Page 8 of Ace
Savannah nodded. “Katrina. Tidal surge. You know.”
“I suspected as much,” he said as his sharp eyes scanned Gran Mere’s deathly pallor.
She lay there on her lovely settee with her lips curled into a small smile, as if passing away had been everything she’d expected it to be. By then, a lovely golden glow infused every bit of her skin. With her long white hair spread over her shoulders like a mantle, she looked otherworldly. Peaceful. Almost angelic. As if she still knew precisely what she’d done and where she was going. As if everything would be okay.
Savannah dashed a tear away before Agent Boniface saw it. She didn’t need pity from a stranger. But why was his chest heaving? Tiny pinpoints of sweat beaded his brow and dotted the clean-shaven skin above his upper lip. His cheeks were flushed, too.My goodness, is he hyperventilating?
“Are you thirsty? I’ve got lemonade or ice water if you prefer.”Or will you faint like a girl?
“No, thank you, I’m good,” he replied quickly. But his voice had changed from businesslike to a deep andruggedly gruff growl. His tan had faded. He wasn’t anywhere near feeling‘good’.
“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, projecting a calm energy she didn’t feel, but which usually worked on her dogs. Most guys were no different. This man was suffering nearly as much as that pittie she’d recently rescued from Wilford Duckett’s illegal dogfighting ring. Scarred, wounded, and ready to fight anyone who came near him, that poor boy had snarled and lashed out at everything and everyone, including the metal crate Sheriff Douglas transported him in. By the time he was safe inside a clean kennel at Sanctuary, his entire body frothed with sweat and he’d foamed at the mouth.
Everyone else that day had labeled him unfit for human company. Everyone but Savannah. They’d wanted him euthanized immediately, and that day, they were right. Sir Galahad was a vicious dog back then. Unpredictable and feral, he’d been kept penned and forced to fight ever since he’d been a puppy. He’d been mistreated and starved. But if any of those people took the time to come visit him today—which no one ever did—they’d know they’d judged him by just one slice of a pitiful life that, until Sanctuary, had been sheer Hell.
One puzzle piece does not the whole picture make.
While Agent Boniface wasn’t frothing or foaming at the mouth—yet—Savannah could tell by the energy he projected he was fast reaching a breaking point like Sir Galahad had back then. Which begged the question, why was Agent Boniface here if he was under so much stress? Was he scared? A coward? Or was the FBI so desperate that they sent just anyone who was available?To make matters worse, she still didn’t know what he’d wanted with Gran Mere.
A tiny groan escaped him. “How…?” He sucked in a deep breath. “Damn it. This is all wrong. I’m supposed to be helping you.”
Which meant he did need help. Savannah stared him down. “Me? You’re the one in pain, Agent Boniface. What’s going on with you? Is it the heat? Are you sick?”Are you going to die on me, too?
“I’m not sick.” What a bold lie. He was too sick. “This isn’t about me. It’s—it’s about your great grandmother.”
Like heck it was. Savannah touched him then. She reached out and laid her hand on the masculine, overheated forearm beneath that pressed, white shirt and—
Whoosh!Pure white energy sizzled up her fingertips and through the bones in her arm. On its heels, an unlikely shot of lust blossomed in her core. Her nipples hardened. She could barely catch her breath at the blinding deluge of… of… sexual arousal that came out of nowhere.
This guy was burning hot in every possible way. Physically. Psychically. Emotionally. Maybe even spiritually. Worse, he knew! Special Agent Boniface knew everything she was feeling the second she touched him!
Savannah jerked her hand back as quickly as she would from a hot stove. “You’re him. You’re the warlock Gran Mere told me to watch out for. You’re him. You’re real.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he groused, though he was obviously on the verge of passing out. Still crouched by Gran Mere, he rested one elbow to his knee and cupped his forehead. “It’s just a migraine,” he said to the floor. “It comes and goes. Makes it hard to see. Maybe I will have that drink.”
“Maybe you should.” The man was not telling the truth. He didn’t need a drink, but Savannah understood. It wasn’t that he’d meant to lie to her. He just didn’t know her well enough to admit to weakness in front of her.
Hurriedly, she walked over to the kitchen which, despite the grand antiques that dominated Gran Mere’s home, comprised the same open space where she now rested in peace. For all her eccentricities, Gran Mere had never ascribed to the logic of building a real house to accommodate all of her abundant, outrageous lifestyle. She’d believed in squeezing everything in, making do, and wearing out. Which she had certainly done with herself.
Running the faucet until the water turned cool, Savannah filled a blue metal tumbler and returned to his side. “Here. Drink slowly. You might want to sit down, too.”Before you fall down.The last thing she needed was a guy the size of Agent Boniface passed out on the floor when Gran Mere’s doctor arrived. How would she explain that to RJ? “I’ve got aspirin if you need any.”
“No. Please. I’m fine. It’ll pass. Don’t be afraid,” Agent Boniface murmured, even as he tipped his headback and gulped the water. His gaze hit the carpet as soon as he drained the glass.
Wasn’t that interesting? He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye, but he expected Savannah to trust him. “You are not well, sir.”
“No, I’m fine. Really. I just tend to get, umm, emotional, when I see things like this.” He nodded at Gran Mere. “Tell me about her.”
“Then look at me,” Savannah demanded. He might as well. She was the one who’d just lost everything.
Yet when he lifted his chin and met her gaze, his amber eyes glistened like he was the one suffering. Heat flushed his cheeks. Moisture, not sweat, spiked his long, lush eyelashes. Tears. This man was hiding tears. It was as if Gran Mere’s passing was his loss, too. As if he felt every bit of Savannah’s pain.
“You can’t see me clearly, can you?” she asked. “I’m fuzzy. Out of focus.”
He looked away, and she understood. Agent Boniface had lost control. He was embarrassed and angry that she’d seen him in less than macho condition. Which gave her the edge. “You certainly have a tender heart for a federal agent.”
“No. I don’t,” he stated unequivocally, blinking, probably to get himself under control. He took a quick swipe over his eyes and set the glass on the end table near Gran Mere’s head. “Listen. Someone needs to take care of your great grandmother before I leave. I can call the police or a doctor. I’ll wait here with you.”
“I never knew my mother,” Savannah said. It was time he knew. “Gran Mere raised me since I was a baby.”
