Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02] Read online

  He stared at her, incredulous. "I don't believe it. You're actually serious about this."

  Breathless, she answered, "I can't believe it either, because I really think that I am." She pressed her palm to the ice, touching, almost touching what promised to be a broad, masculine chest. She felt a small lurch, a soft flutter in her own. It was a strange sensation, an echo of the moment when the man who would be her husband tapped on the window of her car to issue a citation and ended up waving two tickets to the policeman's ball.

  Never would she forget that lilting sensation. Never would she forget the tragedy of its loss. She had lost Mick; maybe that was why she had such a foolish need to try saving this surely unsavable man.

  "Look, Lori, we've been friends for a long time. And you know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. But—"

  "Ditto, Ryan. And that's why I know that I can count on you to keep a lid on this thing and help me figure out how we're going to get him from here to my place. Say next weekend? Don't try to squirm out of it, I know your schedule. We've both got next Saturday free."

  Ryan quit grinding his teeth long enough to blow out an exasperated sigh. "Okay, have it your way, but just tell me one thing first. What the hell are you going to do with this frozen dude once he thaws out?"

  Since she hadn't thought that far ahead, she'd have to figure it out as she went. "Before that happens, I'm going to the library and getting everything I can find on cryonics. And then there's Dr. Rashid at the hospital—"

  "He's a horny lech."

  "So what? That horny lech is doing research on low-temperature whatever-he-calls-it for organ preservation. I'll buy him lunch and pick his brain. After that, only two things can happen. If by some miracle our friend here can be resuscitated, I'm a nurse and he's in good hands. If not..." I'll see that he gets a decent burial to make up for the one be didn't get.

  It was more than Mick had gotten. His funeral had resembled a three-ring circus, the grieving widow's picture splashed on the front page of the newspaper. It had not been right. Then again, nursing her wounds at the expense of denying science a look-see wouldn't be right either.

  "If he's a goner, I'll turn him over to Dr. Rashid, who can call in his cronies before the anthropologists and the yellow journalists and God only knows who else has at him. Fair enough?"

  Ryan hesitated, shook his head, then gave a curt nod. "Jeez, I must be as crazy as you. You want him, you've got him. But we're going to need some help."

  "Make that some help who can keep their mouths shut."

  "Right. And that definitely reduces the pickings. As it is, there's only three who come to mind."

  "Warren, Jacob, and Jennifer." Not only were they top-notch climbers, Warren and Jacob had muscle to spare. As for Jennifer, she had the moxie to keep them both in line and polish her nails while she was at it.

  Ryan pulled at his chin. "Once we hack him out, getting him to the bottom won't be easy. He doesn't look light, even minus the ice, but put 'em together and we've got a mother lode of weight to haul."

  Lori had to agree. "We could use a stretcher and risk the trail. It's probably the way he came up."

  "The trail's too rough, and even if it wasn't, it'd take forever to push him down. Too dangerous. Forget it."

  That idea nixed, she searched for another. And came up with one that could land both her and Ryan in big trouble.

  "Oh, Ryan," she singsonged. "Guess what I'm thinking."

  "I know what you're thinking. Lord, to think like you, I must need my head examined."

  She smacked his cheek with a kiss. "I love ya, big guy. I can always count on you to be there for me, no matter what."

  "Know what? I hate it when you get sappy." As he spoke they prepared to rappel like marionette birds on sturdy strings. Poised on the ledge, Ryan asked, "Ready?"

  "Not quite." No, she wasn't ready. But she wasn't about to tell Ryan that she didn't want to leave the man frozen in time. "First, I want you to tell me what keeps us together."

  "What else? It's your addiction to my coffee."

  "Get outta here!" She gave him a playful shove and he laughed as he sailed out and down.

  Lori took a last, lingering look at the man she felt an unexplainable affinity with. Regretfully she left him, assuring herself that he hadn't moved since before her great-grandmother was born, and surely he wasn't going anywhere before she came back to reclaim him.

  * * *

  As it turned out, they made two trips before exhuming the man from his frozen crypt. The mission was exhausting, exhilarating, a great adventure. One that, Lori guessed, would enrage the scientific community. What she didn't have to guess about was that she and Ryan would be out of a job if the hospital ever discovered that the emergency helicopter had played an important role in their master plan.

