A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) Read online

  As she efficiently went about deflating the catheter’s balloon and withdrawing the tube from his cock, Laci kept her eyes on his. She rubbed the top of his foot in a way he knew was meant to distract him but it was her beautiful eyes that kept him calm.

  “I saw Agent Fallon on my way in,” the returning orderly said as he walked over to the rolling bedside table to place the washbasin atop it. “He said to tell you when you get a chance, he’d like to come see you.”

  “Misha Fallon was the first patient I ever had here on the Island,” the nurse said. “Gave me a run for my money that one did. I was on leave when… Well, you know.”

  “I heard he can be hell on wheels,” Laci observed.

  “Sweetie, you don’t know the half of it!” the nurse said with a snort.

  He was aware the soiled pajamas were being worked down his hips and he had enough presence of mind to lift his hips so they could be guided down his legs. He had long since lost any shame at having his body stared at and touched. The pain he had become accustomed to wasn’t being visited upon him and he knew it wouldn’t as long as Laci stood at the foot of his bed.

  “Sit yourself up, handsome,” the nurse said as she took hold of his forearm.

  Obediently he levered himself to a sitting position and barely winced as she removed his pajama shirt. Her hand to the center of his chest, she let him know he should recline again and he did so without too much thought of how defenseless he was naked and at a stranger’s mercy.

  “Would you do the honors, Agent Albright?” the nurse asked, indicating the basin.

  “No,” he said a bit too loudly, too quickly. He blushed then tore his gaze from Laci for a moment. “I have no problem with the orderly doing it.”

  “I’ll do it,” the nurse said and he knew the woman figured it would be less traumatic than having a male touch him. She gave the men a quick glance and both quietly left the room.

  As she bathed him he kept his attention riveted to Laci. She continued to rub the top of his foot until the nurse slid the warm washcloth down that leg. For the space of a moment or two as his foot was bathed, Laci just stood there and as soon as the washcloth left his flesh, her hand was back on his foot.

  “Agent Albright, there are fresh jammies in the closet,” the nurse said. “Would you mind fetching us a pair?”

  “Sure,” Laci said. She patted his foot then walked over to the closet. He followed her every move and when she came back to hand the pajamas to the nurse, she moved to the foot of the bed again.

  “My hands are wet,” the nurse. “Would you help him get dressed?”

  One quick flick of his eyes to the nurse’s gloved hands and he knew she’d lied. Her hands weren’t wet.

  “Not a problem,” Laci said in the same soft, conversational voice she had been using since coming into his room. The soft accent of her native Florida played on his senses like silk over flesh. She laid the pj top on the bed and shook out the bottoms, bunched them to the crotch then put one leg against the bottom of his foot. “Here we go, Tater.”

  Her nickname for him finally caused him to smile and he lifted his foot so he could put it through the leg of the pj. She did the same to the other leg then tugged the garment up to his knees.

  “Can you get it the rest of the way or are you gonna be lazy about it?” she asked.

  “I can do it, chere,” he said and reached down to tug the garment over his naked hips, arching his back to settle them in place. He turned his head to watch her as she came to the side of the bed with the pj top.

  “Up you go,” she said, holding the shirt out to him.

  He sat up again and threaded his arm through the sleeve. Laci leaned a little behind him to drape the back of the shirt over his shoulder then held it until he had his other arm inside the sleeve. He pulled the two sides over his chest—happier than he had been in years not to see the ragged, wretched scars that once covered him—then started at the bottom to snap the shirt closed.

  “Remember that time in Vegas when you bought me those god awful scarlet-red shorty pjs?” she asked, sitting down beside him. “God, I hated those tacky things.”

  “But you wore them anyway,” he said softly as the last snap clicked shut.

  “Yeah but I cringed every time I put them on.”

  “I got hard every time I took them off you,” he reminded her.

  “That you did,” she said, reaching for his hand.

  They sat that way for a few minutes—neither speaking—just staring into each other’s eyes. He finally reached up to tuck a wisp of her blonde hair behind her ear.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Want that hug now?” she asked.

  He looked past her to the nurse who was hovering nearby.

  Laci turned. “Do you gotta do nursey stuff to him right now?”

  The woman frowned. “Nursey stuff?” she asked.

  “Take his blood pressure, temperature?”

  He didn’t need to see her face to know one of Laci’s eyebrows was quirked in challenge.

  “It can wait,” the nurse said. She headed for the door. “Use your call button if you need me.” The door quietly snicked shut.

  Alone.

  Her hand in his.

  Her gaze lovingly caressing his face.

  A face no longer so hideous he could not bear to look at it.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

  “Scoot over,” she ordered, removing her hand from his, and he did.

  She twisted around, brought her legs up on the bed then stretched out beside him, turning to her side, her head on his shoulder. Her left arm slid over his waist and he shackled it to him with his right hand at her elbow.

  “Mary Conover and Drew Bartel got married,” she told him. “They have two little girls now. Belinda is two and Brandi is four months. They are cute as little buttons. Drew is one proud papa bear.”

  He knew what she was doing and remained silent, his attention locked on her face.

