Healing Kiss, page 15
“If there’s a grain of truth to your ability, you could possibly…Zoey, you might be able to save her.”
Don’t turn around.
If she were smart, she’d listen to the inner voice, urging her to flee…urging her to grab her keys and drive straight to the airport. She’d return the rental and find somewhere to hide until she boarded her flight. She’d go back to her life and forget she’d ever met Tristan or his mother.
She turned.
In matters of the heart, she’d never been smart.
Tristan stood in front of her, hands fisted at his side. His tortured gaze met hers, and whatever resistance she’d been clinging to crumbled, washed away by the anguish in his expression.
She found herself setting the suitcase down and moving toward him, placing one foot in front of the other until they stood facing each other, mere inches apart. She studied the raw emotion in his eyes, compassion warring with her own self-preservation. Even if she agreed to Tristan’s request, there was every likelihood she could not cure his mother of Huntington’s.
Her eyes burned and teared, clouding her vision. She risked everything by staying in Cleveland. Dominic would have gotten wind of Hannah’s miraculous recovery and probably suspected her real identity. Even now, Kinetica’s soldiers could be mounting their attack. They would kill Tristan if he tried to prevent them from taking Lillian.
A shiver made a slow circuit down her spine until her toes curled. If she left, she’d be sealing his mother’s fate to one of death. Would he ever forgive her? Could she ever forgive herself?
She still looked into his eyes, but now she reached for his hand, her fingers tingling as they curled around his, their energies merging and blending. He’d not abandoned her when she’d begged for his help. How could she do the same now their positions were reversed?
She stole a breath. “It’s true. I can heal.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tristan’s pulse sped up, and he had trouble drawing in air. Was this a dream? Did Lillian really just admit she could heal the sick? Or would he wake up disappointed to find it had all been a fantasy?
“You must understand it’s highly unlikely I can totally cure your mom of Huntington’s.”
Lillian’s serious gaze caught his, her body demanding his full attention as she paced back and forth in the bedroom. She looked angelic with her golden hair, glossy and long, and her pink cheeks.
She stopped pacing and crossed her arms to fix him with a steely gaze. “I don’t want any publicity. Whatever the result, you must swear not to tell anyone, not even your mom.”
“I’ll keep your secret. You have my word.”
She resumed her pacing. At this rate she would wear a hole in the expensive carpet.
His heartbeat matched her footsteps. For the first time in a long while, Tristan dared to hope, not just for his mom, but for his foolish heart. Lillian had stayed to help him when she could have run.
“I’ll be tired afterward and may need to rest. If that happens, I’ll need a place to recover.”
He moved a hand around the room. “Plenty of space here.” And he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he knew she was safe. Last night, he’d ordered additional security to ensure Lillian and her family would be under surveillance at all times.
“I won’t stay here longer than necessary. You must promise not to follow or contact me after I leave.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “Understood.” He would let Lillian leave if she insisted on it, but he had every intention of convincing her to stay.
“There’s one more thing you should know. A healing like this is dangerous, not only for the patient and the healer but…for the donor.”
“Donor?” He frowned. What donor? “What exactly happens when you heal?”
She finally sat on the bed, twisting her hands in her lap. He settled next to her and waited.
She cleared her throat but didn’t look at him, her voice so low he had to strain to hear. She had probably never explained her ability to anyone else before.
“If you remember from high school science class, every living thing contains energy, right?”
He nodded but kept his mouth shut. Now she was finally talking, he didn’t want to interrupt for fear she’d quit.
“Albert Einstein said the total amount of energy in the universe remains constant. It cannot be created or destroyed but is converted from one form to another. Energy that’s stored in the body is potential energy, but when the energy is set in motion, it becomes kinetic.”
She paused and fidgeted, fingering a fold in her dress. He stilled and waited for her to continue.
“When I’m near people, I sense their potential energy—whether it’s high, low, or in between. When a person moves, their potential energy becomes kinetic energy. My cells automatically absorb the kinetic energy, which is then stored in my body as potential energy. When I capture enough of this stored energy, I can transfer it to the person I want to heal.”
He hardly breathed. “Is the donor aware this is happening—that you’ve absorbed their energy?”
“Not usually.”
“You steal it then.”
She turned to him, her wide eyes sparking with indignation. “I don’t steal energy—I only absorb and store the energy people give off when they move. It doesn’t hurt them. Like I said, they don’t even know it’s happening.”
“You said ‘not usually’.”
“Yeah.” She nodded and returned to looking at her hands, which she still clutched in her lap. “A few rare people produce an extraordinary amount of potential energy. They’re called burners. I’d never actually met a burner until…recently.”
Secrets hid in her voice. She got to her feet and strolled to the bedroom window. The sun had risen, and there was plenty of light for her to see outside, although he suspected she was not looking at the landscape but considering what to tell him.
