Page 54 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

A soft knock at Keller’s door roused Savannah from a worrisome dream of Gran Mere racing after horned warlocks through a hundred thousand rose bushes, all decked with blood-red blossoms. After Tucker’s altercation with Collins and Brinkman, she’d fallen asleep in the chair at Keller’s bedside, her arm stretched alongside his body, her hand on top of his on his chest. But her arm had fallen asleep.

It tingled when she peeled her cheek off her bicep.

Her doctor had notified her that her tests came back clear. She didn’t have the virus that had nearly killed Keller. He wasn’t contagious anymore, either.

“Come in,” she called out quietly, swiping her other hand over her mouth to banish any drool along with the dream. Man, she’d been out of it. She sat back in the chair as the door opened .

Tate Higgins filled the entrance like a linebacker.

Wearing what she now recognized as typical FBI uniform, namely black everything, he came in and closed the door quietly behind him.

From his boots to his head, the shaggy-haired man was a mountain of squared-off angles.

Thick, black brows shadowed intense brown eyes that shifted from Keller, the ventilator tubes and mask taped to his face, the machines helping him breathe, then back to Savannah, sizing her up, assessing, and deciding.

His tanned face sported a trim beard and mustache.

He’d pushed his dark glasses under his chin like a strap instead of on top his head.

His neck was clean-shaven but his black shirt was too tight over his chest.

He doffed the black ball cap with FBI stenciled in bright gold caps above the brim and said, “Don’t get up. I can’t stay long. Nurse said to make it quick. I’m Tate Higgins, and you’re Savannah Church, Keller’s girl.”

By then, she was on her feet. “Yes, I’m Savannah,” she admitted that much. “Eden thinks a great deal of you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s her problem. Eden likes everybody. How’s my boy?”

“Better today. He’s no longer contagious, and his doctors started him on an experimental antibiotic early this morning.”

Tate went to the other side of the bed, worrying the cap in his hands. “Seem like it’s working?”

“It’s too early to tell,” she said as a yawn got away from her, “but he is resting more comfortably. Last night he seemed anxious, but that may be because of the ventilator.”

“But he’s still unreachable?” Tate tapped his temple. “Up here?”

Savannah made eye contact with Agent Higgins. “Yes and no. I keep a thread cast out in the universe feeling for him, but the drugs they’ve got him on must be too strong. He’s not answering, but he’s still alive.”

“Keller’s stubborn. Don’t worry, he’ll come around when he’s ready.”

Which told Savannah that Keller was fighting his own internal battles. He wasn’t ready.

Tate nodded at the chair behind her. “Sure wish you’d sit down, ma’am. You’re tired. Try to rest while you can.”

“I am tired,” she murmured, sinking into the chair. But sleep wasn’t her friend right now. She was afraid of it, afraid of those dreams and that Keller would leave forever if she relaxed too much. If she let him go.

Tate cocked his head. “You use threads? Like spiders? You build webs?”

“More like fishing line. I’m not a spider, I’m fly fishing. I cast threads into the universe, hoping for an answering vibration.”

Tate’s brows leaned into each other as if he were considering what she’d said. “What kind of vibration?”

Savannah shrugged. “A sigh. A cry. A whisper.”

“What do you use for bait?”

That made her smile. “It’s not like I’m trying to hook anyone, Agent Higgins. And I don’t use bait, I use prayers. ”

“Tate, please. Just call me Tate. But go on.” He made a hurry up sign with his hand. “I fish and hunt, just never considered using psychic fishing line or prayers, though. That works for you?”

“Yes, it does.” Her cheeks billowed as she blew out a breath.

The last two days had been impossibly long and worrisome.

She was tired to her soul. “Gran Mere taught me to pray when I cast, that’s all.

Think of me as a catch-and-release fisherman, only some fish are already looking for me.

Like Isaiah. Casting for him was easy. All I had to do was open my mind to the possibility of saving him and—”

“He reeled you in,” Tate said as if that was precisely what happened.

Which it was. Isaiah had been dying then, and dying men were desperate to live. It was only natural that Isaiah grabbed hold and hung on as fervently as he had when she’d offered hope.

“I guess you can say that.”

“You ever thought of casting for Doctor Rudy John?”

An instant chill shivered up Savannah’s spine. “No,” she said, certain she would never go looking for the despicable man who’d tried to kill Keller. “It would take my focus off Keller. I can’t.”

Tate made a sound at the back of his throat like Keller used to. “You can’t? Or you won’t?”

Savannah laughed. “Oh, my gosh, did you just growl at me?”

There went those brows again, but this time Agent Higgins’ eyes sparkled. He was a bear of a man. Fierce- looking and most likely as lethal as the rest of the Deuces Wild team, but so much like Keller. Tough on the outside, but a marshmallow at his core.

“Did you just call me a marshmallow?” There went that twinkle again.

Savannah relaxed, letting down her psychic defenses. “I’m glad you heard that. You have no idea how much I needed to connect with another person like me. For a moment there, you sounded just like Keller. He growls, too.”

Tate cocked his head. “A person like you? And just what and who would that be?”

Savannah analyzed what she’d been told all her life against what she knew now.

