To Have and to Harm Page 4

  I grab my purse and keys up off the nightstand. But before I can turn, his fingers circle my wrist, moving my hand back over the table. “Drop ’em, Speedy Gonzales. I mean it.”

  Turning my head, I look him in the eye. He has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen, even darker than Apollo’s. It’s almost like he has one big pupil. “What will he do to you if you don’t follow orders?” I ask.

  Shane leans in close, close enough for me to catch a whiff of his sour hangover breath. “You don’t want to know. Drop the keys.”

  I release them, mainly because I’m going to hurl if he doesn’t get out of my face soon.

  He smirks condescendingly. “Now, let’s go get you humiliated.”

  “Screw you.” I scowl at him, because I can’t help but respond this way to Shane. He’s a convenient and deserving target for all the anger twisting inside me.

  “They always do.” He smiles, strutting out of the room, knowing I’ll follow. Shane thinks I’m a fake, and he tells me every chance he gets. Apparently, there’s been talk about my power and how strong it is. Transferring Penelope’s disease to myself is something I’ve learned most healers can’t do, even though it wasn’t my intention. Shane told me that he doesn’t believe I actually did it at all.

  My nerves make an appearance as I ride silently in the elevator beside him. His eyes are glued to the moving numbers on the panel above the door. It feels like he’s doing that on purpose so I won’t try to talk to him, but he doesn’t have to worry. My thoughts are otherwise occupied. There’s been a big buildup to tonight in my head.

  Apollo told me that it’s my father’s intention to make me a part of his team. “They do a whole lot of good,” he said. “Once you see that, it might help you crawl out of this funk you’re in.”

  I’ve judged him harshly so far because of how he cured me. But that’s always been one of my flaws. I’m too judgmental. Everything is black and white with me. My mother told me that enough times. But if my father truly helps people, I need to be a part of that. I have to be. I just don’t know if I can accept the other things I know he does.

  Once we’re down in the garage, Shane hands me a helmet and pulls his own on as he swings a leg over the strangest-looking motorcycle I’ve ever seen. It looks like Batman should be riding this thing.

  “It’s a special-edition Ducati,” Shane explains. Lust, like he’s staring at a naked woman instead of a hunk of metal, gleams in his eyes.

  “Uh-huh.” I shrug with disinterest, mainly to piss him off. But he just shakes his head at me, laughing at my ignorance.

  I climb on the back and reluctantly place my hands on his sides, gripping the bike with my knees so that I don’t have to grip him any tighter than necessary. He mumbles something before grabbing my hands and yanking them forward, placing them over his stomach. “Hold on, for fuck’s sake!” he yells, just before the motor growls to life and the bike begins to vibrate beneath me.

  I tighten my hold on him. I have no choice as he flies up the ramp and out onto the street. He could take Sunset and possibly get us there on time, but instead he heads down Santa Monica Boulevard toward the 101 Freeway, which means we’re going to hit a ton of lights and traffic that will probably make us late. I figure he’s doing this on purpose. He grudgingly falls in line, but he likes everyone to know he’s doing them a favor when he shows up.

  Afternoon warmth lingers in the air as the sun drops below the horizon, and dark blue and violet color the sky, making me think of Lucas, of his beautiful eyes, and the tenderness they once held for me.

  Pushing away the memory, I concentrate on the stop-and-go motion of the bike, feeling it each time Shane puts a foot down to balance us, before lifting again and shooting us forward. I feel the pull of his muscles with each move he makes, and I get the impression of his ribs beneath my hands. From what I’ve seen, he eats nearly as much as Jason, yet he never puts on a pound.

  I lean forward and open my eyes again as Shane turns onto the 101, heading up into the hills. It’s nearly dark now, and I catch a glimpse of the Hollywood sign in the distance before he jerks the bike toward the exit. We’re close, and we may not be too late, after all. This is my first time being back here since those first terrible days when I woke up and understood what happened to me. The closer we get to the house, the more tension I feel.