She turned, smoothing her hands down her dress, but he noticed she didn’t meet his eyes. “Usually, I have to wait until I have enough potential energy stored in my body to heal a patient. But with a burner, it’s different. They give off so much energy, I can channel it directly when they’re near me, without trying to store it.”
She paused, expectant, as if she waited for him to decipher a complicated computer code.
Tristan was beginning to feel like he was trapped in a bizarre sci-fi movie. He moved toward her. Now he was the one who felt like pacing. “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”
She blinked once, twice. “Tristan, you’re a burner.”
Hadn’t he known she was leading up to this? His pulse quickened—his gut clenched and spasmed. “Is that why you begged me to visit your…Hannah the other night?” Had it only been two days ago?
“I had no choice. You were the only one who could save her.”
“You should have told me what you were doing.” To her credit, she didn’t flinch at the bitterness in his voice.
“You wouldn’t have believed me, and I couldn’t take the chance you’d say no. Hannah would have been dead by morning.”
His anger fizzled out like a snuffed flame, leaving him cold. She was right. He wouldn’t have believed her. But it still didn’t take away the ugly feeling of being used.
“Where are you going?”
“To the entertainment room. I need a drink,” he flung over his shoulder, not caring if she followed. He headed down the stairs, the tap of her footsteps echoing behind him.
Since he’d come into wealth, he’d been on the receiving end of more pleas for money than he cared to count, most of them scams. Women propositioned him routinely. Everyone wanted something. Everyone had a price. Did anyone tell the truth?
He reached the room and found the whiskey behind the bar, splashed some into a glass. He didn’t trust easily, but for some reason, he’d trusted her. Hell. Hadn’t he suspected Lillian of having ulterior motives? What other secrets were hiding behind her cool composure Brian had yet to uncover?
He raised the glass and eyed the amber drink as if it held answers, ignoring the woman who stood in the doorway. Lillian hadn’t wanted his money. She’d wanted something much more valuable. Something she’d taken from him without his knowledge. He lifted the glass to his lips—he’d welcome the burn.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Lillian stepped into the room.
The lady was back to giving orders. Well, he didn’t feel much like marching. He narrowed his eyes, tipped the glass, and swallowed the whiskey, then turned and grabbed the bottle.
“Alcohol dulls your energy. We’re going to need every bit of it if we hope to cure your mom.”
He hesitated, then set the whiskey bottle down with a sigh and faced her. He was being selfish, wasn’t he? What did it matter if Lillian used him? She’d agreed to cure his mom, if that were even possible to do. Wasn’t that all that mattered?
“Fine. I won’t drink, but I’ve got a few questions for you, and I want the truth.” He moved forward until he towered over her.
She nodded. “I will tell you what I can.”
He had to give her credit; she didn’t back down. “If I’m a burner, as you call it, why didn’t I sense when you were siphoning my energy?”
“I was careful not to use too much. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Tristan didn’t miss the way her fingers clutched her sides. He tightened his brow, his mind locking in on the truth. “You protected me, didn’t you? That’s why I didn’t feel anything. You used your own energy until you passed out.”
She shrugged as if it were nothing. “Perils of the job.”
He lifted her chin until their gazes clashed, injecting steel into his voice. “I don’t want you passing out to heal my mom. You can have as much of my energy as you need. You’re not to put yourself in danger.”
“Believe me, I try to avoid passing out.” She cleared her throat and spoke so low, he had to lean forward to hear. The smell of strawberries filled the air. “Tristan, I never meant to hurt you. But I was desperate to save Hannah, and I can’t always control the process.”
“You should have trusted me with the truth. What else are you keeping from me?”
She dropped her gaze, her shoulders slumping.
“Zoey, look at me.”
She lifted her chin, and he read sorrow, fear, and something that looked a lot like resolve in her eyes.
“What do you see when you use my energy to heal…a glowing light?”
She frowned and played with her dress—a pattern he noticed her doing whenever she felt uncomfortable. He didn’t think she’d answer, but she did, her voice low and hesitant and laced with vulnerability.
“Usually, it’s more of a dark figure in my mind that I wrap light around.”
“How does it work?”
She hesitated, then grabbed his hand. “It will be easier if I show you. Hold my hand and keep your eyes closed.”
He did as she asked. He didn’t notice any change at first, but gradually, his palm warmed, then his arm, then his whole body. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was standing next to a fire.
Desire hit him hard, the hair on his arms on full alert, his whole body tingling. He basked in Lillian’s heat, which seemed to bring new life to his heart and limbs. He might have stood with his eyes closed forever if she hadn’t pulled her hand from his.
He opened his eyes and blinked. “Is that what you did to Hannah?”
She didn’t look away from his gaze. “Yes, but I didn’t mean to have such a dramatic impact. It’s easy to get carried away with you.”
