he had trouble recognizing it.
“Yeah, sorry, it’s quite a lot to take in.”
“I told ya.”
“Have you learned who might be threatening Lillian?”
“Not yet. But we’ve got some leads that look promising.”
“Well, keep on it.”
“Will do.”
“And, Brian, I know you know this, but be discreet. I wouldn’t want to inadvertently bring more trouble to Lillian’s back door.”
Brian grunted. “Discreet is my middle name.”
Tristan ended the call and shoved his phone in his pants pocket. Then he headed into the ballroom. He was more than eager to finish his duties at the party and find Lillian and take her home to resume their earlier conversation.
Tristan walked the ballroom, mingling with the other guests, looking for his missing partner, but she was nowhere to be found. His stomach tightened when he caught a glimpse of a waiter stepping behind a curtain in the corner alcove. Something about the swift movement caught his attention, and he hurried after the gentleman, pulling the curtain back to peer inside.
The waiter was bent over a long and narrow couch, blocking his view, but he noticed the arms and legs sticking out, and they definitely belonged to a woman—his woman. Strange how this single adrenaline-heavy moment solidified his feelings.
“What are you doing?”
The waiter rose swiftly and turned to face him. “I think the lady’s had a little too much to drink.”
Tristan turned his attention to Lillian and saw that it was true. She’d passed out on the couch. “I see that. She’s my date—I’ll take it from here.”
“Very good,” the waiter said, and without another word, left.
“Zoey, wake up,” he said, patting her cheeks.
Lillian opened her eyes, but they were glazed and unfocused. How had she managed to drink herself into oblivion in the short time she’d been missing?
“Where am I?”
“We’re at the hospital fundraiser, which you would know if you were on my arm, where you’re supposed to be, and not hiding inside here, getting plastered.”
“I’m not…plastered.” She stood, nearly tripping over her heels until he caught her. She sniffed his chest, burying her face into his shirt. “Mmmmh. You smell good.”
He did his best to ignore the softness of her cheek pressed again him and checked his watch. “It’s almost eight. I’m taking you home, but first I need to present the room out there with a sizable check. Can you manage to stay on your feet long enough for me to accomplish the task?”
“I think so.” She pushed herself away from him. “You have terrific coloring,” she murmured, her voice dreamy.
He tucked her arm in his. “C’mon, my drunk companion, you can admire my coloring while we’re walking.”
He managed to get her on her feet and tugged her along, leading her into the main ballroom, where Angelina was announcing the five-hundred-thousand-dollar donation he was making to the North Side Clinic in honor of the care given to his mom.
The audience clapped all around. He sat Lillian on a chair off to one side where he could keep an eye on her and made his way to the microphone to hand Angelina his check. They smiled for the cameras, the guests clapped, and his obligation was complete.
“Your date looks like she’s about to pass out,” Angelina muttered.
He turned in time to see Lillian standing and stumbling toward what appeared to be the direction of the restroom. He moved as quickly as he could without causing a scene and latched onto her arm, pulling her into his side.
“What’s wrong with her?” Angelina asked. She must have followed him.
As if in answer, Lillian pressed a hand over her mouth.
“Excuse us,” Tristan said, pulling her through the guests as fast as he could, then half-carrying her into the women’s restroom and angling her into a stall just in time. What followed wasn’t pretty, but he held her hair out of the way while she appeared to lose everything she’d eaten since breakfast.
Chapter Seventeen
Lillian groaned and pushed herself away from the commode, wiping her mouth on some toilet paper Tristan handed her.
The bathroom door banged open, and Angelina trounced inside. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s not feeling well. I’m taking her home,” Tristan said.
“You can’t leave yet—there are several reporters here who want to talk to you. It’s fantastic publicity for the hospital and for you. Let me call a cab.”
“No,” Tristan said. “I’ve got this.”
“But…” Angelina sputtered. “You can’t bail on me now. This is an important moment. You know how long I’ve been working on this event. I promised the reporters a story. It will encourage other wealthy patrons to donate.”
“You’ll have to talk to the reporters. Excuse us.” Tristan helped Lillian to her feet and half-carried, half-dragged her to the door. He paused and turned back to Angelina. “Could you flush the toilet?”
If she didn’t feel so lousy, Lillian might have laughed at the strangled sound Angelina made at this request.
Tristan somehow got her out of the party center without too much fanfare and settled her in the passenger seat of his car. The cool air outside of the building helped to restore some of her equilibrium. Guilt set in—she was supposed to be playacting as his date for the night and instead he was taking care of her…again…and now he had to leave the party early.
