White Lies by Linda Howard Page A

what happened and you're trying to reach out,
but you can't seem to make anything work. You're going to be all right, I
promise you, but it's going to take time." The voice. Something in it drew him, despite the pain that waited to
claw him whenever he left the
darkness. He feared the pain, but he wanted the warmth of the voice more. He wanted to be closer to it... to her. At some
point too dim for him to remember or
even comprehend, he had realized it was a woman's voice. It held tenderness and the only hint of
security in the black swirling emptiness of his mind and world. He knew very little, but he knew that voice; some
primal instinct in him recognized it
and yearned for it, giving him the strength to fight the pain and the darkness. He wanted her to know he
was there.
                  His arm twitched, the movement somehow too
slow to be an involuntary spasm of cramped muscles. This time Jay didn't jerk
her hand away. Instead she rubbed her fingertips over his skin, while her eyes
fastened on his face.
                  "Steve? Did you mean to jerk your arm?
Can you do it again?" Odd. Some of
the words made sense. Others made no sense at all. But she was there, closer, the voice clearer. He
could see only darkness, as if the world had never been, but she was much nearer now. Pain racked his body,
great waves of it that made sweat
bead on his skin, but he didn't want to let go after getting this far, didn't want to fall back down into
the black void. His arm? Yes. She
wanted him to move his arm. He didn 't know if he could. It hurt so damned bad he didn 't know if he
could hold on, if he could try anymore.
Would she go away if he didn't move his arm? He couldn't bear being left alone again, where everything was so
cold and dark and empty, not after getting
this close to her warmth.
                  He tried
to scream, and couldn't. The pain was incredible, tearing him apart like a wild animal with fangs and
claws, ripping at him. He moved his
arm.
                  * * *
                  The movement was barely there, a twitch so
light she would have missed it if her hand hadn't been on his arm. He had
broken out in a sweat, his chest and shoulders glistening under the bright
fluorescent lights. Her heart was pounding as she leaned closer to him, her
gaze riveted on his lips.
                  "Steve, can you hear me? It's Jay. You
can't talk because you have a tube in your throat. But I'm right here. I won't
leave you."
                  Slowly his bruised lips parted, as if he were
trying to form words that refused to take shape. Jay hung over him, breathing
suspended, her chest aching, as he struggled to force his lips and tongue
through the motions of speech. She felt the force of both his desperation and
dogged determination as, against all logic, he fought pain and drugs to be able
to say one word. It was as if he couldn't give up, no matter what it cost him. Something in him wouldn't let him give up.
Again he tried, his swollen, discolored lips moving in agonized deliberation.
His tongue moved, doing its part to shape the word that would remain soundless:
                  "Hurt."
                  The pain in her chest became acute, and
abruptly she gulped in deep breaths of air. She didn't feel the tears sliding
down her cheeks. Gently she patted his arm. "I'll be right back. They'll
give you something so you won't hurt any longer. I'm only leaving you for a
minute, and I promise I'll be back." She flew to the door and jerked it
open, stumbling into the hall. She must have been there a lot longer than it
seemed, because the third shift had gone home and the first shift was back on
duty. Frank and Major Lun-ning were standing at the nurses' station, talking in
low, urgent voices that didn't carry; both men looked up as she ran toward
them, and a sort of disbelieving horror filled Frank's eyes.
                  "He's