He did his best to mask the flare of satisfaction at her words. She admitted she got carried away around him…progress.
“I’ve never given anyone a demonstration like this before. You must understand healing takes extreme concentration, and it can be dangerous for everyone involved.”
He frowned. “Why dangerous?”
“I could draw too much energy from donors. I could use too much of my own energy. I could take too much of the patient’s energy. It’s a delicate balance and easy to make a mistake. That’s why I made you stand in the corner when I cured Hannah.”
He smiled. “And here I thought you were punishing me.”
Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “I did what I thought was best at the time. Listen, we should get going. I’ll make the attempt to heal your mom, but I can’t stay longer. I’ll book another flight.”
She turned and moved toward the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Not before I fix breakfast. Why don’t you clean your contacts and get out of those party clothes while I make you something to eat. And don’t worry about your flight. I have a private helicopter. It will be much faster and easier than trying to book a commercial flight, I promise. I can have you in Denver in a couple of hours.” He wouldn’t mention he would be the pilot.
Her face paled, and she nibbled her lip.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to fly in a helicopter?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good. The helicopter is at Burke Lakefront, which is a short jaunt. We can turn your rental car in and leave from there.”
“I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need.”
He started to object, but his smart watch chose that moment to vibrate with an incoming message, and he paused to glance at the screen. Brian was back with more information. Adrenaline had him moving toward his office. “Excuse me, but I have to take this call. Use the time to freshen up. I’ll return shortly.” He left before she could think of another argument.
He dialed Brian’s number, and the investigator picked up just as Tristan reached his office door. “What do you have for me?”
“It’s big. Are you sitting down?”
Tristan closed the door behind him and grabbed the chair from behind his desk. “What is it?”
“I told you we had some promising leads. We’ve been sniffing around, asking questions. We looked into Lillian’s mother, Emily Milano. Unlike Lillian, Emily Milano’s lifeless body was recovered after her car accident, and a death certificate was issued. The cause of death is listed as head trauma and internal injuries.”
“That sounds logical.”
“We thought so, too.”
Brian was warming up. Tristan drummed his fingers on the desk.
“By all accounts she lost control of her vehicle and hit a tree. One of the news articles we read mentioned that Emily had been volunteering as a nurse on a mission trip in the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia at the time of her death for an organization called Project Green. I checked into Project Green, and that’s where this gets weird.”
“Go on.”
“The organization’s stated mission is to raise awareness for immunization and safe births. They sponsor a clinic at a women’s crisis center there called Oak Haven. One of my guys got a tip from a former resident who claimed she’d been injected with the Ebola virus and then miraculously cured by Emily Milano.”
“No shit.” Tristan’s pulse pounded. “The former resident never told anyone?”
“No, quite the opposite. She complained to anyone who’d listen, including the police.”
“They didn’t take her seriously?”
“She’s a recovered heroin addict and diagnosed bipolar. Everyone thought she was loony. No one believed her—at least not enough to do a thorough investigation.”
“But you did.” Tristan couldn’t keep the satisfaction from his voice. Brian’s agency was the best in the business.
“I did,” Brian rasped. “One of my investigators snuck into Oak Haven yesterday, and what she reports is appalling. Cramped quarters, horrible abuse, human experimentation. We think they’re injecting these women with deadly viruses and using nurses like Emily Milano to cure them.”
Tristan pushed his chair out and stood. “There are others capable of healing?”
“At least one other. They had her under lock and key—probably not there willingly. But my investigator swears she witnessed the healer put her hands on a young mother with pox marks all over her face, and when she removed her hands, they’d vanished.”
“My God. No wonder Lillian’s terrified. They want to force her to participate in these experiments. Who the hell is funding Project Green?”
“Looks like their major sponsor is the genetic research corporation you mentioned, Kinetica.”
Chapter Nineteen
Tristan leaned on the desk to steady himself. Cold drops of sweat trickled down his back.
“Kinetica? Are you certain?”
To think he’d been considering investing a million dollars into the firm. That’s why Lillian had been so terrified of Dominic. The final piece of the puzzle snapped into place.
“Yes.”
“It makes sense. They’re a major player in DNA research.”
“We’ve been looking into them. My instincts tell me they’re up to their eyeballs in this mess, although we haven’t found any direct evidence.”
“We need to get the FBI involved.”
“I’ve already contacted them.”
“Good. And I want even more security watching the hospital and my house. If anyone shows up to try and take Lillian or her family, we need to be prepared to stop them.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Brian. Tell my friends at the FBI I’ll offer a sizable reward to anyone willing to come forward and provide evidence that leads to the group’s arrest. We need to nail these assholes.”
“Gotcha.”
Long after he ended the call, Tristan remained standing, staring at his phone, trying not to panic. A shard of icy-cold fear broke free from his control and moved through his veins. What if they had captured Lillian before he understood what was happening?
