His stare slipped to his patient. And neither was she.
Manny went back to the MRI and leaned in closer to the screen, like that was somehow going to magically fix all the anomalies he was seeing.
Man, and he’d thought the Goateed Hater’s six-chambered heart was odd?
As the double doors opened and shut, Manny closed his lids and took a deep one. Then he turned around and confronted the second doctor who had come into the room.
Jane was scrubbed in so that all you could see was her forest green eyes from behind a plexi-surgical mask, and he’d covered her presence by telling the staff she was a private doctor for the patient—which was not a lie. The little ditty that she knew everyone here as well as he did he kept to himself. And so did she.
As her eyes shifted to his and locked on without apology, he wanted to scream, but he had a goddamn job to do. Refocusing, he pushed the things that weren’t immediately helpful out of his mind, and reviewed the damage to the vertebrae to plan his approach.
He could see the area that had fused following a fracture: Her spine was a lovely pattern of perfectly placed knots of bone interspersed between dark cushioning disks . . . except for the T6 and T7. Which explained the paralysis.
He couldn’t see whether the spinal cord was compressed or cut through completely, and he wouldn’t know the true extent of the damage until he got in there. But it didn’t look good. Spinal compressions were deadly to that delicate tunnel of nerves, and irreparable damage could be done in a matter of minutes or hours.
Why the hurry to find him? he wondered.
He looked over at Jane. “How many weeks since she was injured?”
“It was . . . four hours ago,” she said so quietly no one else could have heard.
Manny recoiled. “What?”
“Four. Hours.”
“So there was a previous injury?”
“No.”
“I need to talk to you. Privately.” As he drew her over to the corner of the room, he said to the anesthesiologist, “Hold up, Max.”
“No problem, Dr. Manello.”
Angling Jane into a tight huddle, Manny hissed, “What the fuck is going on here?”
“The MRI is self-explanatory.”
“That is not human. Is it.”
She just stared at him, her eyes fixed on his and unwavering.
“What the hell did you get pulled into, Jane?” he demanded under his breath. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“Listen to me carefully, Manny, and believe every word I say. You are going to save her life and, by extension, save mine. That’s my husband’s sister, and if he . . .” Her voice hitched. “If he loses her before he gets a chance to even know her, it’s going to kill him. Please—stop asking questions I can’t answer and do what you do best. I know this isn’t fair and I would do anything to change that—except lose her.”
Abruptly, he thought of the screaming headaches that he’d gotten over the past year—every time he’d thought about the days leading up to her car accident. That damn stinging pain had come back the instant he’d seen her . . . only to lift and reveal the layers of recollection he had sensed but been unable to call forward.
“You’re going to make it so that I don’t remember anything,” he said. “And neither will any of them. Aren’t you.” He shook his head, well aware that this was far, far bigger than just some U.S. government special-agent spy shit. Another species? Coexisting with humans?
But she wasn’t going to come clean with him on that, was she.
“Goddamn you, Jane. Seriously.”
As he went to turn away, she caught his arm. “I owe you. You do this for me, I owe you.”
“Fine. Then don’t
He left her in the corner and went over to his patient, who had been oriented on her stomach.
Bending down beside her, he said, “It’s . . .” For some reason, he wanted to use his first name with her, but given the other staff, he kept it professional. “It’s Dr. Manello. We’re going to start now, okay? You’re not going to feel a thing, I promise you.”
After a moment, she said weakly, “Thank you, healer.”
He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice. God, the effect on him of just three words from her mouth was epic. But what exactly was he attracted to? What was she?
An image of her brother’s fangs filtered through his mind—and he had to lock it out. There would be time to Vincent Price it after this.
With a soft curse, he stroked her shoulder and nodded at the anesthesiologist.
Showtime.
Her back had been Betadined by the nurses, and he palpated her spine with his fingers, feeling his way along as the drugs went to work and put her out.
“No allergies?” he said to Jane, even though he’d already asked.
“None.”
“Any special issues we need to be aware of when she’s under?”
“No.”
“All right then.” He reached over and swung the microscope closer into position, but not directly over her.
He had to cut into her first.
“Do you want music?” the nurse asked.
“No. No distractions on this case.” He was operating like his life depended on it, and not just because this woman’s brother had threatened him.
Even though it made no sense, losing her . . . whatever she was . . . would be a tragedy the likes of which he couldn’t put into words.
TEN
The first thing Payne saw when she came awake was a pair of male hands. She was evidently sitting upright and in in some kind of sling mechanism that supported her head and neck. And the hands in question were on the edge of the bed beside her. Beautiful and capable, with their nails trimmed down tight to the quick, they were on papers, quietly flipping through many pages.
The human male they belonged to was frowning as he read and used a scribing utensil to make occasional notations. His beard growth was heavier than when she’d seen it last, and that was how she guessed that hours had passed.
Her healer looked as exhausted as she felt.
As her consciousness surged forth e’er further, she became aware of a subtle beeping next to her head . . . and of a dull pain in her back. She had a feeling that they had given her potions to numb sensation, but she didn’t want that. Better to be alert—as it was, she felt encased in cotton-wool batting and that was strangely terrifying.
Unable to speak as yet, she looked around. She and the human male were alone, and this was not the room she had been held within previously. Outside, various voices in that odd human accent vied for prominence against a constant stream of footsteps.
Where was Jane? The Brotherhood—
“Help . . . me. . . .”
Her healer snapped to attention and then tossed his pages onto a rolling table. Surging to his feet, he leaned down to her, his scent a glorious tingle in her nose.
“Hey,” he said.
“I feel . . . nothing. . . .”
