Wonders Never Cease (Harlequin Super Romance) Read online

  After shrugging on Jimmy’s too-large jacket, heated from the other man’s hefty body and smelling of stale sweat, Ben had dashed to the dark, silent house.

  “Jill was on the floor. The assailant had apparently exited via the patio door. It was standing open,” he said, his voice oddly disconnected from the horrific memory of seeing the woman he’d just held in his arms lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

  He’d tried to detect a pulse in her neck, but his fingers had felt disconnected from his body. He’d been afraid to move her. Terrified, actually. He’d knelt beside her like a useless child on the verge of tears.

  “Jill,” he’d called over and over. “Hold on, sweetheart. The paramedics are almost here. Stay with me, baby. Don’t give up. Please don’t die.”

  “I talked to one of the paramedics,” Amos said.

  Ben turned away. He knew he’d behaved like a madman, demanding two gurneys. There’d been a heated argument over where to take Czar. Jimmy had quietly relieved Ben of his weapon.

  Amos laid a stubby, freckled hand on Ben’s shoulder. The look in his eyes was one of compassion. “Jimmy said you were real shook up about both of them. He wasn’t surprised about Czar, of course, but he couldn’t figure out what you were doing with a newspaper repor—”

  Ben interrupted, “We were on a date. She’s a reporter—not a felon. I like her and I plan to see her again.”

  If Amos was shocked by Ben’s reply, he didn’t let on. He stood quietly a moment, then said, “I like her, too.”

  Ben almost lost it. He turned away to pick up the cup of cold coffee someone had given him. Its bitter taste seemed apropos.

  Amos took out a small notebook and clicked his pen into action. “Jimmy said something about her car. What’s that about?”

  Ben suddenly felt queasy. What if Jill was right about her brakes? What if someone was out to get her at any cost?

  He gave Amos a rundown of their evening’s adventures—leaving out the part about the hot tub.

  “I’ll call the tow shop in the morning,” Amos said, returning the notebook to his pocket. “Could be coincidence. Jimmy seems to think she surprised a burglar. I’ll send a team out first thing in the morning.”

  Ben wondered if now was the right time to divulge Jill’s theory about water pollution at the new development. He decided to wait until the report on her brakes came in.

  “You need to get some rest, son. Your vehicle’s out front. Are you up to driving?”

  “I’d prefer to wait until I hear something. Jill’s still in surgery.”

  Amos started to argue, but stopped when a pair of swinging doors opened at the far end of the hallway and a man walked out. Ben recognized the red hair and ran down the hall.

  “How is she?” Ben asked, forcing himself not to shake the answer out of him.

  “Who are…oh, you’re the cop she was with.” His tone was heavy with exhaustion. “We’ve done everything we can. Repaired the bleeder, put in a shunt. Now, it’s up to her.”

  She was alive. Ben understood that much. He didn’t like the man’s resigned tone, but as long as Jill was alive there was hope.

  “Then she’s going to be okay?” It was half question, half plea.

  “Can’t say for sure. She’s still unconscious.”

  “When will you know?”

  The doctor sighed. “If…when she wakes up, we’ll have a better idea. Head wounds are tricky. And we’re a little worried about the lack of oxygen to the brain. Her heart stopped, you know.”

  Ben’s hands opened and closed in fists; he wanted to hit something. Amos touched his shoulder. “Jill’s a fighter. She’ll be okay.”

  The doctor looked as though he wanted to believe that, too. “She’s in recovery. I wish I could be more promising, but this has been one of the most confounding cases I’ve ever worked on.”

  Ben frowned. Before he could ask, Amos said, “How do you mean?”

  The man sighed. “Medicine is anything but an exact science, and miracle isn’t a word I’m comfortable with, but something…inexplicable happened on that operating table. I was sure we’d lost her. We’d stopped CPR. But then out of the blue, she came back.” He shrugged. “Maybe she just has one hell of a will to live.”

  Ben held the words close to his heart. He wondered, for a second, if their feelings for each other had played a factor in her courageous fight. “Can I see her?”

