Polterheist(39)

I hadn't forgotten that he really knew how to kiss, but it had been a long enough drought that I had forgotten the effect his kisses had on me. Now I clung to him and whimpered a little, my mouth opening to invite him in, my head spinning, and my hands reaching for his coat to pull him closer.

He was all silky heat on the inside, his mouth seductively hot compared to the cold air on my skin, his stroking tongue making my pelvis quiver reflexively. And on the outside, he was all cuddly warmth, my shelter in the cold night, his arms cradling me as he nipped and nuzzled me affectionately.

When we came up for air, I murmured, "You taste like chili dogs."

We both laughed breathlessly, our hands grasping each other like swimmers trying to survive a riptide together.

"Esther . . . now that you know the worst . . ." he whispered.

"The worst?" I rubbed my forehead against his.

"My parents."

We laughed again.

"Couldn't we . . ." he breathed. "I mean . . . Us not seeing each other . . . It's not really working out, is it?"

I started to pull away, coming to my senses now that he had mercifully paused in kissing me.

Lopez didn't stop me. "Am I wrong?"

"You're not exactly . . . wrong." I scooted a little away from him, unable to think or talk sensibly when he was that close.

"But . . . ?" he prodded.

"I don't think I'm very good for you," I said in a rush.

He looked around, as if searching in our vicinity for an intelligent response to this. Finding none, he said, "Does that matter so much?"

"Are you listening to yourself?"

"Not really," he admitted and tried to kiss me again.

"Wait! No, wait." He could probably tell from the excited breathlessness in my voice, as well as my innate inability to move away from him again, that I was trying to think rather than rejecting his touch.

Lopez let out his breath in a gush, held up his hands, and nodded. He scooted back, putting a little safe distance between us on the bench.

After a moment, he said, "I know I'm the one who broke up with you, and-"

"No, it's not that."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not that," I said firmly.

A swift, sharp intake of breath. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"No. It's not that, either."

"Oh." He sagged with relief. "Okay." A pause. "Then, what?"

"I nearly got you killed," I blurted. "More than once. It was because of me. I can't go through that again! I can't. I won't be the reason you get – get-" Now that I had said it aloud, I was surprised to hear my voice break.

Yes, this was a fraught subject for me; but I hadn't realized I would cry if we talked about it. I felt tears spill down my face, and I couldn't go on. My throat was too choked with emotion. I put my hand over my mouth and started whimpering with distress now, rather than passion.

He was clearly taken aback. Whatever he had imagined I might say, it had obviously been nothing remotely like this.

"Oh, Esther. Hey. Come on. Shh, shh." He slid across the bench to put his arms around me, comforting now rather than seductive. "What's all this, huh? Shh. Everything's okay." He kissed my hair, murmuring soothing things while he used one hand to fish around in his pockets. After a moment, he produced a crumpled handkerchief that had seen better days.

That snapped me out of my bout of sniffles. I shied away from it when he tried to press it into my hand. "Where has this been?"

"Sometimes I use it to pick up evidence. When I don't want to get fingerprints on-"

"Ugh! I can't touch that. Put it away!'

"You're already sounding better," he noted, pocketing the sad piece of cotton.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and took a deep breath. "I just get very emotional thinking about you lying in the basement of the Livingston Foundation, dying of an ordeal poison."

"Yeah, I get pretty emotional when I think about it, too. That was grim." He added, "Mostly, though, I remember seeing Dr. Livingston go off to kill you, and I couldn't move a muscle to stop her. That was the really grim part."

"See? You wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for me. You never would have gone to Harlem that night and confronted that evil, demented, deadly-"

"Well, sure, I would," he said, sounding puzzled.

I paused. "Huh?"

