Page 10 of Ace
Until Miss Church touched him, he’d been in control. Supreme control. He had! Despite a burgeoning migraine that would’ve disabled him for days, he’d been in charge. So what if he’d been operating on instinct instead of eyesight. He’d learned long ago to rely on all his senses.
Then with one delicate hand on his muscled forearm, the same arm that had carried men, equipment, and hundred-pound packs of gear without breaking a sweat, she’d swamped him with more comfort than he’d had a right to. With one genteel woman’s touch—and it wasn’t even skin to skin, just her soft, sweet palm on his sleeved arm—his heart had damned near stopped.
First contact with Savannah was powerful, like brushing against a sizzling, downed power line. In that split second, in that exquisitely sweet, tender caress of a compassionate woman, every last ounce of her heartache had poured into Keller. And he knew heartache. He hadn’t needed another dose of it. Not one like this.
Yet he did. This was the cost of empathy. The tradeoff. The balance. With one touch, Miss Church had immersed him in her pain, and he’d shot to the surfaceof it like a drowning victim. He’d forced himself not to gasp at the crushing weight, the volume and depth.
But then...
But now...
Keller drew in another breath of calm and quiet. His heart calmed to its normal sinus rhythm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened and no one had died. The vise squeezing his brain released its hold. The horrific F10 migraine gathered behind his eyes dissipated like the San Diego marine layer at sunrise. Simply because he was holding Miss Church in his arms, and she was holding him. This had to be the purest energy exchange he’d ever experienced. Hell, he wasn’t even grinding his teeth.
Steady now, because for the first time since he could remember, empathy didn’t hurt, Keller inhaled another long pull of the fragrance in the ebony locks at the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes as an oddly reassuring sense of wonder lapped over him like the turquoise green waves at Hanauma Bay in Hawaii. She was a luscious armful, his chin barely touching the top of her head. The sweet scent of lilacs drifting up from her worked wonders on his jagged nerves. The crescendo of bright, stabbing pains that had heretofore crested at the raw, pulsating end of every last one of his nerves evaporated. The burden of his gift lifted, leaving him relaxed yet weak at the same time. Emptied of a grief that hadn’t been his to carry, he found himself hollowed, yet filled to the brim at the same time.
Breathing deeply, because that’s what he did when panic attacks got the better of him, Keller inhalednothing but the flowery scent caught in every strand of Miss Church’s sleek, black hair. Which was telling. Usually, he’d smell blood after an empathetic meltdown, and that blood would’ve come from his cheek, tongue, or sinuses. Migraines made him bleed. Thankfully, this one hadn’t gotten that far. It hadn’t unmanned him.
Relieved at the absence of anticipated misery, Keller began to sway. Miss Church’s brand of magic he could deal with. It was pleasant and strong, but passive. Nonaggressive. Feminine. “Do you feel better now?” he asked as if he’d never lost control.
Knowing he’d arrived just in time and that he’d helped Miss Church was the only saving grace to this debacle of a mission. Soon he’d have to contact Tucker and explain what had happened. There had to be another way to help Isaiah.
Her head bobbed against his chin as she followed along, her hips moving in sync with his. Like a lover...
“Then it’s time we call someone to come get her. Unless you already planned on using the local funeral parlor,” he said, still trying to get his head back in the game.
She eased back on her heels. Her palms slipped from his waist, down his arms to his wrists, and there they stopped, her thumbs on the insides of his wrists as if taking his pulse. “She wanted Rudy John to handle everything. He was her doctor. I’ll call him.”
The moment she’d eased back, Keller missed the exquisite heat from her slender body. The soft press ofher cheek against his chest. The way her knee had rested comfortably between his knees. The lilacs...
Her face tilted upward. Her brown eyes were clear again, but so tender. So close. So dark.
He licked his lower lip at the thought of kissing her full, lush mouth. What would she taste like? Honey and spice? Mint? Perhaps a sweet Moscato from far off Napa Valley? Coffee or cinnamon? Not cigarettes. He hadn’t caught a whiff of anything on her but temptation.
Out of the blue, an odd little ray of light glimmered into the darkness that was the normal state of his practical, downtrodden soul. A genuine smile cracked his tough FBI mask. His heart kicked into overdrive for different reasons now. This stress he could deal with. It was delightfully tempting. Tantalizing. Enlightening.
Miss Church’s bright light had found its way into his impenetrable darker side, and he wanted to bask in her glow a while longer.
She lingered as if she too felt the attraction between them. When she stepped away to make that call, Keller’s gaze dropped to the soft swell of her backside and those long legs. Her bare feet. The sensual sway of her body... The hint of lilac in the air around her...
There wasn’t a part of her he didn’t want to taste, touch, and weigh. But that wasn’t about to happen. He was an officer of the law, a man sworn to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. He was not an oath breaker, nor could he ever be. It wasn’t in him. As much as he disliked his current assignment in the Bureau, he was still a respected federal agent, and Miss Church was merely a vulnerablewoman who needed his care, not his body. She was not to be taken advantage of nor objectified. Nor anything.
Tugging his tie out of his pocket, Keller put it back where it belonged and deftly tied it under his chin. It was time to remember, humidity or not, he was FBI Special Agent Boniface. The hug they’d just shared would not happen again.
It took Miss Church a minute to dial Doctor John on, of all things, a pink princess wall phone hanging beside the monstrosity of a china cabinet that took up most of the space in this peculiar home. After she made the call, she leaned one hip against the modern, white oak kitchen counter that clashed with the darker French Provincial vibe throughout the rest of the place.
“You must be hungry. There’s a Waffle House a few miles back,” he offered. “After Dr. John leaves, I’d be happy to take you there for something to eat. My treat.”
She shook her head. “No, sir. I know we were just snuggling, but I don’t know you well enough to owe you anything. I said I’ll make breakfast, and I will.”
But sitting down to eggs and bacon had lost its appeal. He gave her an out. “Another day. I have a call to make.”
Relief glimmered. “Wouldn’t you rather sit in here while we wait? I mean, with Gran Mere out there and all…”
Miss Church gestured to the tiny built-in breakfast nook opposite the china cabinet, which now that Keller looked closer, contained a bizarre mix of voodoo, Christian, and contemporary. Dainty china teacups sat atop hymnals and bibles. Shiny black crow feathersstuck up from a crystal flower vase, while polished rocks, tiny brass goblets, and colored beads littered any unoccupied space. The whitened human skull on the top shelf, the one with a crucifix glued to the center of its bony forehead, intrigued him. But Keller was hard pressed to care who it had once belonged to at that moment, or if the crucifix hid a bullet hole. Those were questions best left for another day.
“Yes, ma’am.” Grabbing his suit jacket from where he’d left it, Keller shrugged into it, then straightened his tie to make sure he represented the Bureau’s best interests. Only then did he join Miss Church at the small dinette crammed into the galley corner. He took the chair opposite hers. Placing both hands on the table where she could see them, he interlocked his fingers, intent on keeping his hands to himself from now on.
“You’ve seen Death,” she told him, not asked.
