"Damn straight I do, Mahalia." Jackson started the car and spared Mackenzie's sleeping form another glance. "I've got a cougar trying to climb in my pants."
"Is that some sort of clever euphemism?"
"I wish to hell it was, May." He gritted his teeth as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm on the way to your place right now. Tell me you've got some experience with spells meant to keep the animal at bay."
"Some, but not much. You're coming to Boca Raton?"
"Yeah. I've got a woman here who's in a bad way. Some extremely well-connected a**hole has been stalking her across the country, trying to convince her to have his babies. She's never shifted, and now she's getting…frustrated. Besides which, there's something weird about her parents and a deadly house fire that maybe wasn't deadly at all…" He trailed off and exhaled roughly. "It's a f**kin' mess, May, pardon my French."
"A house fire?" Jackson could practically hear the gears turning in her head. "What was the name? Do you remember?"
"Evans. Why, does it ring a bell?"
She didn't answer. "Get here as fast as you can," she commanded. "I'm calling Steven."
"Hang on just a minute," Jackson protested. "What's going on?"
"I don't have time to explain, Jack. Just get your ass down here."
She hung up, leaving Jackson perplexed and frightened. Any situation that could put that edge of fear in Mahalia Tate's voice was serious enough to make a grown man piss his pants.
Jackson had to recast his spell twice before they hit Boca Raton, and it was becoming evident a fourth casting might be necessary. He drove as fast as he could toward the quiet subdivision where Mahalia had decided to live out her retirement.
Mackenzie started whimpering again, a clear sign she was struggling her way free of the sleep spell. Under normal circumstances, it took eight or more hours for a person to wake from a single casting. He'd had to repeat the spell four hours after leaving the diner, and again three hours later.
It had barely been an hour since that last one.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." He cranked the air conditioning in Alec's car as high as it would go to counteract the waves of heat wafting off Mackenzie's skin. He wasn't sure what would happen if the spell collapsed entirely, but he didn't want to wind up wrestling an upset, out-of-control cougar while driving down I-95.
And that was the best-case scenario.
Alec called when they were half an hour from Mahalia's, and Jackson snarled at him. "I hate you. I hate you, and you should die."
"The girl okay?" Mackenzie whimpered again before Jackson could respond, but she didn't sound aroused anymore. She sounded pained.
Alec swore loudly in his ear. "How long has she been doing that?"
"Since just outside of Orlando," Jackson said shortly. "That's her crawling out from under a third sleep spell, by the way."
"Christ. How far away from Mahalia's are you?"
"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He stomped on the accelerator. "She called her friend, the cougar I met before. It sounds like she's already figured out what we're dealing with here." He hesitated. "I think she knows something about Mackenzie's family, but she's being remarkably close-mouthed about it."
"Do you want me to come down there? This is starting to sound a lot bigger than a guy who can't take no for an answer."
"Nah. I'm going to wait and see what Mahalia and her friend say. You could hop a plane and get here in a few hours, if need be."
Mackenzie fidgeted next to him, her breathing unsteady, and moaned in discomfort. Alec obviously heard, and swore again. "Call me when you get there, okay?"
"I'll try to remember, but we might have our hands full." Jackson hung up and looked over at Mackenzie again before signaling his exit from the interstate. "Well, darlin'. Looks like we might get you fixed up yet."
Chapter Nine
She burned.
Inside and out, every inch of her, every nerve was on fire. Jackson's solid presence next to her presented a challenge and a seductive temptation. She could hear the way his heart beat too fast, could smell the tangy scent of sweat slowly overwhelming the clean smell of his soap.
He was scared. Some part of her that was still human knew that was bad—he was scared for her, scared she would hurt herself. That she might die.
The rest of her wanted to roll in the feeling, to stake her claim. He should be scared. He should be wary. She was strong, fast, powerful—and she wanted him.
She needed him.
She tried to tell him to run, to get away from her, but the word came out as a tortured whimper and he whispered soothing words. The rasp of his voice skittered down her spine like a hot caress, and she moaned again, bringing her knees to her chest in spite of the restricting seatbelt.
