Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(83)

“. . . the hell is going on? Did she faint? Is she conscious?”

“. . . Christ, we need a doctor, this shit’s way over our heads—”

“Keiko’s dead,” she said. “And Franz, his boyfriend. Both killed.”

The room fell dead silent.

“I murdered them with that telephone call,” she said. “Just like I’ll murder all of you if I stay anywhere near you.” She looked at Miles. “You, too.” She shoved his encircling arms away from herself. “Don’t touch me. The more you touch me, the truer it gets.”

“What?” Miles yelled. “What are you talking about? What’s true?”

“That I’ll kill you,” she repeated. “You’ll die because of me. Oh, God.” She lurched up onto her knees. “Where’s the bathroom? Quick!”

“There’s a utility bathroom off the kitchen,” Aaro offered.

“Lara!” Miles shouted after her. “Hey!”

She bolted, the high-tops squeaking on the kitchen tiles, and made it just in time. She lost the sandwich, the coffee, the orange juice. Up it all came. The violent heaves felt like being torn to pieces.

When the retching was over, Miles tried to help her up, but she swatted his hands away, rinsing her face in the big utility sink. She grimly did the cleanup herself, wiping down and spraying the toilet.

She caught a fleeting glimpse of herself in the small mirror over the sink when she straightened up from that task, and looked away fast. Frightening. Those red, wet eyes, staring out of her white face.

She splashed with cold water again. Fighting for air. The feeling was unbearable. Writhing on the floor, begging for death—unbearable.

“Lara.” Miles was still in the door. No shoving or snarling rudeness would dislodge him. “Get back inside my shield, please. You’re safer when you—”

“No.” She whirled on him. “I can’t. It’s not safe, Miles. It’s not just about me. It’s about Keiko and Franz, and all your friends, and their kids! And you, too! You’re going to die, if you keep trying to help me. I’ve seen it. Understand? In a vision. I have seen it.”

“No, I’m not going to,” he said. “Trust me, Lara.”

Despair sank deeper, looking at his stubborn face. He was so convinced that he was doing the right thing. Blindly following his own heroic instincts, even though they would drive him right into his grave.

She refused to let that happen. “Get away from me, Miles.”

His gaze did not flicker. “Too late for that, Lara. Dream on.”

“It’s not a dream. It’s reality. I saw you dead! Do you get it?”

“You saw Tokyo, too. Doesn’t have to happen.”

“I paid a price for that! I sacrificed Keiko and Franz for Tokyo! Who do I sacrifice next? Your friends? Their children? Your mom?”

His mouth tightened. “We’ll find a way, Lara.”

“Get away from me. Run!” She flapped her hands at him.

“Your friends, too! I’m poison, I’m toxic! I’ll kill you! Can’t you see it?”

“You’re just having a freak-out,” he said. “Stop. It’s stupid.”

Oh f*ck, it was the vortex pulling her from underneath. She fought it, with all her energy. She just did not want to see anything her personal oracle might show her right now.

She was the vortex, she herself. She saw it, with horrible clarity. How anyone near would be sucked inevitably to their doom.

Pain jolted her. Knees, thighs, spine, jarring her teeth. She’d fallen to her knees. Miles was down there with her instantly, trying to hold her, but she fought him off furiously. “Don’t. Just don’t. Please.”

“It’s not you!” he insisted. “You’re not the one who’s toxic. You’re clean, Lara. Your heart is pure.” He pinned her flailing arms. “You’re not the one who killed Keiko and Franz, and you’re not going to kill me. I won’t let you. I’m tough. So get inside. Now.”

An odd quality reverberated in his voice that shocked her into doing exactly what he asked, as if he’d pushed some button while she wasn’t looking. It happened before she could stop it, her mental dance.

Suddenly, she was through the wall. Behind his shield.

good u stay there damnit

She could not bring herself to reply, but oh, God, it felt so good.

And it was so wrong. How had he bullied her into this? She was stupid and weak and selfish, and still she sagged there against him, in a state of empty, dumb relief. Staring blankly at the plastic buckets and pails, the shelves of cleaning supplies, the washer, and dryer.

His arms clamped around her. He smelled so good. He embodied everything she knew she could never have. Or even try to have.

People were talking from the bathroom door, making suggestions, lecturing, scolding. Miles said something sharp, and swung the door shut. The loud thunk sent mops and brooms toppling around their heads like tumbling toothpicks.

Miles shoved broom handles away and held her against his chest. Inside his mind, too. The embrace was warm, full of welcome. But she couldn’t take comfort with that vision burned into her mind’s eye.

The vision of his face, staring up from the bottom of the vortex, with dead, staring eyes.