"She was a killer, Esther. And she was about to kill again. Yeah, it made me crazy-violent that it was you she going to kill. And since she's dead and I hope I can trust you not to repeat this, I will candidly admit that I violated some of her civil rights when questioning her and tearing apart her place in search of you. But Esther . . ." He brushed my hair off my face. "I would have gone to the Livingston Foundation that night no matter who she was trying to kill. That's my job. It's what I do. You know-that whole ‘protect and serve' thing. I don't get to say, ‘Well, I don't really feel attached to the person that demented bitch is going to murder tonight, so I guess I won't try to stop her.' I have to go even if the victim is a total stranger-which is usually the case, and frankly a lot easier for me to deal with." Apparently hoping to lighten the mood, he added, "Esther, listen to me. I'd have to go to the Livingston Foundation in those circumstances even if the victim was Max."

That made me snort with laughter, even though I was actually, at that moment, thinking about how much alike he and Max were. These two men, centuries apart in age and living in such different realities; yet both so unwavering in their purpose and selfless in their mission. And both so dear to me.

"By the way," Lopez added, continuing to shift the mood away from my brief bout of tears. "What the hell did Max do to me that night? Or for me? If anything?"

"If anything?" I repeated indignantly. "He saved your life!"

"I thought so, too. But when I got to the hospital later . . . Uh, you do remember that's where I decided to go once I found out what some of the revolting ingredients were in that potion he poured down my throat?"

"Yes."

"They couldn't find anything wrong with me. They couldn't find evidence that anything had been wrong with me, either. There was no trace or evidence at all of whatever Dr. Livingston had done to me, or of whatever Max gave me. Nothing, nada, zip."

I hadn't realized this, but I wasn't surprised by it. Medical practitioners weren't trained to look for mystical means of killing and curing, after all. And for all I knew, when Max's cure restored balance to Lopez's body, perhaps it even eliminated all mystical traces of what had happened to him that night.

I tried again to explain my fears. "But if you hadn't been so upset about knowing she was holding me captive somewhere, she wouldn't have been able to catch you off your guard and-"

"That's flattering," he said. "And maybe it's a view of my prowess that I should encourage in a woman I want see naked."

"Oh!" Well, that had caught me off guard.

"But I'm not Superman, Esther. Dr. Livingston was a very clever and devious woman, with extensive knowledge of exotic ritual poisons-about which I know exactly nothing. I had no idea she could kill me just by touching me with a topical poison. And I don't understand why, in that case, it didn't kill her, too." Lopez blew out his breath hard enough to make the hair on his forehead flutter. "If that's what happened. I'm skeptical by now. I wonder if that ‘poison' was just some weird short-term hallucinogenic that she'd developed a resistance to, since I was completely fine later, as if nothing had ever happened."

I didn't bother trying to explain that Dr. Livingston had been a bokor, a dark sorceress indebted to very powerful and dangerous spirits. It was the sort of explanation that never got us anywhere. I wondered if I should even try to broach my concerns about nearly getting Lopez killed on other occasions . . . but when I thought about it, those were cases he was already involved in, and-based on what he had said tonight-those were risks he would have taken as part of his duty, regardless of whether or not I was involved or in danger.

He put his hand on my cheek and met my eyes. "So . . . are we okay? You know I care about you. But you get that I do my job even when I don't care, right? Well, don't care in a personal way, I mean. So this stuff you were crying about a minute ago . . . which, God, that's painful! I really, really can't stand making you cry, so let's agree-"

"Shh," I said, and I kissed him.

He was still cooperating enthusiastically when his phone rang a few minutes later. Breathing fast, he rested his forehead against mine and murmured, "That's work calling . . . I have to take it . . . I'm sorry. They must have found something in the search."

I stiffened, thinking of Max and Lucky. "You'd better take it, then," I said breathlessly, wanting to know right now if either of my friends was in trouble, rather than wondering what Lopez would learn when he checked his messages later.

He nodded, kissed me quickly again, and answered the call. "Lopez."

As he did so, I probed and prodded in vulnerable places inside myself, waiting to hear Dr. Livingston's nasty voice scaring me yet again. But she remained silent. I had a feeling that Lopez had finally shut her up for good.

Snuggled next to me on the cold park bench, he sat up so alertly I was startled.