Dead By Dusk

"Mr displace! A piu tardi!" the maid assured him.



The door closed over the crack. He hit the bottom lock again.



Stephanie, raven's wing hair cascading in a wild tangle over her shoulders, was standing at the top of the stairs.



"The maid," he told her, but she already knew.



They both burst into laughter. He tore up the stairs, and swept her back up into his arms. They both continued to laugh as they crashed down on the bed.



Not too terribly much later, they actually fell asleep.



"Drew?"



Drew had dozed in the chair. The sound of his name brought him instantly and fully awake. He felt a startled sense of panic, but he was awake.



"Doug?" he said anxiously.



"Yeah, man."



Doug was sitting up in the bed. He didn't look pale, haggard—hell, he didn't even look sick!



"Hey… you look great."



"Yeah? I feel… weird."



"You should. We nearly lost you last night," Drew told him.



Doug grimaced, and stretched his muscles. "Really weird. And hungry."



"I'll get you something."



Doug made a face. "No… I'm in the hospital, right? I don't want any hospital food."



"All right. I'll go out and get you something and bring it back."



"A steak. Really rare."



"Hey! Don't get too picky on me, buddy. I've got to see what I can find somewhere near here—the café is really good, though," Drew assured him.



Doug made a face. There was an IV dripping into his arm. He looked at it with distaste. "I gotta get out of here!" he said.



"You've got to sit tight, and deal with it," Drew said firmly. "Wait until Dr. Antinella sees you. I have a feeling he may want you to stay a few more days. In fact, I think I'll get one of the nurses to check with him—just make sure he doesn't want you on a special diet or anything."



"I'm feeling great," Doug said. He grinned. "Honestly."



"And you still don't remember anything?" Drew asked him curiously.



Doug shook his head. "Just… coming in from the beach." He hesitated, then stared at Drew beseechingly. "I really need something that's like real, live food. You all must have been through hell last night, and I really appreciate it, but… man, I'm hungry."



"All right, sit tight. I'm on it," Doug told him.



Out in the hallway, he ran into one of the nurses. He smiled awkwardly, knowing that he wouldn't begin to know how to ask her if it was okay for him to bring in outside food for Doug. Maybe she spoke English. He tried. "My friend… mio amico… ah… desidero mangiare. Posso… io ..."



"What does he desire?" the nurse asked, smiling. She was an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties who apparently knew English just fine.



"He's very hungry, but he wants a steak. Is it all right if I go out and find him one?"



"Come," she said.



He followed her to the nurses' station, and she leafed through the charts.



"He is on no special diet. There are no instructions. Dr. Antinella will be around to see him very soon.



He has been good through the night, and this morning, yes?"



"You've checked in on him?"



"But of course," she assured him. "You have been sleeping," she said, a small smile curving her lips. "A good friend you are, though. Trying to stay awake."



"Yeah, well…" He flushed. Damn, but he hated it when he flushed. He turned really red. "I'll be back.



I'm going to try and find my buddy a steak."



" Ciao!" she said cheerfully.



" Ciao." He waved awkwardly. Damn, but she was cute.



A tremendous feeling of well-being swept through him. Doug was better already. The world was good.



No, it wasn't, he remembered.



There had been a human, arm left in front of Grant's cottage last night. And he was supposed to find his way to the mortuary and see… see if he could identify it as Gema's.



His stomach churned.



Good thing he was getting the steak for Doug, and not himself.



Antoinette smiled and hummed as she worked, her notepad in her hand. She had received a promotion to her recent position just a few weeks ago, and she was still very proud and pleased. She wasn't just head nurse for her shift now, but supervisor of her area.



That meant, of course, that she now had greater responsibility, and that she was required to know the extent of their supplies at all times, know when they were low, what must be ordered. Naturally, she was responsible as well to make sure that none of her fellow employees slipped out at night with any drugs.



There were many that could just give one a great high for an evening. Drugs that saved life could also be exceptionally entertaining in the recreational area.



She took her responsibilities very seriously, but not fretfully. This was a small place. It was tightly run.



The employees took pride in it, and when a bad egg came along now and then, well… he or she didn't usually last very long.



When she first heard the sound at the door, she didn't even look up.



"Yes? I'm busy, as you can see."