  “They built a kinda pretty skyway between the buildings. It’s made entirely of high-impact, bulletproof glass. Floor, ceiling, walls. I had to cross it this morning during one of the worst thunderstorms we’ve had in a coon’s age.”

  “Bet you liked that,” he said in the same whispery voice.

  “Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s see. Oh yeah. They are serving Vietnamese food in the cafeteria for when we have international day each week. I had sushi for the first time—hated it by the way—and puked all afternoon. There was—”

  He moved his hand from her arm to place his finger across her lips. His pulled into a gentle smile. “You are so beautiful,” he said, continuing to whisper.

  “And you are handsome,” she stated in the same low tone.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You are handsome,” she said firmly.

  “Who took my place?”

  “No one could ever take your place,” she replied. “Your chair has been empty all this time. He kept saying he needed to appoint someone but he hasn’t. Now there’s no need.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do it, chere. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, continuing to whisper as did he.

  Searching her eyes, he moved his hand to her neck and gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You’re not going to ask, are you?” he questioned.

  She smiled so sweetly he thought his heart would break and shook her head no.

  “I’ll tell you someday,” he promised.

  “Okay.”

  She sighed, closed her eyes and snuggled closer to his side. He wrapped her in his arms and put his chin on the top of her head.

  When the nurse came to check on him, Taylor and Laci were sound asleep in each other’s arms.

  * * * * *

  “Did you see him after the Conversion?” Fallon asked the Supervisor in the cafeteria that evening.

  “Yes, he looks just as he did when I sent him on that last assignment except for th
e hair and eye color your hellion gave him,” the older man replied. He indicated the chair beside him and the Reaper pulled it out and took a seat. “You have something on your feeble mind, Misha?”

  “Don’t start interrogating him in the morning.”

  The Supervisor broke off a piece of sourdough bread from the little loaf beside his plate and began buttering it. “I had not planned on doing so just yet.”

  “Give him a few days, a week if possible,” Fallon suggested. “Or better yet, let him bring up the subject.”

  “Is that what you told Laci?”

  “It’s what I wish someone had told you when I was going through what he is,” the Reaper snapped as he folded his muscular arms over his chest and settled back in the chair. “You have this uncanny ability to make things much worse than they need to be.”

  “It’s a gift,” the Supervisor observed before taking a bite of the bread.

  Fallon’s answer to that was a rude snort.

  “I realize he needs time, Misha,” the Supervisor said around chewing the bread. “Despite the severity of your injuries, his were much worse and more soul-shattering than yours.” He gave his agent a long, steady look. “I pledge to you I will tread softly with young Mr. Reynaud. We will handle this on his schedule. Will that suit?”

  “Humpf,” Fallon said. He uncrossed his arms and got up from the table. Not bothering to push his chair back where it had been, he walked away.

  “Rude little twit,” the Supervisor said but he smiled as he cut into his steak. In spite of the way he treated the agents who worked for him, he genuinely liked most of them. Mikhail Fallon was his favorite, though Taylor Reynaud ran a very close second.

  * * * * *

  Later than evening, Fallon came over to the trauma unit to find Laci pacing outside Taylor’s room. “How’s our boy?” he inquired.

  “Doc’s in with him,” she said. “He says he feels okay.”

  “But?”

  “He is whispering, Misha,” she said. “I’ve yet to hear him speak above a whisper.”

  Fallon frowned. “You think they damaged his vocal chords?”

  “I asked the doc to check,” she told him.

  “It could just be he wasn’t allowed to speak above a whisper, Laci,” Fallon suggested. “Or was afraid to speak any louder.”

  She flinched. “I never knew him to be afraid of anything. Now?” She shook her head. “Even a shadow falling across the bed startles him.”

  “The gods only know what that bastard Sharif and his psychos did to him. Give him time.”

  “He doesn’t want to go back in the field,” she said.

  “Understandable. Neither did I,” Fallon replied. “The first time I did after my injury, I felt like a raw recruit. I doubted every decision I made. That kind of mindset can get you and your partner captured or killed. That’s one of the reasons I decided to accept the job as agent liaison here when it was offered to me.”

  “I’d just as soon he stay safe,” she said, “but you and I know there is no retirement from the Exchange. What will they do with him?”

  “Give him a desk to ride or put him in new agent training.” He shrugged. “Neither are glamorous positions but they are necessary and productive. I doubt he’d like it if they gave him a psych withdrawal then expected him to hang around the Exchange and do nothing but watch you go to work every day. That would unman him faster than you can say ‘the Supervisor is a prick’.”

  “How would you like to spend a couple of months in a containment cell, Fallon?” the man in question asked from behind the Hell-hound.

  Fallon shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I could make it an entire year if you keep pushing,” the Supervisor warned.

  “You need me right where I am so stop already with the threats,” Fallon said. He was looking at Laci and not the man who had joined them. “I don’t think Laci is impressed with them.”

  “Did Taylor tell you anything, Laci?” the Supervisor asked, ignoring the Reaper.

  “No,” she replied. “He isn’t ready to talk about what happened.” She looked from Fallon to the Supervisor. “He may never be ready.”

