Chapter Four

Four days, more major cities than Javier could count or remember, and almost two thousand miles passing under the wheels. They picked up I-70 which would take them most of the way to his brother's town at some dinky burg in Pennsylvania. For Cecily's sake, he found a place near the bridge over the Ohio River in Wheeling, West Virginia, that offered trendy chef creations. Javier had a strip steak with fries, but she ordered braised sea scallops with wild rice and sauteed mushrooms. Over the meal, they managed a conversation that wasn't all insults, although he kept watch in case she tried to flee.

The long hours behind the wheel took a toll on Javier. He loved driving but the long distances on unfamiliar freeways with heavy traffic made him antsy. Cecily alternated between radio silence and endless chatter. Sometimes she slept while he battled a nagging headache. If something delighted her as they passed, she pointed out the landmarks or something as simple as grazing livestock.

At Columbus, Ohio, they spent their first night in a decent chain hotel. Javier insisted on two beds because if he slept with her, they would have wild monkey sex half the night. His body ached and he needed rest to face another road marathon. Javier had trouble sleeping, though, his heart full of this woman he was dragging to the wilds of Oklahoma. He cared about her, maybe even loved her a little, although he wasn't sure what that meant or how it would feel. Sometimes she acted as if she might like him, other times like she hated him.

In the wolf hour, Javier couldn't wait. He missed her being close and wished he'd asked for a king, not two queen-sized beds.

"Cecily," he called but she didn't reply. Javier tossed back the tangled sheets where he'd tossed and turned, then climbed into her bed. He kissed her, soft and gentle, until she woke.

"What are you doing?"

He thought it was obvious but said, "I'm kissing you, Azúcar."

She fussed. "I want to sleep. I thought you didn't want any sex because you have to drive. Go back to your own bed."

"I want to tell you something. Open your eyes, look at me."

Cecily gazed at him. "Let me guess. You're going to leave me here, with no money, no transportation, or something."

Javier caressed her cheek. "No, that's the thing. I don't want to leave you at all."

She put her hand over his. "What are you talking about?"

Now that he'd decided to share his emotions, he didn't know what to say and felt like an idiot. "I didn't mean this to happen. I just didn't want you to call law enforcement, so I made you come with me."

Cecily yawned. "I know. Why are you telling me this? It's late and we're both tired."

Aware he was making a mess of this, Javier pressed forward. "I thought you were sexy from the first moment I saw you, and I wanted to fuck you."

"You did. Do you want to fuck me now? Is that what this is about?"

His dick hardened. "There's never a time I don't want to make love but right now, I'm trying to say something important."

She pulled a pillow over her head. "Then tell me or shut up, Javier."

Nothing scared him but fear curled in his belly. "I think I love you."

The words hung in the air and when she said nothing, he thought he'd cut his losses, go back to the other bed, try to forget he'd ever spoken. Those moments when he'd thought he saw something to make him believe she had some feelings too, they must have been wrong.

"Javier."

Her voice became soft as cashmere, low-pitched and with a tone he'd never heard from her mouth before. "Yeah?"

"Even though you're a hit man and a killer, you're more than that and I wasn't going to say anything, but I passed liking you already. I might be falling in love but I'm not sure."

His heart shuddered within his chest and a burst of happiness exploded. "I didn't think it was only me, Querida."

"Okay, it's not. What will we do with it? I don't see any way we can change who we are and be a couple."

If he was honest, he didn't either, but damn, he ached to try. "Maybe we can find one, together."

"Maybe. Let's go back to sleep. Will you hold me?"

Javier spooned his body behind hers and cradled her close. "Yes, always."

Right now, he didn't want to examine their relationship any farther. He needed time to think.

On the second day, Javier drove from Ohio to St. Louis, Missouri, on the Mississippi River. It wasn't as far but the grueling traffic required Javier's constant attention. For the first time, their conversations weren't just an ongoing exchange of cheap shots and insults. They were both being civil, and he savored that.

"Look!" Cecily squealed as they came into St. Louis. She'd gone from captive to tourist, he thought. "That's the Gateway Arch. I've seen pictures and read about it, but I hadn't seen it. Can we go to it?"