Pain spasmed through her, wiping away desire in a rush of stabbing agony. It felt as if every muscle in her body had seized at once, and she struggled for air, struggled to breathe—
She didn't realize the car had stopped until the passenger door opened and a cool hand brushed her forehead. The world stood still, and she felt utterly, absolutely at peace. She bumped her cheek against the hand, and she heard a man's voice as if from a great distance. "We don't have much time. I can't keep her calm for long. She's too strong."
The seatbelt slipped away, and she felt herself being lifted by a pair of strong arms. They cradled her to a chest that didn't smell like Jackson. Underneath the scent of aftershave and sweat was something familiar, something that made her curl closer as the frantic energy inside her focused.
This is what you are, came the purring thought, wrapping around her as she relaxed against the unfamiliar chest with a gentle sigh. Home. You're home.
"I'm home," she murmured softly, the words barely audible. With the rumbling inside soothed, it felt as if nothing in the world was more important than sleep. She gave in to it, drifting into oblivion with the stranger's gentle voice chasing after her.
"You're home, Jessica."
It had been five years since Jackson had seen Steven Donovan, but he looked almost exactly the same. His face was as impassive as Jackson remembered, but when he glanced up, his brown eyes were worried. "Let's get her inside."
Though she was dead weight, Steven managed Mackenzie easily, taking long strides across the lawn toward Mahalia's Spanish-style home. Jackson snatched Mackenzie's bag from the backseat along with the ridiculous sack of muffins.
Mahalia laid a hand on Jackson's arm as they followed Steven. "You did the right thing by heading down when you did."
"It was Alec's idea." The confession pained him. "I had no idea what was wrong with her."
Her dark eyes were sharp, astute. "Why would you have had a reason to, Jack? Don't be so hard on yourself."
He held the heavy front door open for her and tried not to look too bleak. "We almost didn't make it, May. It's hard to pat myself on the back for that."
Steven moved confidently through the house in the direction of the guest bedroom, but he spared Jackson a glance over his shoulder. "You have no idea what you've stumbled into the middle of, son. You should be patting yourself on the back for keeping her alive and getting her here."
"Yeah, about that… Anyone want to tell me what's going on?"
"Later." Steven elbowed open the bedroom door and sat on the bed, keeping Mackenzie close to his chest. "We've got to deal with this now. The spell that's holding everything in wasn't meant to last this long. The man who cast it was supposed to remove it when she was a teenager." Steven's eyes met Mahalia's, and Jackson had no trouble reading the guilt that passed between them.
He wanted to argue, to demand that someone tell him what the hell was happening, but he looked at Mackenzie and saw the truth of Steven's words; she didn't have time for that. So he glanced at Mahalia, whose normally dark skin had taken on a pallor. "What do I need to do?"
It was almost as if his words physically shook her. She blinked and started rolling up her shirtsleeves. "We need some things from the kitchen. Come with me."
Jackson had no choice but to follow her into the bright yellow room down the hall.
She spun her spice rack as she walked by the butcher's block and toward the pantry. "Grab some cumin and fennel. Some ginger too."
He obeyed, pulling the bottles from the rack even as he wrinkled his nose. "I don't use these things, May."
"So shut up and ignore them." She dug through a small burlap bag hanging inside the pantry door. "Here, red sandalwood. They'll all be a calming influence for her, and she needs it, poor child."
Something in her tone stopped Jackson in his tracks. "Mahalia, how do you know Kenzie?"
For a moment, he thought she might answer. Then she shook her head. "There isn't time, Jack."
Back in the bedroom, they found Mackenzie stretched out on the bed, her head resting on a pillow at the foot of it. Steven knelt at the end of the bed, cradling Mackenzie's face as he whispered soothing words against her forehead. "This is as calm as she'll get."
Mahalia hesitated. "I taught you what to do, Jack Holt. Do it."
"I don't even know what we're doing." He opened the bottles and moved to the side of the bed. Mackenzie looked worse, and he shivered.
"The walls are already there." Mahalia laid the small piece of sandalwood on Mackenzie's chest and placed the woman's right hand over it. "We're just going to shore them up a little, that's all."
"We're not taking them down?" he asked, incredulous.
"No." She snapped the word, sharp and vicious. "Jesus, no."
Jackson held the open bottles together and upended them, sprinkling the spices over and around Mackenzie's restless form. "She can't live like this."