  The Supervisor nodded. “That could well be true but it would be best if he could.” He cast a frown at Fallon. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Aye,” Fallon said. “But it’s his call.”

  The surgeon and his PA came out of Taylor’s room at that moment.

  “Do you know he could hear every word you three were saying out here?” the physician inquired. His eyes were stormy.

  “We’ve said nothing he doesn’t already know,” the Supervisor snapped. “How is he?”

  “His body has healed. The hellion we gave him was a queen and very old. Her healing powers were very strong.”

  “His throat?” Laci asked, her voice modulated low.

  “Dearling, he’s a Panthera. He can hear a whisper from all the way down the hall,” Fallon said with a grin.

  “There’s nothing wrong with his throat,” the surgeon said, “but when he answered my questions, he was whispering.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure why. Perhaps the psychiatrist can tell you. She’s scheduled to interview him in the morning.”

  “No,” Laci said. “He’s not ready for that yet. I don’t want anyone pushing him.”

  The Supervisor quirked a brow. “You don’t want?” he questioned.

  She raised her chin, cast Fallon a quick glance before she spoke. “I am exercising my rights as his Extension to speak for him until he is ready and able to speak for himself.”

  “Chere?”

  The soft call from inside the room made them all look toward the closed door.

  “I’d say the whispering is because he wants to,” Fallon said of the normal timbre of Taylor’s voice. He smiled. “You know where I am if you need me.”

  Frowning at the Reaper as he left them, the Supervisor turned his attention to Laci. “Don’t overstep your bounds, girl,” he advised.

  “She knows what’s best for him!” Fallon said from down the corridor.

  “Impertinent little shit,” the Supervisor said. “Doctor, walk with me.”

  Laci waited until the older man and medical personnel left before she took a deep breath, pushed open Taylor’s door and went inside.

  “Hey, Tater Tot,” she said with a smile.

  He held his hand out to her and she took it. He tugged gently and she sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “My big, bad mama,” he said softly though his voice was well above a whisper. He brought her hand to his lips to give it a light kiss.

  “You better believe it,” she agreed, squeezing his hand.

  “I can fight my own battles with them,” he said. The chastisement was said quietly but firmly.

  “I’ve no doubt you can,” she agreed. “I’m just running interference until you’re back on your feet.”

  He smiled. “That’s the Laci I know and love and not the one giving me worried looks this afternoon.”

  “Was I doing that?” she asked.

  “There were a couple of times I thought you would break down and cry and that’s the last thing I need,” he told her. “I have no intention of doing it and I sure as hell don’t want you to.”

  “Won’t then,” she said.

  “Until you’re in your room tonight,” he charged.

  “You can’t fault me for that, Reynaud. This has all been a lot to process.”

  “Yeah, I guess your lover coming back from the dead might be,” he said on a long sigh.

  “You hid from me,” she accused.

  “I did,” he replied with a nod. “I didn’t want you to know I was…hurting. I thought they were going to execute me when they were finished with me so it was best you get used to me being out of your life.”

  “Yet, here you are,” she said, giving him a smile she did not feel.

  “Yep, here I am.”

  “So what now?” she inquired.

  “Agent
training sounds boring as hell but it’s better than riding a desk,” he said. “They aren’t ever going to let you or me go so I’ll make the best of the situation.” He looked down at their clenched hands. “He’s going to want me back in the field.”

  “Tell him to go to hell,” she said. “Fallon does all the time.”

  “I’m not Fallon.”

  “True, but you can be just as tough when you want to be.”

  He snorted. “The only man as tough as Misha Fallon is Viraiden Cree,” he said of the Prime Reaper at the Baybridge Mental Institute for the criminally insane, another division of the Exchange. “I’m running a distant third to those boys.”

  “How’s your weenie?” she asked and he blinked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your weenie,” she repeated. “Is it sore from the cath?”

  He studied her eyes for a moment. “No,” he said, drawing out the word. “Why?”

  Laci glanced at the door. She held up a finger, a smile on her lips. “One minute.” She got off the bed and left the room, the light seeming to diminish in his world once more. He closed his eyes and tracked her, his lips twitching as she hurried up to the nurse’s desk.

  “Ah, we would like some privacy,” she stated boldly.

  “Beg pardon?” the nurse asked.

  “Privacy,” Laci repeated firmly. “For at least thirty minutes.”

  “I don’t—” The nurse stopped, her round face tinging with color. She glanced at the aide standing beside her then gave Laci a worried look. “Do you think he is up to…?” She lowered her voice. “You know. Privacy?”

  Laci nodded solemnly. “I’ll be gentle with him.”

  The nurse and aide exchanged looks. The aide shrugged. The nurse pursed her lips then exhaled a long sigh. “All right, but keep it down,” she said then her face turned bright red. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  Laci winked. “We’ll be as quiet as church mice,” she said, then pivoted around with the cutest grin on her face as she came running back to his room.

  He couldn’t help but laugh as she wriggled onto the bed with him and told him they were going to have to be as quiet as—

  “Yeah,” he interrupted. “Church mice. I know.”

  “Is that okay?” she asked, giving him a chance to tell her no.