If he didn't have the absolute worst headache of his life, Javier might have indulged her, but his head felt like he'd caught it in a vise. Pain radiated from the center of his forehead and pounded harder than a bass drum at a rock concert. His neck and shoulders ached. He hadn't felt this bad since he came down with malaria.

"Not today." He bit off the words with a sharp tone, but he hoped she understood he didn't intend to be rude.

Must be from driving and fatigue, had to be, Javier reassured himself. Rest in a hotel room, some over-the-counter meds, and some caffeine, he'd be fine for the last leg of the trip. A niggling worry, though, lingered. His malaria had begun with a headache this severe.

He took the first exit near downtown and fetched them up at a posh hotel near the Arch. Using one of his many credit cards, Javier booked an executive suite. It boasted every amenity, a spacious living area with comfortable furniture, awesome views of both the Arch and Downtown St. Louis, and a bedroom that opened off the living space with a king-sized bed.

"How many nights, sir?" the desk clerk asked as they checked in.

If he didn't feel any better come morning, they would stay another day. "Two for now," Javier told him.

Once in the room, he sank down into a chair, pulled off his boots, and groaned. Javier rubbed his forehead with one hand.

Cecily frowned at him. "What's the matter, Javier? You look sick."

Was she concerned, he wondered. No one ever cared about his bodily ills, not since he was a kid.

"I have a killer headache," he admitted. "Driving over 900 miles in two days is likely to cause one. Do you have anything in your purse to help?"

"I do." She retrieved sodium naproxen, acetaminophen, and ibuprofen. "Which one do you want?"

"I don't care, whatever works fastest. I need something to wash it down."

"They had a cold case in the lobby. I'll go get you something." Willing to help, filled with kindness, he found her even more appealing than the sexy smart-mouthed bitch.

He swallowed the pills and drank some soda. Javier shivered. "Are you cold, Cecily?"

She hovered close, her face creased with a frown. "Actually, I'm too warm."

"I'm freezing." Javier trembled as a chill shook his body.

Cecily put a hand over his forehead. "You don't have a fever," she commented.

He caught her hand and held it. "I'm afraid I will before long. I'm sick, Azúcar."

"Maybe you're just worn out. Why don't you lie down for a little bit?" She chewed her lower lip hard enough he saw a drop of blood.

Telling the truth could be hard, but right now he figured he should. "I think it's malaria. I had it in Afghanistan, in the military. It's supposed to be cured but it can return, and I think maybe it did."

Until now, she hadn't touched him very often except when they made love, but she brushed his hair back from his forehead with gentle fingers. "How will you know?"

"If the fever comes, I'll be sure."

Javier knew now but he didn't want to alarm her. He would need prescription drugs and if he could avoid the hospital, he would rather endure the attack in the hotel room. After another chill, Cecily found a blanket and draped it over him. Since he was a small boy and Mami would care for any childhood illnesses he suffered, no one had tended him like this. When he suffered malaria, nurses cared for him but with professional detachment. Javier didn't expect tenderness, especially from a woman he had forced to come with him, but Cecily gave it.

Two hours later, the fever came with searing heat until his bones ached, and his muscles hurt. Javier lay on the large bed and Cecily sat beside him. She put a wet, cold washcloth on his forehead, and it felt so good until the heat sapped the cool away. Cecily replaced it with another and held his hand.

"I'm not a nurse. I don't really know what to do, Javier."

"You're here," he gasped. "That's plenty. The rag helps too. I need to tell you something. My real name is Javier Jesus Morales. I sometimes use others but that's me. My brother is Jorge Morales. He lives in Guymon, Oklahoma. I need to call him if you can bring me my phone."

As soon as his brother picked up the phone, Javier said, "It's me."

"What's wrong? You sound awful."

"I'm sick. The malaria's back so I'll be a day or two longer getting there."

His brother's voice sharpened like a brand-new pencil. "Where are you?"

"St. Louis."

"Is she with you, your woman?"

He didn't feel like explaining what she was and wasn't to him. "Cecily's here, yeah."

"She needs to get you to a doctor or the hospital, pronto. I thought the malaria was cured."

Javier attempted a laugh, but it became a cough. "Me too, but sometimes it comes back, and I knew that. I never thought it would, though."