She huddled in her seat and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember how she had landed in this predicament. She didn’t remember drinking. She didn’t remember much of anything. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, which wasn’t her usual reaction to alcohol. It must be the unrelenting stress she’d been under over the past two days—begging a stranger to help her cure Hannah, saying goodbye to her family, watching out for Kinetica’s men, and now, witnessing Tristan’s feelings for Angelina first-hand. A girl could only take so much.
“Are you feeling any better?”
She cracked her eyes open to find Tristan had gotten in the driver’s seat and started the car. “A little.”
She no longer felt nauseous, thank God, but a languorous, sleepy feeling had taken root. She yearned for a bed and pillow and this nightmare of an evening to be over.
“Go to sleep then. I’ll have you home in no time.”
Home. How could a single word be so comforting and so alarming at the same time? If only she were home. But she couldn’t ever go back to her dad’s house with Kinetica still looking for her. And Tristan’s mansion was not home. No, home was an efficiency apartment in Boston, and even that had never felt like home.
The sound of the tires hitting the pavement and the wind resistance lulled her into a semi-conscious state. When she awoke, they were sitting in Tristan’s car, and he was staring at her with a strange expression on his face.
She blinked and moaned, covering her mouth, which tasted like moldy bread. “Where am I?”
“In my driveway. You don’t recognize it?”
Did she? She looked around, her mind a fog of confusion.
“How are you feeling?”
“I…my head hurts.”
“Why did you drink so much?”
“I…I don’t know.” Why didn’t she remember? She didn’t realize she was shaking until Tristan pulled her into his strong arms.
“Shh. It’s okay. You’ve been worried about Hannah, and it happens to the best of us. Besides, it was a convenient excuse for me to leave early.”
“Hannah?” She latched on to the single word. Had something happened to her sister? “I…I must go.”
“You’re not going anywhere in your condition except straight to bed.” He unlatched his seatbelt and came around to open her door. “C’mon, I’ll help you inside.”
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you into the house.”
“The house? I don’t think…”
But it was too late—he’d reached inside the car and lifted her up and into his arms, with barely a ripple of muscles, placing her over his broad shoulder like a large sack of potatoes. “I’m getting you inside and into bed.”
She was too tired and disoriented to protest. Dimly, she was aware he entered the house and carried her up the stairs and laid her on the bed. He began taking off her shoes, first one, then the other.
Wasn’t there somewhere she was supposed to be? Her body felt thick and heavy, and it was too much effort to concentrate on the answer, so she closed her eyes and slept.
Tristan covered Lillian with warm blankets he found in the closet. He figured she needed sleep more than she needed to be out of her party clothes. That could wait until the morning.
For a while he studied her chest, which rose and fell, reassuring himself she still breathed. Why would a woman who was afraid for her life drink so much alcohol she passed out? It didn’t make sense. But then again, there were many facets to Lillian he didn’t understand.
He brushed a strand of her golden hair from her eyes and allowed his fingers to caress her smooth cheek. At least he didn’t need to worry about Lillian fleeing his house in the middle of the night. Which would give him time to convince her to confide in him.
He filled a water glass and placed it and two aspirin on the bedside table. He had a strong suspicion she’d have one hell of a headache in the morning. Then he left the door open a crack in case she needed him while he changed his clothes, and tiptoed to his own bedroom down the wide hallway.
The first thing Lillian noticed when she opened her eyes was daylight streaming through the large window. The next thing was the dark-haired man with high cheekbones and swarthy skin sitting next to her bedside in sweatpants.
She wrinkled her brow. “Tristan? What are you doing in here?”
“Watching you sleep,” he said, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine.
“What for?” She started to get up.
“No, don’t get up. Take it easy. How are you feeling?”
A fuzzy memory surfaced of Tristan carrying her up the stairs. “You put me to bed last night. What…what happened to me?”
He frowned, but the tone of his voice remained gentle. “I found you last night passed out on a couch in an alcove at the party. I carried you out of the place to get you home and into bed. Don’t you remember?”
She rubbed her head, trying to make sense of his words. “Not really. It’s all kind of hazy. But I don’t drink as a rule, and I don’t remember drinking anything but water last night.” She rubbed her eyes, her contacts burning. “Were you in here all night? What time is it?”
“Yes, and almost seven.”