  “She’ll be transferred to intensive care as soon as she’s out of recovery. You can check with them about their visitor schedule in the morning.” The doctor started to move away then looked at Ben. “How’d your dog do?”

  Amos answered for him. “Czar’s the second miracle of the night.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe when he’s back on his feet you’ll give him a medal. If he hadn’t intervened, Jill would be dead for sure.”

  Ben’s heart froze. “What?”

  The tired doctor shrugged and started to turn away. “I’m not a forensic specialist, but from the angle of the wounds—one on her shoulder, the other on her cranium— I’d say whoever hit her would have kept on hitting if your dog hadn’t showed up.”

  Ben’s knees buckled. He might have embarrassed himself if Amos hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around. “There you go. You found out what you needed to know. Now I’m taking you home. And that’s an order.”

  JILL REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS in stages. First, she heard little noises in the distance; then, she picked up bigger sounds, louder and more immediate: the low murmur of voices, the clatter of plastic trays banging against the side of a metal cart, the hum of a heating unit.

  Gradually she realized she was alive, but her first, clear thought was water. She couldn’t remember ever being as thirsty. She opened her mouth to ask for a drink.

  “Argrulawah.” The low-pitched gurgling sound brought a rush of panic. A man in black. The statue. The emergency room. Darkness. What happened? Why can’t I see? Why can’t I speak? Where am I?

  Answers came to her as images, which she linked together like a child with a connect-the-dots puzzle. Ben. At her door. Czar. Barking a warning. Bright lights. A safe haven.

  Her rapidly beating heart started to slow. I’m in the hospital. I’m alive. That’s a start.

  She directed her focus on opening her eyes. What should have been a simple task required every bit of her energy. She could hear herself panting from the exertion.

  She was rewarded with a tentative flutter of eyelashes that told her something was impeding her progress. By concentrating, she sensed something wrapped across her face. Bandages? Her first impulse was to reach up and brush it off, but neither of her hands worked.

  Suddenly swamped by a feeling of claustrophobia, Jill teetered on the verge of panic. Silent cries of frustration echoed in her head. Did anyone know she was alive, trapped in her mute body?

  Jill fought for control. She remembered her father telling her once, “Fear breeds panic, panic fuels disaster.”

  She took a deep breath. Her ribs felt funny. Actually, her whole body felt strange—disconnected, somehow. Am I paralyzed?

  She tried moving her leg and heard a rustling sound. Legs work.

  Logic seemed to dictate that if she’d been revived in the emergency room and brought back to life courtesy of modern medicine then there should be a doctor or nurse monitoring her progress. Shouldn’t someone be able to tell she’d regained consciousness?

  So where are the bells and whistles? Where’s my doctor? Is anybody out there?

  Suddenly Jill sensed another presence in the room. She couldn’t explain the strange sort of spine-tingling sensation that told her someone had entered her room. She knew it even before she heard the soft whooshing sound of fabric brushing against something. That sound was followed by the smell of a harsh disinfectant blended with a scent she remembered well from her Peter days.

  Aramis cologne. A man. Maybe my doctor. Maybe he’ll give me a drink if I can let him know I’m awake.
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  She detected another sound. Breathing? Jill didn’t know how else to explain it—not raspy and obvious, but soft and steady. Weird. What was even weirder was the notion she could “hear” a second breather when a new entity entered the room.

  Jill felt as though her ears were actually twitching, trying to pick up these sounds. Wow. This is bizarre.

  “How’s your patient doing, Doctor?” a female voice asked.

  The second set of smells made Jill’s nose twitch: sweat, breath mints and a faint perfume Jill couldn’t identify. Jill realized she could distinguish between the two people in the room quite clearly; the way they moved drew a picture for her. The nurse, quick and purposeful, made twice as many movements as the laconic doctor.

  “Stable for now, I think, but what do I know?”

  His cavalier attitude surprised Jill. The few doctors of her acquaintance never would have admitted not knowing something, especially in front of a nurse. Or, worse, a patient.