  I glance around as Shane stops the bike in front of a closed wrought-iron gate. He leans over to a stone post and presses a button. When static sounds, he yells something unintelligible and the gates slowly part. We wind our way up the driveway, which is more like a small road, dark and shadowed by a canopy of trees. Soon a soaring glass-and-wood-beam structure comes into view, looming atop the hill we’ve been climbing. Shane maneuvers the bike around a driveway that circles a bubbling fountain. I stare up at the four-story square house with its sharp edges and straight lines. Each floor has a balcony and is rimmed with tinted windows. The house is shadowed by tall trees that grow all around it. It’s simple and beautiful, but staring up at it is making my stomach flip as anxiety washes over me.

  Shane pulls off his helmet and turns back to me, cocking his head at my hesitation. “Come on.”

  The ornately carved wooden doors open, and a dark-haired woman steps out, smiling at us.

  I pull off my helmet and reluctantly follow Shane up the stairs toward her.

  “Welcome back, Raielle,” the woman says with a slight accent.

  I frown at her familiarity. She’s a beauty by anyone’s standards, elegant with her dark hair pulled back into an intricate twist, and her long, flowing sundress. She looks to be in her fifties, but her heavy makeup makes it hard to be certain.

  “You don’t remember me,” she states.

  “She was practically catatonic the last time she was here,” Shane says. Then he looks at me. “You don’t even remember this house, do you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he kisses the woman on the cheek and disappears inside.

  Despite Shane’s rude behavior, the woman’s smile doesn’t dim when she turns it on me again. “I’m Nyla, John’s wife.”

  When I have no reaction, she explains. “John is your father.”

  “Oh,” I reply, embarrassed, hating that Shane’s rude remarks may have been on target. I’ve forgotten so much of my time here, erasing some on purpose. But the inadvertent holes frighten me.

  “Come inside.” She turns and waits for me to precede her through the open door.

  I walk in cautiously, and my shoes immediately begin clicking on the tiled floor.

  “It’s just us today. We’ve given all the staff and the office workers the day off.”

  My gaze wanders over the vaulted ceiling and the giant chandelier that hangs from it. “Office?” I ask.

  She comes up beside me, all elegance and poise. “Yes, the office is down the hall. It takes quite a lot of people to run this operation. We work with people and governments all over the world. You’ll learn about that. Right now, your father is waiting for you. Come with me.”

  I follow her down a long wood-paneled hallway until she stops before a door. She opens it slowly and light pours out.

  “Go on in,” she tells me, urging me inside.

  My palms grow moist as I step inside. The first thing I notice is a rectangular window through which I can see dark, dense woods.

  “Raielle,” a familiar voice says.

  I turn to see him rising up from behind a desk and coming around it, toward me. Like everything else, I have only a dull memory of him from the time I spent here. After I first woke up, I’m not sure I even saw him again.

  He stops in front of me. He’s a few inches taller than I am, and I catch a strong whiff of cologne. When I meet his eyes, they’re startling, such a deep green color they almost look like emeralds shining out at me. Dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and perfectly pressed black slacks, he looks like he’s going to a business meeting.

  “I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” he say
s. Then he smiles and the skin around his eyes and mouth wrinkles deeply, causing his age to show for the first time. Without those telltale creases, he could pass for someone in his thirties, which must be a good twenty years younger than his actual age.

  I notice there’s an odd energy surrounding him. I felt a similar energy when I was near my mother, but his is much stronger.

  He gestures toward a chair. “Please sit down.” Rather than go back behind his desk, he remains standing. “I know you have questions, but first I’d like you to meet someone.”

  Before I can say anything, the door opens, and Nyla ushers someone inside. It’s an older man with a bent posture, and he’s shuffling slowly toward us. I glance at my father, who smiles warmly at me before turning back to the man.

  “Hello, Peter,” my father says.

  The man glances up, seeming surprised at being addressed. When he spots my father, his eyes light up. “Hello. I didn’t know I was going to be seeing you today.”