“Seven?” Adrenaline raced through her system, her heart thumping in her ears. “I missed my flight.”
“Yes, and it’s a good thing. You were in no condition to fly. Do you remember where you got the water you said you drank?”
She wrinkled her nose, bringing in a fuzzy image of a waiter handing her a glass of water from a tray. “Yes, a waiter was passing by and offered it to me.”
“Did he have dark hair and a mustache?”
Lillian rubbed her head and tried to visualize the fuzzy image more clearly. “I didn’t look that closely at him…but I think so. Why?”
Tristan stood and whipped out his cell phone. “You may have been drugged.”
Drugged? Oh, shit. Kinetica had found her. It felt like an icy hand reached into her heart cavity and squeezed, and for a moment, she couldn’t think or move or breathe.
“Brian,” Tristan barked into the phone. “A waiter at the party last night may have slipped something into Zoey’s water glass. He had dark hair and a mustache—about five ten. Check to see if the facility has video surveillance.”
There was a short pause, where Lillian suspected Brian agreed. The room closed in around her, cutting off her oxygen.
“Contact the police if necessary and call me pronto if you find anything.”
“I was drugged?” she managed to choke out the second Tristan ended the call.
“If you weren’t drinking, then it’s likely. How else to explain your symptoms? The only way to know for sure is to have you checked out in a hospital.”
“No. No, I can’t.” A sick feeling of dread settled in Lillian’s gut. Kinetica had found her. Every minute she stayed in this house was jeopardizing Tristan’s safety and her family’s lives. She didn’t let herself think further but moved as quickly as she was able in her current state to rise and pack her things.
“Zoey, what do you think you’re doing? You need to rest.”
“No. No, I…I can’t. I need to leave right now. I’ve already stayed much longer than I should have.” Her voice shook. My God, what if Kinetica were outside right now?
She looked down at her outfit, noticing for the first time she was still dressed in her party clothes. Did it matter? She couldn’t afford the precious time it would take to change.
Lillian began shoving clothes into her suitcase, not caring if it was neat or not, not caring that tiny hammers were pounding her skull. Although she was still not quite steady on her feet, it didn’t take long since she only had the one suitcase, and she’d never fully unpacked.
Tristan placed his hand over hers, where she gripped her suitcase. “Stop this. You don’t feel well, and there’s no need to panic. I have my security firm checking into the situation and keeping an eye on us. They’re top notch. You’ll be safe here until we get to the bottom of this. You have my word.”
As much as she wanted to believe him, Tristan didn’t understand how ruthless Kinetica could be when they wanted something. And they wanted Lillian.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I can’t stay here. I’m sorry.”
She pulled her suitcase from his grasp and took a step toward the door.
“When you told me yesterday you had a talent for nursing, what you really meant is you have a talent for healing.”
Although he didn’t raise his voice, his words sliced through her fear, causing a new, more-panicked sensation. Her heart beat furiously, and she stiffened, frozen in place. In the stunned stillness that followed her gaze flew to his. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She gave herself credit for trying.
“I think you do.” His intense blue eyes captured hers, demanding truth.
A rush of adrenaline sent a shiver up and down her spine, and her stomach tossed and turned and rolled over. She shouldn’t be so surprised he knew she could heal—she’d given him enough clues, and he was smart. It was only a matter of time until he’d figure it out.
She couldn’t hold his knowing gaze, so she looked at the suitcase in her hands, the unmade bed, the window with the billowing curtains…at anything but his face. All the while, she lectured herself. She shouldn’t have prolonged their goodbye. She shouldn’t have gone to the party. She shouldn’t be falling for him because, although she’d lied to him earlier to protect herself and her family, she didn’t want to tell another lie.
“Zoey, look at me. Is it true? Can you cure the sick?”
She took a sharp breath and raised her head until their gazes met. Looking in his eyes, she read stubbornness, knowledge, fear, awe… Looking in his eyes hurt her heart. “It’s time for me to go now.” She intended to be assertive, but the words came out soft and weak, and she still hadn’t moved.
He placed his hands on hers, warming them between his palms. “Please. I need you to be honest with me about this.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” She shivered and pulled her hand from his, an icy, cold resolve filling her chest. She didn’t waste more time thinking, stumbling toward the door.
“My mother is dying.”
His voice was quiet, desperate. He didn’t try to stop her from fleeing the room, but the anguish in his words pierced her heart and held her in place as if he had. She froze again, unable to move forward but afraid to turnaround and witness his despair.