  Jill considered staying still so she could hear what other shocking revelation doctors and nurses might exchange, but her thirst was too compelling.

  She put all her effort into movement, any kind of movement. Several muscles reacted; she wasn’t sure which, but something happened.

  “Look, Doctor, that leg twitched.”

  Jill heard his sharp intake of breath. “I’d heard they have great recuperative powers, but this is really quite remarkable.”

  They? As in what? Women? Jill felt two sets of inquisitive fingers touch her head near her right temple. Despite the tenderness in that area and a steady throbbing that seemed to match the beating of her heart, the pain didn’t seem too bad. Thank goodness for drugs.

  “Maybe the wound wasn’t as deep as you thought,” the nurse speculated.

  “It’s hard to say, but I thought I saw gray matter.”

  Gray matter? Jill gulped. What if it was the part that runs my motor sensors? Fighting back panic, she tried to signal the medical team. A smile. A wave. Anything.

  The smelly duo apparently noticed nothing.

  Maybe a simple sound like, “Okay.”

  Jill tried to concentrate on each step of the process. Focus on the word. Concentrate. Shape the lips and put a little sound behind it.

  A low moaning sound erupted very close by, but it didn’t sound like any noise Jill had ever made.

  “Oh, you poor dear,” cooed the nurse. “Does it hurt? Do you think he’s in pain?”

  Of course it hurts. Of course I’m in pain. He?

  Someone pressed something round against Jill’s chest. Although cool, it felt blocked by the blanket. Hey, Doc, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but maybe if you lift up this sheet you’ll see I’m a woman.

  The doctor kept up his probing and suddenly Jill was swamped by a strange sense of vertigo. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. Nothing felt right. What’s going on? What’s happening to me? I need a drink of water.

  “Respiration’s up. Pulse is racing. Get Jacobs,” the doctor ordered.

  Ben? Ben. Thank God. He would help her. He’d make things safe. Ben, help me. I need you.

  As Jill’s panic increased so did the pressure of a pair of hands against her shoulders; she sensed the man’s reticence to touch her. “There, there, now. Just lie still. Stay.”

  Appalled by her doctor’s bedside manner, Jill vowed to turn him in to the proper authorities. The man had little tact and very little compassion. He acted as though she were a mindless vegetable that could move but couldn’t think.

  Oh, God. A single bright, needlelike shaft of fear shot through her being. Am I dying? A vegetable? A mute brain without a working body?

  In the distance, there was a loud whoop of joy. Jill recognized the voice, even from that one indistinct sound. Ben. Irrelevantly, she recalled that for some handicapped people when certain senses failed, others took up the slack. That already seemed to be happening where her hearing was concerned. She heard every single footstep that raced toward her room.

  “Thank God!” Ben said, very close to Jill’s ear. His face seemed to be pressed against the top of her head. His hands roamed freely across her body. My body? No. Something isn’t right.

  “Just take it easy, pal. We’re gonna take off that bandage so you can see.” He spoke soothingly, his hand stroking her upper shoulder. Again, she was struck by the very odd sensation of not truly being able to feel him. The solid feel of his hand was there, just not the warmth of his skin. Was she wrapped up like a mummy? Was her body burned?

  Before she could finish the thought, she felt him run his hand down the length of her side to her hip. She squirmed, a low gurgle of panic came from her throat. His touch, while welcome, was too intimate for the circumstances. Again, she was engulfed by the feeling that something was wrong, horribly wrong.

  She struggled to get up. Panic worked itself into muscles that didn’t seem to read her commands but understood her turbulence. Limbs moved; blankets fell and tape pulled her skin and hair. She was oblivious to everything except her own deep frustration and pain.

  Her equilibrium was way off the mark, but she did have a sense of having rolled from her side to her belly and lifting herself into a crawling position. She felt as wobbly as an infant.

  “Easy, Czar. Relax now, boy. Take it easy.” Ben’s voice was low and soothing; his hands pressed forcibly against her shoulders.

  Czar? What’s your dog got to do with this?

  “Doc, do you think you could take off his bandage without opening the wound. I think not being able to see is freaking him out.”

