Chapter  3

  “Try smiling. It goes a lot further with people,” Paul whispered in his ear and Dante supressed the urge to throat punch him instead. He plastered his best philanthropist face on as they were lead into the chief of medicine’s office.

  “Mr. Carmichael!” Chief Troyer cried, almost leaping from her chair when he approached. “I am honored to have you here.”

  He accepted her clammy handshake, his beam unwavering.

  “Thank you for having us, Chief. I have to tell you, I’m a huge fan of yours.”

  “And you must know the feeling is mutual. Please, have a seat.”

  The men sat and waited for the head of the hospital to speak to her assistant before turning back to them.

  “I understand you have a proposition for us. I hope you know that the Seattle Children’s Hospital will do anything we can to help you but our resources are limited and – “

  “Actually,” Paul interjected in his brash fashion. “That is exactly what we’re here about. Mr. Carmichael has very generously agreed to donate five million dollars to the hospital next month to update some of your equipment, add to the staff roster – essentially use for anything you see fit, Chief.”

  Amanda Troyer’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as she gaped at them in disbelief.

  “You – you are?” she gasped and Dante nodded in concession.

  “Of course,” he replied. “You must know that this is my favorite cause. The children are our future, after all.”

  “Yes,” she agreed slowly. “That is incredibly kind, Mr. Carmichael.”

  She sat back expectantly and he could see she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “There’s more,” Paul continued and her brown eyes seemed to darken. “Not only is he donating, Mr. Carmichael has graciously opened his home in Madison Park for the purposes of a full-out fundraiser. All proceeds to go toward the hospital, of course. It will be a five-thousand dollar per plate event, and it will be publicly televised so that all of Washington can pledge donations.”

  “I thought it was a nationally televised event,” Dante interrupted, eyeing his public relations manager.

  Paul looked down quickly, not quite making eye contact.

  “Uh…I’ll have to look into that,” he replied. “I might be able to get MSNBC on board…”

  “Do it,” Dante insisted.

  The doctor’s face seemed to elate and doubt simultaneously, as if trying to understand which aspect of her soul she would need to part with to seal the deal.

  “I – I don’t know what to say.”

  “All we require from you are a few of your finest physicians who would be comfortable being on camera and if possible, some of the children. I don’t mean to sound crass, but it does add sympathy value to the donating crowd,” Paul explained.

  “Of course,” the chief clipped out. “And…?”

  The men stared at her.

  “And?” Paul echoed.

  “What else would you like? Your name on a wing, Mr. Carmichael?”

  Dante snorted and shook his head.

  “No,” he replied. “Nothing like that at all. We only came to notify you of our intent so that when the media catches wind of this, you are not blindsided. It will be a huge event and I can promise you that it will interfere with your already busy workload.”

  Her wise eyes narrowed slightly as if she felt like she was being tricked, but Dante shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I assure you, Chief, we only want to help the children.”

  She sat back in her chair, folding her hands over her lap to study them curiously.

  “This is a public relations stunt, then. You’re trying to recoup face after the blow Carmichael Industries endured.”

  Dante smiled tightly.

  “Does it really matter why we’re doing it?” he replied evenly. “It benefits all of us and no one is getting hurt. On the contrary; the children will benefit significantly.”

  “Are you gentlemen in a hurry?” she asked suddenly and the men exchanged a look.

  “Not particularly,” Paul lied slowly. Dante stifled a sigh and shook his head.

  “Come with me.”

  She rose from her chair and led them out of the office.

  “What is this?” Dante muttered, but his PR manager had no answer, shrugging his shoulders in ignorance.

  Through a set of secured service doors, Chief Troyer led them toward a bank of double wide elevators, used for transporting gurneys.

  She pressed the “B” button and the elevator began to descend.

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Paul muttered quietly but Dante felt his pulse quicken.

  As they dropped lower, he felt his body relax, the pain and suffering on the upper floors diminishing greatly as the doors opened and they landed at a long, dim corridor.

  It was unmistakably the morgue level, a coolness touching his face as they walked.

  “I don’t want to see dead bodies,” Paul cried out, abruptly stopping. “Especially not dead kids!”

  “Why not?” the chief asked. “You realize that you are using them to further your agenda?”

  Dante felt a familiar flame of anger lick at his belly as they stood staring at one another.

  “I would say that in this case, we have the same agenda,” he told her firmly. “Why are you resisting?”

  She shook her salt and pepper bun side to side so that strands escaped and circled her prematurely wrinkled face.