Jorge's sigh echoed over the phone. "Brother, it's probably not the best time to say this but maybe your lifestyle has caught up with you. It's not too late to change, to give that all up."

"Lifestyle?" The fever must be cooking his brain because Javier knew Jorge couldn't know anything about the way he earned his keep.

"I know you're not a security guard. I know what you do, or I've suspected."

Tears burned in Javier's eyes. He'd fooled no one, not even his brother. "What am I, then?"

"A hit man. It's a no-brainer. You have way too much money to be a security guard. I might have been born at night, but it wasn't last night."

That caught Javier hard. If he hadn't felt so ill, he might have protested or tried to lie his way out of it, but he didn't. "Do you hate me for what I've done? I take lives for money."

There was a long pause and he feared Jorge would end the call. "I love you, hermano. I have from the day our parents brought you home, a red-faced squalling baby. You should know that. It's not all your fault. Serving in Afghanistan scrambled your brain like eggs. The Army taught you to be a sniper and sent you home without any other skills. I pray for you, at church."

Guilt swept over Javier, harsh and bitter. Jorge still went to Mass, his boys had all been baptized and received their first communion. His oldest, Mateo, was on track to be confirmed in the spring. His brother served as a lector for Mass and belonged to the Knights of Columbus. Javier hadn't been to church since the first weeks he spent in the sandbox. It hadn't taken long for him to decide there must not be a God. Now he wondered. Javier failed to find words to reply.

"Do you need me to come? I will. I can be there by morning if I drive. I can fly, if necessary."

"Would you?"

"Si, of course."

"I'll give you back the money for the flight," Javier rasped. "Cecily will have my phone if I don't answer."

"Give me the address of the hotel. If you're not there, I'll find you."

He provided the information, then handed the phone to Cecily. "Talk to Cecily. She's mi Tesoro."

Javier shut his eyes and for the first time in a long time, let someone else take control.

Cecily put the phone on the bedside table. Without asking, she brought a fresh cloth and wiped his face with it. "He'll be here by morning. I'm glad he's coming. You need family."

He grasped her hand and held it tight. "I need you. Don't leave. If you want, you can go home but I want you to stay."

"I'll be here as long as you want me." She spoke without sarcasm or snark.

Delirium must have set in already because Cecily sounded sincere. Javier hoped she was.

The tough hombre, the seasoned combat veteran, and sniper, became vulnerable in illness. His usual defenses were wide open, and he lacked the energy to dissemble. Javier surrendered to her tender, loving care and liked it.

She brought him cool water to drink, dosed him with more over-the-counter meds when it was time, and asked if he wanted something to eat. "The hotel offers room service, and you really should have something."

Javier shook his head. "I feel half sick to my stomach. I'd probably puke."

"I thought maybe some chicken soup or a light beef consommé. You're keeping the water down and the little sips of soda."

"I don't know. Ask me after a while, okay?"

She stroked his aching head and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I will."

Javier no longer thought he loved her. He knew he did.

He alternated between raging fever and terrible chills late into the night. Both sapped his strength and left him weak. Javier lost track of time, sometimes drifting to sleep or into a somnolent state. Cecily talked to him and at some point, she assisted him to sit up for a few spoons of beef broth. It tasted wonderful to him, as good as any steak or hamburger. He managed only a little, but it helped.

In the small hours of morning, Jorge arrived. Javier had no idea how long his brother had been there until he heard his voice.

"You look like shit," Jorge stated. "I think we should take you to a hospital where you can get the meds you need."

"I don't want to go. I had enough hospitals in the Army."

Cecily sat on the edge of the bed facing him as he lay on his side. She held one of his hands tucked in hers. "You'd feel better. I'm worried, Javier."

Arms folded, wearing a stern look, Jorge glared from the foot of the bed. "So am I. You can't go on like this. You're burning up."

A smile flirted with Javier's lips. "Just wait, then I'll be shaking with chills and freezing."

"Estás pero si bien pendejo." Jorge threw his hands wide. "Stubborn as a mule. Did it ever occur to you I don't want to bury you?"

It hadn't, not now, and not when he served in Afghanistan. "No."

Cecily spoke. "Then maybe you are a fucking idiot."