  Their last partner in crime was Skip, the pilot, who also took an oath of silence. They couldn't have done it without him and the chopper.

  A whoop of jubilation went up from Lori and Jennifer once the icy weight was deposited in the back of Warren's monster truck. Lori blew kisses to Skip, who departed with an enthusiastic thumbs-up signal.

  As they waited for the others to return, Lori covered the bulk with a length of heavy canvas, stroked it with a protective caress.

  "Now I can breathe again," she said, sighing her relief.

  "The question is, will he breathe again?" Jennifer gave the canvas a neat slap, which Lori didn't much care for.

  "Not likely," she admitted. "The big problem seems to be that when the body's fluids freeze, ice crystals form and damage the cell tissue. There is a chance, though, a really, really slim chance, that if he was frozen almost immediately, the ice crystals wouldn't have had time to form."

  "Hey, I'm impressed. Sounds like you know your stuff."

  Lori snorted at that. "Don't I wish." If she never read another article on cryonics, it would be too soon. Despite her BSRN degree, the technical mumbo jumbo supporting the theory that life could be held suspended by totally mind-boggling means had been daunting. As for the phone call she'd made to the cryonics organization, she'd felt like a fledgling Trekkie talking to Starfleet Command.

  But then there was Dr. Rashid, who had been flattered that she had taken an interest in his research. So flattered, in fact, that he'd asked her out twice so they could pick up their lunchtime conversations over dinner.

  Dire as her need was to learn as much as she could, she'd turned him down both times. The jerk was married.

  "I wonder if he's married," she mused, eyeing the canvas.

  "If he was, he sure ain't now," Jennifer pointed out. She cocked an eyebrow. "Know what, Lori? You seem to be a lot more interested in this guy than in any of the others who've been trying to make time with you since... well, you know."

  It was true, but Lori wasn't about to admit to her romantic fantasies involving the "amazing human Popsicle" as her friends had dubbed him.

  With a mischievous smile, Lori said, "actually, Jenn, if you think about it, he's got some great points in his favor."

  "And just what might those be?"

  "For one thing, he's harmless, and that's a lot more than I can say for some of the studs who hit on us at the Kick and Kaboodle. The only line dancing they're after is the horizontal two-step."

  "You've got that right," Jenn readily agreed.

  "And, he's a hunk."

  Jennifer peeked under the canvas. "Mmmm... definitely yummy." She gave Lori a broad grin. "Actually, toots, I believe you're one hundred and ten percent right. What we have here is no less than the perfect man." With a wink, she said, "the kind of guy who listens and doesn't talk back."

  Chapter 2

  The darkness was timeless, a place that was warm, where he floated between dreams and nothingness. Since the dreams were often painted in slashes of violence and rage, the escape he found in that dreamless nook was a welcome thing. It was there that Noble found peace.

  At first he didn't overly appreciate the distant tri
ckle of sound that came to him at odd intervals, intruding on his blissful, black slumber. But it grew increasingly familiar, moving in cadences not unlike speech. And yet he didn't hear words, but rather a resonance he could only interpret as shades of emotion.

  "Damn, come on, will you? Just wake up instead of lying there like Sleeping Beauty waiting for a magic kiss. I'm lonely, you know? So damn lonely. And I'm sick and tired of sleeping alone—or make that not sleeping. See, I've got this problem with insomnia, ever since Mick died—but I already told you that, didn't I?"

  By degrees, closer and closer the presence came. He sensed no menace in it, none whatsoever. On some instinctive level he felt himself responding to this presence, one that began to assume a distinctly feminine quality.

  "So, tell me, how do I look? I'm all dressed up with no place to go, no thanks to you. I needed a night out, but nooo, I had a guilt trip that stopped me in my dancing boots. I certainly hope you appreciate me canceling out just in case you decide to start breathing again. And don't forget I'm spending all my lunch hours racing home to check on you. Ryan's giving me a hard time about that, you know. As for my other pals, they've got better things to do. Like dancing.