She felt the touch on her shoulder first. Her first instinct was irritation. Who in the world! Did someone think that she, of all women, would be interested in an intimate little tête-à-tête in the supply room? And if not, did they think they could get her to let them slip out with supplies that belonged to the hospital?



Indignant, she spun around.



She inhaled, ready to be firm, angry, and definitely indignant.



Antoinette!



She heard the caress of her name, heard it as if it had been spoken inside of her, as if it were a stroke against her naked flesh.



She stared ahead into… fire.



"Yes?" she said, and it was a rasp.



She was aware of the smile. Of the euphoria that swept over her.



She heard the commands, and she obeyed.



Every last one…



When she woke up, she was on the floor. She looked at herself in horror and embarrassment, scrambled to her feet. Stunned and confused, with no memory of the last twenty minutes, she hastily made repairs to herself.



And then, she saw the supply room.



And she began to scream for help, still tucking her hair back into her cap.



Sleep was good. Delicious. Stephanie was aware of the warmth of Grant's body, and somehow, even sleeping, aware as well that beyond the darkness of the room, it was daylight.



Rest was wonderful.



And then…



She began to stir, aware that at her side, Grant was tossing. His flesh seemed on fire.



Grunts, sounds—words?—she couldn't understand suddenly began to tumble from his lips. His muscles tensed, lengthened, tensed again. His fingers wound tightly into fists, and he pounded the bed at his side.



She just stared at him at first.



Then she jumped out of the bed, stunned at the violence in the thrashing of his body. He shouted, and again, the sounds seemed like words, but she couldn't understand anything he said.



Suddenly and abruptly, he went still.



Then he sat up, jackknifed to a sitting position. His eyes were open, and he was staring ahead in fury and anger. He shouted out again, threatening someone. Vaguely, she was aware that she recognized the language.



She even thought she understood the words.



"Grant!" she called softly. He was dreaming; he had to be dreaming. She didn't know whether to shake him or maintain her gentle approach. And she was afraid to get too close to him; his volatility could send her flying if she didn't wake him fully and instantly.



He screamed something out again, something she couldn't discern, then leapt out of the bed. Stark naked, he strode for the doors, and fought with the billowing drapes. Ripping them open, he slammed against the glass.



"Grant!"



Back to her, buttocks and thigh muscles bronze and taut, he was pressed against the glass.



"Grant!"



She leapt up, suddenly heedless of physical danger, desperate to get him away from the glass before a young mother with a child or children looked up from the beach and decided to have him arrested for indecent exposure.



"Grant!"



Stephanie threw her arms around him, dragging him back. For a minute, it was terrifying. He was a powerhouse of heat and energy. With all her strength, she tried to draw him in. She fell back on the bed beneath him. His weight was smothering. She shoved him off her, dug her way out from beneath him, and, gasping, made it to her feet.



"Grant!"



He lay flat on the bed, silent and still, eyes closed.



To her absolute amazement, he rolled into a more comfortable position, just as if he had been easily, restfully sleeping all along.



Puzzled and frightened, she bit her lower lip, then realized that she was standing naked in front of an uncovered picture window. Groaning, she went for the drapes. As she tried to stuff them back around the rod, the whole thing fell down on her again.



"Steph, what on earth are you doing?" she heard Grant ask.



Turning, she saw him, hair tousled, yawning, eyes only half open against the light, staring at her as if she were the one losing her mind. But then, his gaze became troubled. He rose, untangling her from the wrecked curtains once again, returning them to the rod. He drew her to him, and stood still, just holding her for several long moments.



She determined not to prompt him, to give him time on his own.



"I remember…" he murmured.



"I remember… and then I lose it." Shaking his head, he stepped away, heading for the bathroom. She heard the shower, and let him be, straightening the bedding. He came out in one of the resort's terry robes, and told her, "I'll put on more coffee."



Her turn in the shower. She ran in, glancing at the clock. They'd had about five hours sleep. It was going to have to be enough.



When she emerged, showered, hair clean and damp, some makeup to minimize the effects of sleeplessness and wear and tear, she hurried down the stairs. The coffee was made. He wasn't downstairs, but he hadn't left. She ran back up the stairs, and found him standing out on the balcony, looking toward the west where the sea met land, and the mountains could be seen, climbing almost to the sky.