Javier swiveled his gaze toward her. She had translated what Jorge had just said. "You understood that?"

She blushed. "I lied to you when I said I don't speak Spanish. I do. I speak five languages—French, Italian, Spanish, German, and English."

Despite his pounding head, his aching bones, and overall malaise, Javier realized she had understood every endearment he'd used, from Azúcar to Bomboncita. Maybe she'd guessed how he felt about her before he told her the other night. As if she understood what he pondered, she smiled at him.

"Si, mi Querido, mi Corazón."

She called him her dear, her heart, but did she mean it? Could she?

He wanted to tell her again what she meant to him but a round of chills struck. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered, although Cecily covered him up. She sat beside him while his brother paced the room. When the harsh chill eased and before the fever returned with a vengeance, Jorge took Cecily's place.

"Go get some sleep," Javier told her. "You've been up almost all night with me."

Cecily shook her head. "I won't be able to rest."

"Try." As bad as he felt, sick as a fucking dog, he didn't want her to go without sleep.

"What will happen if you don't see a doctor? His brother's quiet voice made more of an impression than if he'd shouted.

"I'll be sick, like this, for a few days, then it'll pass. I'll be weaker than a newborn kitten, then get back to normal."

"Won't the malaria come back, without meds or treatment?"

Still clutching the blanket, Javier shrugged. "Most likely. It did, before, in the sandbox."

Jorge frowned at him. "I thought you were put in the hospital."

"Yeah, after I let them know I was sick. The first two times, I suffered through it."

"Stupid. I always thought you were smart. Let's go to the hospital."

Javier felt bad enough he considered it. "See if you can get a doctor to come here first."

"Oh, sure, I'll just wave my magic wand to summon one."

If he had the strength, Javier would punch his brother. "Call the concierge. See if they have a hotel doctor or if they can call one. I'd rather do that."

Jorge lifted his eyebrows. "Do they really do that?"

"Some hotels do."

"News to me but then I don't live Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous."

Although it hurt, Javier chuckled. "Rich, yes, famous, no way."

"I'll try. If it doesn't work, you're going to the hospital if I gotta call an ambulance."

"Use my phone."

Javier felt the fever heat claim his body in its savage grip as Jorge called downstairs to the front desk. He listened to his brother's side of the conversation, struggling to concentrate.

"My name is Jorge Morales and my brother, Javier, is here in the executive suite. He's very sick and needs a doctor," Jorge stated. His confident air impressed Javier, proving to be more than he might have expected from someone who worked in a pork processing plant. "He's a decorated Army veteran who served in Afghanistan and he's having a malaria relapse. Is there a house doctor?"

"No? You'd think with all the amenities in this place there would be. Oh, certainly, I could call an ambulance, but I didn't know if you'd want one to pull up, sirens blasting outside, or have paramedics pushing a gurney through the lobby … what's that? Yes, I'll wait."

Javier groaned. "Tell me he's not calling one."

"No." Jorge laid his hand on his brother's forehead. "He has an uncle who's a doctor at this John J. Cochran Veteran's Hospital. It's not far away and since you served, he thought he'd see if the uncle would make a house call."

"Like that's happening," Javier muttered.

Thirty minutes later, it did. Cecily, showered and changed after a brief nap, answered the door, and ushered in a middle-aged doctor. Javier managed to sit up on the edge of the bed while Jorge hovered nearby.

"I'm Dr. Anthony Russo and I work over at Cochran, the VA hospital in Midtown. I'm a former Army doc and I did some time in Afghanistan too. Normally, you'd have to come to the ER, but my nephew works here. He's in med school and it's a favor to him. I'm fond of Eric. So, you think you've relapsed with a malaria attack?"

Javier met the man's gaze. "I know I have. I suffered malaria in the sandbox which was why I got booted home. I haven't had it since, until now, but it's not something you forget."

As the physician poked a thermometer into Javier's ear, then took his pulse, he nodded.

"Do you recall what variety you had?"

"Plasmodium vivax."

Dr. Russo nodded. "That makes sense. It can live in the liver, undetected for several years, then return fast and hard."

Jorge stepped forward. "Is it treatable?"