  "Jeez, it's sweltering in here, no wonder my makeup's sliding off like butter on a griddle. Too warm for me, but maybe not warm enough for you. Better turn up the thermostat a notch and add a few bucks to my water bill. By the way, I hate to take showers and I really want my tub back. Nearly a week you've been sacked out in here and just look at this stuff all over the floor.

  "Let's see... thermal blankets, check, a homemade crash cart that might earn me a Girl Scout badge in a pinch, double check. Time to check your vital signs again. Hmmm... blood pressure... forty over twenty. Probe in the ear, since I can't stick a thermometer under your tongue or up your butt... hey, great, seventy-two-point-five degrees... yep, you're warming up. And now roll the drums for a pulse... still not there. One more day, bronco, I'll give you one more day—okay, two days—and if I can't pick up some kind of a pulse, sorry, you're out of here.

  "In the meantime, did I tell you about when I was a little girl and..."

  A woman? Yes, he believed a woman must be keeping him company. If only he could wake up and enjoy the favors she might bestow once this endless night was over. Noble struggled for consciousness only to be weighted down by a force he was beginning to loathe.

  Perhaps if he shifted, rolled atop her, her lullaby whispers would turn to sharp sighs of pleasure. Surely that would wake him up. With a strength of will that had served him well in life, he commanded his body to obey what his mind decreed. But his body felt sluggish and his will felt strangely weak, as if he hadn't used it in some time and it had gone to sleep along with the rest of him.

  He embraced the destructive force that had thus far kept him alive, and it fed his determination to throw off the dark curtain of sleep. Wake up, dammit. Wake up and fetch some blankets. Lord, but it's getting cold. Freezing cold.

  "Was that a pulse?" Lori wondered. "No, it couldn't be." She pressed his jugular harder. "Slow, faint, but yes... yes! I'm getting a pulse! Blood pressure? Sixty over forty... one more time to be sure. It's rising, rising fast, blood pressure eighty over fifty. And temperature, what is his temperature?

  "Damn, quit shaking, would you?" she commanded herself when she nearly dropped the ear probe into the water. "Water, I need more hot water. But first I have to get his temperature. Why did I try to do this by myself? I need help. I need Ryan." Did she have time to dial 911?

  "Temperature... eighty-four degrees—no, eighty-six. My God, I don't believe it, he just jerked." Lori felt her own pulse leap as she whispered in disbelief, "he's actually starting to move."

  Was he ill? Noble wondered. Bloody hell, but he was freezing, the shudders inside him pounding to get out. And his feet, they felt as if a thousand pins were pricking them, making them twitch and tingle painfully.

  "But he's not breathing. Oh shit, where's the hypo, the adrenaline?" Latching on to both, Lori groaned, suddenly unsure if she should give it to him. Would it be too much of a shock to his system? A doctor, he needed a doctor, not a nurse. Lord, she must have been out of her mind to think she could pull this off by herself. What if she resuscitated him only to kill him because she did something wrong? Could she be charged with murdering someone who'd been dead for a hundred years?

  He couldn't catch his breath. Why couldn't he catch his breath? Was he dead? Was this hell? No, surely not. Not unless hell greeted its newcomers with a kiss.

  A mouth was on his, a warm, soft, utterly feminine mouth. Her lips were open and she was breathing hard, sharing the flavor of cinnamon. Despite the needles of pain shooting through him, compounded by the heat of her breath, which filled his protesting lungs, Noble warmed to the kiss that surely had to be coming from a harlot. No proper woman would kiss a man with such force and desperation. As for her pinching of his nose... it must be a tart's trick unknown to him.

  Suddenly she was no longer kissing him. She was tearing at his shirt then pushing on his chest and screaming, "Come on, damn you! Damn, don't you leave me now!"

  He wanted to say, he wouldn't dream of it. But the words were trapped in his throat. While he struggled to make them emerge she resumed pinching his nose and kissed him even more fiercely.

  Such a lusty wench! The chill was still making him shiver, great shivers that erupted from the chest she was now massaging. But he also felt a rising heat, fast seeping around and through him.

  Sensation spread as she stroked him almost everywhere—except for where he most wanted her to stroke. He reached for her from what seemed to be an impossible distance.