  “I am not resisting,” she replied evenly. “I am simply making sure that you’re not coming here with some ulterior motives that may cause you to back out of this event if your reasons change. People’s lives – kid’s lives – depend on the funding and donations we get. My point was to show you what happens to the them when we are deprived of that help. I would hate to find out that people were right about you, Mr. Carmichael. That is why I have brought you here.”

  “Oh?” Dante asked, his temper threatening to overcome his control. “Are there rumors circulating that I dangle money and snatch it away from dying children?”

  “No, of course not,” she agreed. “But you are a cunning, ruthless businessman who cares only about his bottom line. Am I correct?”

  The words did not incense him as they were intended to because they were true.

  I could have cared about Arya Ambrose if I’d had the chance, he thought unexpectedly.

  “Chief Troyer, you have just talked yourself out of our offer,” Paul snapped, his face angrier than Dante had ever seen.

  “No,” Dante replied, locking stares with the woman. “She hasn’t.”

  “There are hundreds of causes – “

  “No,” he said again. “We are doing this.”

  The chief regarded him with a tiny bit of respect, and there seemed to be an understanding between them.

  Dante admitted he had a begrudging respect for her as well; a strong woman who spoke her mind and put up with no intimidation.

  An unbidden memory slithered through his mind.

  “I believe that drink is mine.”

  “Can we please get the hell out of here?” Paul growled. “I feel like I’m in The Shining or something.”

  They parted gazes and Chief Troyer led the way back to the elevators, Paul racing ahead as if trying to outrun the souls of hell, but Dante suddenly had the inexplicable urge to wander around.

  “Thank you for meeting with us, Chief. I will have my secretary send over everything you need. Paul, I’ll meet you by the car,” he called, disappearing into the stairwell before either could respond.

  He likely didn’t have clearance to be wandering about, but when had Dante ever been one to follow the rules.

  I just need some time to clear my head a bit, he thought, but why his mind was so abruptly jumbled, he couldn’t say.

  It was as if something had crept under his skin, making him anxious abruptly. The memories of Arya were sentimental and unwarranted for the occasion. It was as if Chief Troyer had triggered something in him, but he couldn’t place it.

  Dante didn’t like being out of sorts, his demonic senses struggling to make sense of what was happening to him.

  My instincts are trying to tell me something. Why can’t I place it?

  A foreign light headedness overcame him as he climbed to the main floor and he let his body guide itself without thinking.

  What is it?

  His hands opened the fire door and he wandered through the lonely halls, passing a doctor every so often.

  “Are you lost, sir?” someone asked, but the voice did not shatter his trance-like state and Dante did not acknowledge him, pushing his way through another set of metal doors.

  In his pocket, his cell phone chimed repeatedly but there was a new resolve to his movement.

  Suddenly, Dante knew what he was going to come upon, even before it happened. He was not prone to bouts of telepathy but this was something far beyond the ability to see the future. This was a psychic connection, one he had only experienced once in his immortal life.

  Another anamnesis flooded his mind.

   Arya’s sleeping body was entwined in his, her silken legs wrapped along the curve of his calves, her breathing slow and even.

  He couldn’t sleep as he lay there watching her, fingertips gently tracing over the lines of her face.

  Suddenly, a bolt of pain twisted through his head.

  Help me! I killed him, Dante! You must come!

  The stabbing behind his eyes subsided and he looked down at Arya again. Her eyes were slightly parted.

  “What are you doing?” she mumbled.

  “I have to go,” he told her, the words causing him physical pain. “But I’ll be back soon.”

  “You better be.”

 She was asleep before she even felt the gentle kiss on her forehead.

  Fucking Marbas. He’s got a worse temper than I do. Now who has he killed?

  It wouldn’t be the first time he had to clean up after his cousin, and it would likely not be the last.

  How could Dante have known that leaving that night would set off a chain of events which he would never be able to undo?

~~~~~

  The door crashed open against the walls, the force almost unhinging them as he entered the emergency waiting room.

  His actions caused everyone to start in surprise, but Dante did not notice the reproving looks as his head turned almost frantically around the vast area, his eyes trying desperately to land on the surreal blend of metallic colored hair that he knew was there.

  “Sir, are you all right?” an orderly asked, seeming to sense his mounting frustration.

  “I’m looking for a woman. Red hair, illuminating green eyes…”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I just came on shift. I can ask around for you…”

  But Dante did not hear the rest of his words. The feeling which had entranced him and led him into the emergency room of the hospital was fading away.

  As if a fog had been lifted from his eyes, he looked around.

  There was no hint of the sorceress with whom he had spent that dreamlike, erotic night.

  She had been there, but he had missed her.

  But she was in Seattle. There was no doubt.

  And he would find her again, he vowed.