"Absolutely. With a fever of 104 degrees, however, Mr. Morales should be in the hospital."

"I won't go. All I need are the drugs."

The doc tossed up his hands. "I can prescribe them, and they'll definitely help. What did they give you before?"

"Some unpronounceable shit," Javier replied. "I think it had some quinine in it."

"That's likely. I'm going to start you on artemether-lumefantrine. As soon as it gets here, you'll need to take four tablets today, four more eight hours after that, then four tablets twice a day, morning and evening, for two more days. By then, you should be feeling a lot better. Then I'll prescribe primaquine for two weeks after you finish the first medication, one daily taken with food, or it'll tear your stomach to pieces. Have you been eating?"

Javier held his stomach, which still rolled. "Not much, a little broth."

"You must eat with both meds. You should eat as soon as possible but you also need to keep the food down. Are you taking something over the counter for fever?"

He nodded. "And for the headache."

Cecily plopped down on the edge of the mattress and put one arm around Javier. He didn't protest. He could use the physical support and he liked her close. As soon as he didn't feel terrible, he had so much he wanted to say.

"What food can he eat?" Jorge asked. "And can he travel?"

"Anything he can stomach, although I recommend broth, soups, gelatin, pudding, maybe ice cream to start. Then crackers, light sandwiches, peanut butter, and mashed potatoes. As for travel, I don't recommend it. How far and for what reason?"

"From here to Guymon, Oklahoma," Jorge said. "It's a ten-and-a-half-hour drive but we wouldn't drive straight through. Or fly into Oklahoma City. He's on his way to visit my family. He's welcome to stay as long as he wants."

Dr. Russo directed his question to Javier. "Where do you live?"

"New York City."

Russo scrunched up his face. "You couldn't pay me to live there but if it works for you, that's great."

He scribbled out the two prescriptions on a pad he pulled from his bag, then handed them to Javier. "Get these filled as soon as possible. Get some food down and rest, let the medicine do its work. I'll give you my name and number. Don't hesitate to call while you're in town. Hell, you can call afterward if you want. I suggest once you're recovered, you visit a VA clinic to have a full physical. They can access your medical records. I did and I'll add this illness to the file. Is there anything else, more questions?"

"Can malaria be fatal?" Jorge stood across the room with his arms folded across his chest.

"Without treatment, yes. Unless there are some complications I don't expect, Javier will recover without any problem, however."

Once the doctor had departed, Jorge took the prescription from his brother's hand. He turned to Cecily.

"Make a grocery list and I'll go get these filled, pick up something he can eat. Give me your car keys, Javier."

He had curled into a knot on the bed after Russo left but he lifted his head. "To the Porsche?"

"Unless you have another car here, yeah. Don't you trust me?"

Trust. If asked a day ago, Javier would claim he trusted no one. In his solitary world, he had no one to rely on and didn't. Everything he did, from each job to his daily existence, he handled alone. In the Army, he had depended on his fellow soldiers but only to a point. Snipers usually work alone except for spotters. Javier had trusted him but in his post-military life, he had no spotter.

Once, though, he had trusted Jorge with everything—his secrets, his dreams, his hopes, and his fears. Javier realized he still did but he dug deep into his soul for the realization. If he didn't, he wouldn't have wanted his brother here.

"I do, with my life. Keys should be on the table by that couch, in the other room."

He heard the jingle when Jorge picked them up.

"I hoped you still did." There was no joking in his brother's serious tone. "Anything you want to get?"

"Some cola," Javier said. "You know what I like and maybe cherry limeade sherbet."

After he'd gone, Javier wanted Cecily. "Come lay with me, Azúcar. I don't like being alone."

Shoes off, she crawled behind him on the bed and lay against his back, her arms around him. "Tell me if I hurt you."

"You're good, right where I want you to be."

She snuggled closer. "Am I your sugar?"

Azúcar. "That and more, Chica."

Cold enveloped him and he began to shake. Cecily held him tight in her arms and although he couldn't say anything else, not with chills, Javier resolved that he would. He just had to figure out for himself exactly what this love thing meant. This was new, beyond anything he'd experienced. Too sick to think straight, overwhelmed with emotions between his brother and his woman, he shut his eyes and endured.