  "He's breathing now, really breathing," Lori panted. In amazement, she realized he was trying to move his hand toward her—but with little success. Her heart sank. Nerve damage, how much had been done? Had he lost the use of his fine-motor skills? Or, horror of horrors, what if she'd revived him only to give him a fate worse than death? Able to breathe, even think, but unable to speak or move?

  He seemed to be trying to release the gun she hadn't been able to free from his paralytic grip. But he was trying. Good, good. Only, he couldn't do it by himself. Not good.

  How very sweet she was, gripping his stiff hand and relieving him of the familiar weight he wasn't inclined to give up. It was, after all, his gun. His gun? What in the blazes was he doing with a gun while keeping intimate company with a woman? Even if she was a harlot, it was imperative to apologize for such an unpardonable breach of etiquette.

  His lips thoroughly warmed by her kissing, which he was eager to resume, and his halting breath coming fast, Noble forced a whisper past the rawness of his throat.

  "My... lady. My... apologies."

  "My God! Oh my God, you can talk!"

  But of course he could talk, he wanted to tell her. And would have had those few words not taken such an uncommon amount of effort to get out. It was just as difficult to raise his eyelids so he might see her face. But she assisted him with that as well, gently lifting first one and then the other—and shining a sharp, irksome light into each.

  She muttered softly to herself, sounding somewhat distressed. All in all, this was a most confusing encounter. Again, he tried to open his eyes, and managed a slitted gaze.

  Noble beheld what appeared to be an angel. The light now shimmered behind her, like a halo around her golden hair. He thought it fashioned strangely, fringes wisping over her forehead, the rest cut short, reaching no farther than her shoulders. But it was lovely hair just the same, and he rather liked the peculiar way she had cut it.

  He liked it almost as much as her eyes. They were blue and reminded him of periwinkles in bloom. She really had no need for the paint she wore, although ladies of the night often did rouge their cheeks, their lips, and even their nipples. But other than the smudges of color about her eyes, she wore no paint that he could readily see.

  Her complexion was luminous but far from pale. There was a subtle fragility about h
er, but all in all, she was lacking in a delicate appearance. Even so, she was a handsome woman and the strength of her features appealed to him. Her mouth was especially exquisite. And how well she plied the skills of her trade, no teasing coquette in her kisses.

  A violent shudder overtook him and his eyes slid shut as he battled with this strange malady that had a dreadful sense of timing. He heard her mumble something that sounded like "hypothermia" before she said with an unmistakable urgency, "I've got to get you out of these clothes, they're cooling off the water."

  It was then that he realized he was in a long, deep tub. Fully clothed. Had he imbibed a bottle of whiskey before seeking the favors of this fetching woman? Though he wasn't inclined to drunkenness, it would explain much. Except for the racking shivers. They offered him little help as she cursed profusely and struggled to remove his coat.

  He heard it thud onto the floor before she tugged at his shirt, which gaped open from her earlier romp upon his chest. He resisted her struggles, and she gave it up and went on. Off went his chaps, followed by his boots. No resistance from him with those; he raised his hips as best he was able and her fleet hands inched down his pants.

  Despite great anticipation once she'd gotten them off, he was sorely vexed since the small effort had taxed him and his lax manhood was surely less than impressive.

  Not that it dissuaded her, determined angel of the night that she apparently was. Noble surrendered to the luxury of her ministrations while he rested. The sound of running water, the hot feel of it, surprised him somewhat. Such modern conveniences were rare in these parts; clearly, this brothel was of a far higher quality than the one he usually visited.

  Most definitely it was, he decided, when she sought to arouse him with an exotic array of sexual paraphernalia.

  Nothing seeming quite real, despite the very real sensations she provoked as her fingertips stroked his ear and she pressed a blunt apparatus slightly inside, which faintly tickled. Removing it, she whispered, "temperature rising, that's good, so good." And then she strapped a black cuff onto his upper arm, squeezed it tight with a peculiar attachment. Noble assumed it was some sort of bondage game she was playing, though for the life of him he couldn't say what the accessory, which ran from her ears to the silver piece she pressed to the inside of his arm, was for.