  What is this “he” stuff? What is wrong with you people? she cried.

  A horrible yowl—like an animal in pain—filled the room.

  Another pair of hands touched her. Cool hands, with a finicky touch, although they too were clothed in woolen gloves.

  Drugs! That’s it. I’m having a drug-induced hallucination. Her panic subsided and she held still while the cool hands snipped bandages until the fuzzy white film gave way to Technicolor. Jill was so grateful not to be blind, her eyes filled with tears.

  Blinking, she looked around. She cataloged familiar images: a bed, an overly bright room, hospital gizmos and gadgets, a nurse—all in white, frowning. Ben—towering above her. Right things but wrong image. Out of whack. Like a Picasso painting.

  She closed her eyes and counted to three. When she opened them, she saw a white sheet flecked with a collage of short brown-and-black hairs. And a pair of animal paws—dark tan with protruding black toenails that needed trimming.

  Since the image made no sense, Jill decided this bad dream wouldn’t end until she went back to sleep and started over again. She closed her eyes and let her body relax.

  “Whoa, no. I don’t think so,” the doctor said, reaching under Jill’s tummy to support her in the crawling position. “Rest is good but now that he’s awake I think we should keep him awake for a little bit to observe him.”

  Enough with the dream, people, Jill snarled.

  “Um, help me out here?” His hands shifted to make room for another pair. “He’s heavier than he looks, isn’t he?”

  Hey, buddy, watch it. I’m hurt and you’re worrying about my weight?

  “He’s about eighty-five pounds, we keep patrol dogs on the light side.”

  Jill’s head began to spin as though she’d been turning cartwheels. Ben’s words battered her consciousness, demanding an explanation, but there was no explanation. Nothing made sense. Not what she saw. Not what she heard. Not what she felt.

  She was perilously close to tears or biting someone, she wasn’t sure which. Both sounded appealing.

  Ben spoke again. “I’ll take it from here. He’s used to me, we’ve been partners for nine years.”

  Partners?

  The smaller, cool hands fell away, leaving the big warm hands to cradle her weight; in a move so swift she wasn’t sure what happened until it was over, Ben sat down on the bed and pulled her body across his lap. His broad, hard
thighs were directly beneath her diaphragm. His hands were now stroking her down the length of her back.

  He’s petting me. The thought took hold, and while part of her mind rebelled at the idea, another part responded. The long, smooth strokes did have a lulling quality.

  Wait a minute, her mind argued. I can’t relax. I have to figure out why everybody is treating me like a dog.

  She opened her eyes again. The dark tan paws were still there, stretched out on the bleached-white length of sheet. Without moving her head, she could see a sea of green tile floor meeting beige walls; she could pinpoint the location of the three people in the room in her mind—a novel, somewhat disconcerting, sensation. She appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be stretched across Ben’s lap, and she also appeared to be a dog.

  Jill opened her mouth and out came a wail reminiscent of foxes and hounds.

  “Shh, boy,” Ben whispered. “They don’t allow dogs in the hospital. They only made an exception for you because you’re a police dog. The vet’s supposed to be here in about an hour to examine you. As soon as he gives the okay, I’ll take you home.”

  He petted her head and stroked the side of her face that wasn’t bandaged. One small, very human part of her mind thrilled at the touch, so gentle and loving, but her mind raced with a multitude of questions. Is this reincarnation? Did I die and come back as Czar—an aging police dog? Where’s the karmic justice in that?

  Jill groaned. The sound was articulated as a gurgling growl.

  “I bet you’d like a drink, wouldn’t you, boy?” Ben asked.

  Yes, Jill’s mind shouted. And quit calling me boy.

  Jill was vaguely aware of the doctor and nurse leaving and Ben discussing something with them. She’d have paid more attention but her entire senses were overwhelmed by the smell of water.

  Without getting up, Ben had managed to locate a plastic pitcher and a stainless-steel, semicircle-shaped pan. With one hand, he poured the delicious-smelling water into what Jill knew was a vomit pan.