Forbidden Touch

The closer she got to the beach, the stronger the smell of the sea, sharp and salty in the breeze that lifted her hair and dried the perspiration beading on her forehead and arms. But mingled with the sea air, an undercurrent of misery lingered. It weighted on Iris as she neared the palm-studded beach stretching for a mile around the bay.

Someone was out there. Someone in agony. Physical pain, sharp and specific, etched phantom slashes along the skin of Iris’s wrists and ankles. A throbbing pain bloomed in the back of her skull, blinding in its intensity.

Her vision blurred, the world around her beginning to spin out of control. She groped for something to hold on to, something to keep her from pitching forward into the street, but there was nothing. Nothing but the blare of car horns and a muted cacophony of voices.

And pain. Knee-buckling, back-bending pain.

She crumpled to her knees, the sting of the rough pavement on her bare flesh little more than a twinge against the onslaught of agony racing circles around her nervous system.

She tried to lift her head, tried to regain her bearings, but nothing around her looked real or recognizable. It was as if the pain itself had become tangible, a red mist surrounding her, blinding her to everything else around her.

In the heart of that mist, a man’s voice called her name.

MADDOX HELLER kept his distance behind the pale wraith of a woman who’d interrupted his morning, trying not to think too long or hard about why he was venturing out into the mid-morning heat to follow a tourist to her hotel. Sure, she was pretty enough—or would be if she didn’t look like death walking—but Mariposa was full of pretty women, more than a few of whom wouldn’t kick him out of bed for snoring. So why was he so interested in Iris the Jet-lagged Tourist and her woeful little tale?

Hell, Mad Dog, maybe you’re just bored.

Two years in paradise might seem like heaven to some folks, but there was only so much sunshine and sea air a man could take before he needed something different to occupy his thoughts.

After Kaziristan—

He stopped short. No revisiting Kaziristan. That was rule number one of Maddox’s new life. He’d wasted a year wallowing in what-ifs after Kaziristan. Damn near drove him insane.

A block ahead, Iris the Jet-lagged Tourist suddenly pitched forward, hitting the pavement hard, knees first. Maddox’s heart lurched into double time and he sprinted toward her, splitting his attention between Iris and the crowd around her. Like any tourist mecca, Mariposa had its share of thieves and pickpockets. A likely suspect was already lurking, a wiry boy in his late teens on a bicycle.

“Iris!” he called, closing the distance between them.

He saw Iris groping on the ground as if blind. She found her purse and snatched it up, hugging it tight to her chest, turning her head toward his voice.

He pushed through the small crowd of people gathering around her and crouched by her side. “Iris?”

Her head jerked up, her gaze sliding toward him without quite meeting his. He touched her arm and she jumped like a frightened animal, jerking her arm away from him.

“It’s Maddox. From the café, remember?” He took her hand, holding on when she started to pull away. “You fell.”

Her eyes focused on his face, her pupils dilated. Perspiration sparkled on her forehead. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Let me call an ambulance.”

She released his hand. “I just need to get to my hotel.”

Maddox bit back further protest, glancing at the gathered crowd around him. “Then let me help you do that, at least.” He held out his hand to her one more time.

She looked around her, color creeping up her throat and settling in the center of her pale cheeks. She let him help her up, her body swaying toward his. She smelled of heat and honeysuckle, taking him to a time and place he hadn’t revisited in years. Twin phantoms of loss and longing danced in his head.

Iris gasped softly, her steps faltering. She tugged her hand away, her face lifting to his. “It’s too much.”

He stared at her, not following.

A neutral mask settled over her face. She squared her shoulders and started walking forward at a faster pace.

It lasted only a few feet before she stumbled again. Maddox caught her up as she started to fall.

“Someone’s hurt,” Iris whispered.

Maddox frowned, even more confused. “Who’s hurt?”

“Help! Somebody call 911!” A woman’s voice, high and frantic, drew his attention. He spotted a woman in a bathing suit waving her arms as she jogged awkwardly up the beach.

The woman in the bathing suit caught sight of Maddox and Iris. “There’s a woman on the beach. She’s injured.” The woman staggered to a stop and tried to catch her breath.

Maddox looked down at Iris, the hair on his arms rising. Her coffee-brown eyes met his briefly before she dropped her gaze and lowered her chin almost to her chest.

He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and gave a terse report when the emergency operator answered. By now, several people had responded to the woman’s cries for help. Tourists and locals alike followed as she jogged back down the beach out of sight. Iris lifted her head and started walking toward the beach, obviously intent on following.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Maddox caught up with her. “You can barely stand.”

“I can help her—”

He grabbed her elbow. “I’ve called for help. They’ll be here in a couple of minutes. You need to get out of the sun and get some bandages on those cuts.” He gestured at her legs.

Her gaze dropped to where blood from her injured knees ran down her shins in slow rivulets. Her brow wrinkled as if she hadn’t realized she was hurt. “They’re just scrapes.”

“Scrapes can get infected if they’re not cleaned.”

Her expression tightened. “I know what I’m doing.” She pulled away and headed for the wooden steps leading from the street to the beach, leaving him little option but to follow her or walk away.

Every instinct he had screamed at him to walk away.

But his legs chose to follow.

Maybe it was adrenaline or sheer female stubbornness, but Iris seemed to find a second wind, moving through the sand with long, steady strides. Maddox caught up with her, sidling a glance at her. She still looked pale, dark circles under her eyes and lines of weariness etched in her forehead, but she didn’t falter as she reached the circle of onlookers ringing a woman lying near the water’s edge.

“I need to get to her,” she murmured, looking up at Maddox.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Just get me to her,” she said more firmly.

He edged through the crowd, bringing Iris with him. While she crouched by the woman, taking her hand, Maddox made a quick visual assessment of the woman’s injuries. Definitely not a local; her tan was the chemical variety, and not even the crusted sand and seawater could hide the fact that her crumpled linen suit was designer quality. Her feet were bare, with angry red ligature welts circling both narrow ankles. Similar marks marred her slender wrists.

Her face was pale beneath the tan, smeared vestiges of makeup faintly visible around her eyes and lips. Though her eyes were closed, she was making low moaning sounds, confirming that she was at least partially conscious.

The woman who’d called for help sat by the injured woman’s head, gently stroking matted hair away from her face. “Did anyone call paramedics?” she asked.

“They’re on the way,” Maddox assured her. Since it looked as if Iris was going to do nothing but hold the injured woman’s hand, he knelt and checked the woman’s pulse. Slow but strong. That was a good sign. But her skin was cool to the touch, suggesting she might be slipping toward shock. “Does anyone have a beach towel or something we can use to cover her?”

A man from the crowd offered a multicolored beach blanket. Maddox dusted off the loose sand and folded it over the woman.