this out, she is not to heal anyone, understand?”
“Of course.” He touched Zeke’s forearm. “Do you want me to tell her?”
“We’ll both do it.” How, he wasn’t certain. He didn’t want to freak her out, but he couldn’t allow her to repeatedly deplete her strength with her father having to bring her back again and again.
That was, if he could.
The room spun with Zeke’s newest worry.
“What is it?” Munez asked.
Zeke hauled in a breath that did nothing to calm him. “How many times can you reanimate someone? Does it work more than once? Are there any repercussions to doing it repeatedly?”
Would the individual develop cancer or some weird disease no one had ever heard of and couldn’t cure? Would there be brain damage?
“I don’t know,” Munez murmured.
He pushed out of his chair and backed up to the door. “I’ll get Liz. After we speak to her, I’ll have one of my men bring you a fresh set of clothes and take you to the dining room to get something to eat.”
Not giving the older man a chance to comment or question him, Zeke left the room and hurried to his own. Empty. One of his tees and a pair of navy boxers lay on the bed. Liz must have decided not to put them on when Jacob arrived with clothes from one of the younger women.
Zeke headed for the dining room, suspecting they were still there. He stopped just outside the doorway when he saw them.
Liz’s back was to him, her food barely touched. Jacob sat facing her. He stared at her hands for what seemed like minutes, although Zeke figured only a few seconds had passed. Then, as if Jacob couldn’t stand it any longer, he regarded her face.
Zeke’s heart caught. Love, the kind he’d never seen from Jacob for any woman, flooded his brother’s features. He looked at Liz with such yearning, there was no mistaking what he felt.
What Zeke had warned him against.
Now, Jacob felt the same about her, his passion fueled not by sibling rivalry—wanting everything Zeke had —but by deep affection.
When had it taken hold? When Jacob learned Liz had gone back to Carreon’s stronghold, putting herself in danger to protect them? Or had it been when Jacob found out she’d died. That they might have lost her forever if not for her father’s gift.
What did it matter? None of his musings would erase Jacob’s feelings. Ones his brother wasn’t acting on. Jacob kept his hands to himself. He didn’t flirt. He merely looked, until Liz lifted her face to his.
Jacob’s cheeks darkened, making him seem too young and vulnerable. He concentrated on his coffee cup, his hands wrapped around it.
Zeke recalled when his brother’s hands had cradled Liz’s breasts. He thought of his conversation with her father, asking the man if the healing she’d given to others could be poured back into her.
Dr. Munez didn’t know.
Zeke intended to find out.
Chapter Seven
At thirty-four, Maria Guzman was in the twilight years of her profession as a stripper, at least in the better clubs. Her body was still well toned, belly flat, thighs sleek thanks to the rigorous exercise regimen Carreon expected of all his performers. However, there were also faint horizontal lines on her forehead, ones fanning from the outside corners of her eyes and those bracketing her mouth. A heavy smoker known to party hard on her days off, Maria had too many bad habits that were clearly catching up with her.
From reading her file, Carreon learned the club had hired her when she was twenty-three. Her twelve-year anniversary was coming up quickly. She had two children to support, twin boys who were now seven years old.
When she’d returned to the club a short while ago, bleary-eyed yet eager to earn the extra cash, she hadn’t mentioned her kids. She’d dressed for sex rather than a striptease, wearing nothing beneath her long coat, which now lay over Ernez’s chair. Her jasmine fragrance, laced with musk, filled the office.
Upon her arrival, Carreon hadn’t wondered if she’d gotten a babysitter for her boys or whether that person knew she’d been headed here. Ernez had warned Maria not to breathe a word to anyone. If she had, he’d learn about it eventually and then she’d be out of a job, including this special project.
Surely not wanting that at her age, Maria had kept her tongue. She probably hadn’t even said good-bye to her sons before taking off.
Carreon hadn’t considered who would care for them if his experiment didn’t work out or whether they’d miss their mother.
In the office’s harsh light, he regarded the pale stretch marks on Maria’s hips and belly. She’d attempted to cover them with glittery makeup. No doubt hoping whoever was going to mount her in the coming hours wouldn’t notice her imperfections in the rest of the club’s muted lighting.
They probably wouldn’t have if the story Ernez had told her had been true. The patrons would have likely slipped their tips beneath the leopard skin armband Maria wore on her left biceps. Her high heels bore the same pattern. Carreon supposed the heavy makeup on her lids and lashes were to make her appear catlike. Her eyes, an ordinary shade of brown, stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing on this side.
She was as dead as a human could possibly be.
She’d broken several nails when she’d fought Ernez. The backs of his hands bore deep gouges from her assault. The pain hadn’t stopped him from strangling her. In that, he was like Carreon when he’d murdered Liz. The only difference between the two acts was that Ernez had come up on Maria from behind while she’d answered one of Carreon’s innocuous questions, a diversion to keep her off guard.
She’d looked downright eager, wanting to please her boss.
Her words had ended on a gasp with the black scarf Ernez had looped around her throat, one supplied by Trinidad. Confusion, panic, outrage and finally anguish had danced across Maria’s almost-pretty face. Was the misery because her larynx and hyoid bone were breaking, ending her future? Had she been thinking of the twelve-year anniversary she wouldn’t have a chance to celebrate?
Perhaps she’d been wondering who’d raise her kids.
Now, Maria Guzman lay on the office floor, arms and legs sprawled, breasts and cunt bared. Unlike Trinidad, she hadn’t waxed off her pubic hair but had trimmed it. Those delicate curls looked like a dark smudge against her dusky skin. So unlike her mane that she’d highlighted with reddish-brown streaks. To further enhance her image as a wild animal?
Possibly.
“Bring her back,” Carreon ordered Trinidad, not trying to hide his impatience.
She pressed her palms harder against her coworker’s throat. She’d been at it for five minutes or more and all she’d accomplished was to eliminate the dark bruising around Maria’s neck. Her face’s purplish discoloration had also receded. However, the woman hadn’t breathed, hadn’t returned from the other side.
Carreon recalled those times he’d watched Liz healing his men. With those who’d been nearest to death, she’d had to strip and drape her body over theirs, all of her flesh touching them, their mouths joined in order for full restoration to occur.