  I stand, wondering what’s going on.

  “Peter,” my father says, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, “can you please tell this young lady why you’re here?”

  Peter turns watery brown eyes on me, appearing hesitant.

  “It’s all right to talk about it,” my father encourages.

  When Peter turns back to me, he says, “I’m dying.”

  My gaze widens and travels over him.

  He gives my father a grateful smile. “John is going to help my son and his family.” Then he begins to tremble with emotion. “I’m so grateful,” he says, his bottom lip quivering.

  “It’s okay, Peter. It’s all going to be fine.” My father moves beside him and whispers something in his ear. Then he pats Peter on the back and tells Nyla she can take him out.

  I watch as she gently leads him from the room, and I feel shaken by the man’s declaration. “You’re going to cure him?” I ask once we’re alone again.

  His lips tighten. “Sit down, Raielle.”

  Once I’m seated again, he sits across from me and says, “Peter has stage-four colon cancer. He can’t be cured.”

  I swallow, feeling heartbroken for Peter. “Why is he here then? How are you helping his family?”

  He levels a serious look at me. “He’s a volunteer. He doesn’t have much time left, and he volunteered to be a part of our program. Once we use him, his son will get a very generous payment.”

  “Use him?” I ask, even as understanding makes my mouth go dry.

  He leans in toward me. “We’re going to cure another client of ours by giving his disease to Peter. The healing takes place tomorrow.”

  I tear my eyes from his and grip my hands together in my lap. “I see. You’re going to kill Peter.”

  “He’s dying anyway, and this client is very wealthy. He’s going to pay me a great deal to help him, and Peter’s family will benefit from that money.”

  “And so will you.” I look up at him again.

  He nods. “Yes, that’s how one part of my organization works. That part funds the many charitable healings we do where no money is exchanged.”

  “But you won’t cure Peter because he can’t pay you?” My stomach clenches at the thought. Alec’s idea to sacrifice himself for Penelope wasn’t a unique one. This is how things work. This is…common. “What is Peter to this wealthy client?”

  John grins. “His savior.”

  I blink at his flippant answer. “They’re not related to each other. Are they? You don’t need them to be. You told me that.” That’s the one thing I do remember clearly.

  His lips twitch with amusement, just like they did the first time I asked this question, and I begin to realize that even the things I thought I knew about my power are wrong.

  He looks at me, and much to my surprise he no longer holds it back. He laughs out loud. “No, Raielle. That’s only necessary when the healer isn’t strong enough. A powerful healer can move death into any receptacle, not just the easiest match.”

  My mouth opens, but no words come out as I remember the feeling of trying to move Penelope’s disease into Alec, and how impossible it was.

  “I know that happened more than once to your mother. And it happened to you,” he says softly. “But that’s not why I wanted you to meet Peter. I brought Peter in here to help you understand how you were cured. Apollo tells me that you’re still bothered by it. But you shouldn’t be. Someone similar to Peter volunteered and that’s how I healed you. We have hundreds of Peters, Raielle.”

  I will away the tears that want to fall. I have too many questions to let my emotions get the best of me right now. “How do you find them?”

  “We have health-care workers all over the world who bring candidates to us.”

  “Us?”

  Pride gleams in his eyes. “Yes, I have a group of healers who work with me. I find them or they find me. I have a very quiet, but effective network.”

  My thoughts go to my own family. “Is that how you found my mother?”

  His expression subtly tenses before he offers me a sad smile. “Yes, I traveled to New York because I’d heard about your mother and grandmother. When I met them, I knew your grandmother wasn’t powerful enough to work with me. But your mother was. I persuaded her to come back here.”

  I try to picture my mother as a young married girl being swept off her feet by John. With his good looks and charisma, it’s not hard to believe. He also has a detached coldness about him that I can imagine my mother being drawn to. She didn’t do emotions well, or at all, really. “Did you bring my mother here?” I ask. “Did I live in this house before?”