“You see,” she began on a murmur. “All my life people avoided me and Gran Mere, and that was okay. I was different, so was she. I always knew that. And the less I had to deal with people, the easier it was to not belong. But it was hard.”

“And people label folks who don’t fit in,” Tate said. “The Inuit people called me Qimmiq when I was younger. Means dog. But after I lost my folks…” His fist came up and thumped his chest. “They called me Aklaq, and they stayed the hell out of my way.”

“They called you black bear,” she said. Tate was easy to read. “I can see why. You understand animals. You know how they think.”

He nodded, a twinkle in the corner of his eye. “I like you. You just read me, didn’t you?”

Her shoulders came up. “It’s a gift. I’m sorry. I try not to, it just happens when I tune in.”

“What’d people call you? ”

Oh, that. Savannah didn’t want to think about it, but she felt safe with Tate.

He’d understand. “Most of the time, witch. Voodoo queen. Priestess. Other things…” Her brows lifted at that last one.

“But I’m just a woman with a psychic gift who would rather spend her time helping animals than arguing with people.

Animals communicate purely, but people—”

“People lie,” Tate said. “Yeah. I’d rather spend all day with my dog than one minute with most people, present company excluded. Yet here you are with Keller, one of the baddest guys I’ve ever met.”

Savannah had to smile at that. Tate was pretty badassed himself. “What Inuit name would you give Keller?”

There was that growl again. “ Tarkik . Means moon.”

Savannah hadn’t seen that coming. “Moon?”

“Yes. Moon. Fits him. He’s got a dark side like me. Are you afraid of that rat bastard John?”

Maybe. “I’m not sure. I’ve been too worried about Keller to think about RJ.”

Tate folded both arms over his chest, making himself larger than life. How did men do that? Savannah was a Lilliputian in a room of two giants. “I’m gonna tell you something, Nuka .”

Aw, he’d just called her little sister. This big bad bear knew just how to touch her heart.

“Isaiah’s one of a handful of Level Tens in the entire world.

You understand what I’m saying? He’s a rare gift in a world gone bat shit crazy, and you…

” Tate stuck his index finger at her. “Isaiah says you’re strong, maybe stronger than he is.

That’s something to be proud of. An d you pray, which is another rare damned thing in today’s world, even for a psychic.

I think that’s your secret. You believe in a higher power.

You’re humble. You’re kind. But you’re also smarter than any swamp rat who thinks he’s some kind of magical warlock.

” Tate’s index finger stabbed toward the ceiling.

“You don’t invoke Satan. You call on the real power. You call on God.”

Wow. Just wow. Savannah hadn’t thought of her gift that way. She didn’t know what to say. Tate had read her like a book, yet she was no high priestess or conjurer of heaven’s almighty wrath, either. All she could come up with was, “Umm…”

“Listen, I can’t stay,” he growled, “but I’ll be back. Think about what I said. You’ve got this, Nuka .”

“I think I l-l-love you,” she stuttered. “I mean, like a brother. No one’s ever called me Little Sister before and…”

Tate was around the bed before she knew it. Darn, he could move fast. “That’s what makes Deuces Wild work,” he said. “We’re just brothers and sisters trying to make a difference out there. Stay strong. Believe in yourself. When Keller wakes up, tell him I was here.” And Tate was gone.

Savannah stood by Keller’s bedside long after Tate left, holding his hand and thinking about what Tate said.

He thought she was strong, humble, and kind.

He thought she was smart, too. It felt right.

It felt true. She’d never doubted herself until Rudy John got inside her head, poisoning her self-esteem like he’d poisoned the birds and Keller.

But she’d never tracked a man to hurt him before, and locating RJ would surely end in violence. How could she pray for that?

Violence was not her way. It never had been.

Savannah’s world had been relatively peaceful all her life.

She’d lived with Gran Mere most of that time, then by herself at Sanctuary.

She’d been safe and protected. Even confronting Bubba to save Red had cost her nothing but courage and nerve.

He might have punched her that day, but she’d never thought to strike first.

Yet the world she’d known was gone. Now she felt exposed and worse, orphaned. No Gran Mere to run to. No houseboat to hide in. Even Sanctuary had undergone a vicious assault. Savannah was twenty-five, yet still very much a babe in the—bayou.

Yet Tate thought she could track Rudy John? It seemed impossible.

Keller’s fingers twitched ever so slightly, startling Savannah. She wanted to call for the nurse and shout, “He moved! He moved his fingers! Hurry, come see!”

Yet she didn’t. Smoothing her hand over his prickly scalp, she leaned into him and pressed her mouth to his forehead. “You think I can do what Tate said, don’t you?”

Another tiny tremor twitched his fingers, imperceptibly small as to be nothing more than her imagination. But Savannah sensed Keller’s desperation. With all his soul, he wanted to get back to her. And that was enough.

“I’m going after Rudy John, Keller. Because you and Tate believe in me, I believe. Never forget how much I love you. Rest easy, my handsome Secret Agent Man. I won’t be long.”

An alarm from his monitors rang out then. By the time the ICU nurse arrived to reset the machine, Savannah was gone.