  “No. I had a home outside of LA then. That’s where we lived when you were born. My first wife lived nearby with our twin boys, Shane and Blake. You all played together when you were children.”

  My eyes widen at this. “Shane has a twin?”

  He shifts in his chair. “Had. I wasn’t as cautious then as I am now.” A dark emotion passes over his face, but it quickly disappears.

  “Oh,” I say, too shocked to say much else, thinking of the danger Apollo alluded to back in Fort Upton when he was persuading me to come here.

  His eyes are on me, and he knows I want to hear the story. I want to know everything I can about my mother, and now about my brothers. His gaze wanders toward the window as he rubs a finger across his brow. “When I first started, I didn’t turn away people who came to me for help. I took them at face value.” His eyes shift back to me. “That’s a mistake I no longer make. It was a client. One who tried to manipulate me by making threats. When I wouldn’t do what he asked, he took my wife and Blake. Shane only escaped because he was with me that day.”

  The green in his eyes seems to grow darker. “I agreed to their terms. But he killed my family anyway. Once that happened, others thought they could get to me the same way. I hired security, fired everyone in my organization, closed ranks, but they still tried to go after you and your mother. They were stopped. They never touched either of you. But your mother was terrified. She was scared to be with me. So, I let her go. I let you both go.”

  My idea of Shane as a spoiled, pampered rich boy starts to crumble just a little. As for my mother, I know the rest. Running never got her anywhere good. For so many years, she kept her secrets, more secrets than I could have imagined. She erased her entire past. Did she really believe that past would never find me? Shifting in my seat, I say, “My mother didn’t do any better on her own.”

  He nods.

  Since he’s being so honest with me, I ask a question, wanting more. “Apollo told me that you hired him to watch over me. Why didn’t you watch over her?”

  A twitch beside his eye is the only sign that my question bothers him. He leans forward in his chair and clasps his hands together. “I didn’t think your mother was any of my business anymore. I’m sorry about what happened to her. I was trying to be respectful of her, honoring her wishes to be left alone. Eventually, I moved on from your mother. But my children are
different. I will always watch over and protect you and Shane.”

  I study his face, wanting to believe him, looking for some sign that he’s telling me the truth, but his expression is neutral now, giving nothing away. Other than brief glimpses of emotion, he’s mostly serene, unusually so.

  He stands abruptly and reaches down toward me. “Give me your hands. I want to show you something.”

  I look up at him warily.

  An encouraging smile appears on his face. “Please trust me, Raielle. You want to learn about your power, don’t you? Let’s have a lesson now.”

  I’m not sure where my hesitance is coming from because I do want that. I need to learn everything he can teach me, but I don’t trust him, and I don’t know if that’s my fault because of my history, or his because he’s being less than honest with me. But the only way to find out is to do as he asks. Ignoring my unease, I stand and place my hands in his.

  His fingers close around mine, and the energy that always radiates from him is dialed up. I can feel the heat being generated by his body. As I watch him, his hands turn hot against my skin. Then his eyes grow round and a shock pulses through me. I flinch as my body absorbs his energy. It burns hot and then cold over my skin. His green eyes pierce mine, and I can’t look away. Then, all at once, it stops and he releases me.

  I stagger back, gasping.

  “Are you all right?” His hand lands on my shoulder, and his expression is a mixture of interest and concern as he bends to catch my eye.

  When I straighten, I feel strange, more awake and alert than I was just a few minutes ago, like I pounded a couple of energy drinks. “What was that?” I ask breathlessly.

  He laughs at my reaction. “When you learn to harness your power, you can use it on a subject whether they’re injured or not, and you can use it on yourself to strengthen your own body. I just used my energy to take away your weariness and to probe your power to test its strength. I can see that you’ve grown stronger recently. Maybe you were able to heal yourself when you couldn’t before?”

  I nod, thinking of the way I was able to shrink the tumors when Penelope’s disease first started affecting me.