Chapter 138

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

Since Joyce (the deputy) slept days, she usually chose another suite to sleep in, both for quiet and for the convenience of her sister-wives. If she slept in their suite, Jeff's other wives would hesitate to enter should they need something from the bedroom, since any slight noise or light could awaken the sleeping Joyce. Also, the wives often gathered in the big bedroom to relax and talk. But today, Jeff had told everyone that he had put Kayla to bed in their suite, so Joyce had joined her there.

Shortly after noon found Joyce beginning to wake. Sensing a gentle stream of warm air on her ear, her consciousness swam to the surface. A moment later, she suppressed a giggle that changed to a quiet moan as Jeff's lips kissed their way down to her throat.

"Morning breath," she mumbled as his mouth tracked for hers.

"Nah, afternoon," he chuckled, gluing his mouth to hers.

"Hmmmm. Can I have some of that too?" Kayla asked as she lay on her side watching them.

Jeff started to move over to Kayla just as both women tensed and Joyce sat up. "She's crying," Joyce said to Kayla.

"I know," Kayla said as she threw back the sheet. Both women rolled out of bed, scrambled into long tee shirts they kept near the bed, and were only a few steps ahead of Jeff as they went looking for the Queen.

"There," Joyce said, unnecessarily as they saw the rest of Jeff's wives near Hope's suite.

As Jeff put his hand on the door, Arlene touched his shoulder. "Let me, Dad. Hope would be uncomfortable..."

" ... with me in there," Jeff finished for her. "Okay, but let us know soon. I'm not going to wait long."

"Mom is just crying, Daddy. She's okay."

"'Just crying, ' is plenty enough for me," he said, frustrated, as he spun around and leaned back against the wall by the suite's door. Crossing his arms, he tried to relax, but wasn't successful. "How can my wives sense each other's emotions and I can't? I felt you, Joyce," he said looking at his wife, "when you were shot. Hell, I didn't just feel you, I was there, and we were miles apart. Yet, I can't feel my Queen when she's just down the hall."

"You can feel us when we're making love," Jennie pointed out.

"That's different," he grumped, causing several of his wives to chuckle.

"Yeah, it sure is," Ann said, grinning.

Jeff fought to keep from chuckling. After a moment, "Where's Laura?" he asked, looking around.

"Diana is crying and you have to ask where Laura is?" Helen said with — inflection.

"Sarcasm doesn't become a genius," Jeff said, trying to sound normal, but wanting to go in and check on his wife.

Helen leaned against him, her breasts tight against his chest, pulled his head down and kissed him. "She's fine. I suspect that Hope has some troubles, and Diana is sympathizing."

"I thought Hope was getting better. Why now?" Jeff thought for a second, then, "Oh. Art was the FBI agent who saved her. But why would that..."

"She's a very fragile young lady right now. As we all know, she has been through a lot," Helen said. "She's been here only a few days. Her recovery has barely begun. She'll have setbacks, but she will overcome — eventually."

The door opened and Arlene stuck her head out. "She's fine, Daddy. Mom just cried when Hope did." Turning to Helen, Arlene continued, "Mom needs you to help with Hope."

Helen went inside and a moment later Diana came out, her eyes red, but a smile on her face. "I'm sorry I troubled anyone. Hope is having some problems, and I let things get to me. She was crying, and I felt so sorry for her that I started crying, too."

"But what's wrong with her?" Nicki asked. "She seemed to be doing fine."

"She knew that Art was here and also knew that he was the undercover FBI agent who had saved her. I think she felt obligated to thank him, but thinking of him brought that night crashing back on her. The healing time has been too short and the memory is still too raw. We need to remember that she's fifteen and was forced to repeatedly have sex over a period of at least months, maybe longer, while pretending to be a twelve-year-old. Helen will be able to calm her down."

Jeff, his frustration showing, said, "Art probably hasn't thought about Hope twice since the shootout. He's had his own problems. Hell, he's been trying to stay alive."

Diana hugged her husband. "Helen has been expecting something like this, but I just felt so sorry for Hope. Baby, what her father made her do is ... terrible. It's too damn bad he was killed instantly. He should have had to suffer."

Jeff smiled at his Queen. "Want to go dig him up and kill him again? Seems like I've heard that not long ago," he chuckled.

Diana buried her face against his throat and giggled. "You always make me feel better. Now if we can just get Hope over this..." Diana looked into her husband's eyes. "We can't even imagine what she went through; how she feels. I've read of women who were never the same after a rape. She was forced to do this over and over. She hasn't told me how long it lasted, but I think it had been going on for a while when we walked into Jennie's living room that night. Maybe even a year or two on an occasional weekend. But I think it escalated after we took Jennie away. And Jeff, this was her father who did this to her."

"Shit," Jeff muttered.

The nurses walked back into the suite, Sandra carrying a plate with two sandwiches on it, and Bobby carrying a large glass of milk. They put their burdens down on the coffee table in front of Art as he sat on the couch.

"I keep telling you that you don't have to wait on me anymore. I feel better than I have ever felt in my life."

Sandra stopped on one side of him and Bobby stopped on the other. Bobby leaned down and kissed him, followed by Sandra.

The two nurses looked at each other, then back at Art. "Us too. I can't believe all this. We both feel wonderful. First you're healed, then that little creature healed us, or enhanced us, as Jeff calls it."

"Little One," Sandra agreed. "It felt so odd telling her thank you, but I felt, or heard, or whatever you call it, something buzzing in my mind."

"We all did when we touched her," Hanes agreed.

They sat and watched Art begin to wolf down the sandwiches and drink the milk. "I guess Jeff's right about my eating. He says he thinks it's because I had so much to heal. The shoulder and hip had barely started knitting back, I suppose, and that surgeon said he put a lot of stitches inside my kidney, so it must have been torn up pretty badly. You two had that Healer thing on you, but you're not as hungry as I am."

Both nurses giggled, but Bobby spoke for the two of them. "We haven't eaten as much as you have, but we've eaten a lot. I hope Colonel ... uh, Jeff, is right about us not gaining weight."

Quiet descended on the three as Art took a big bite of a sandwich and sat back on the couch, his arms around the women, thinking.

"What's wrong, Baby?" Sandra asked, obviously worried.

Art let out a quiet sigh. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. In a way, that's what's wrong."

Both women looked a question at him.

He paused to take another big bite and a swallow of milk. "I don't know where to start. You two have told me a little about yourselves, but with everything that's happened, I haven't said much about myself. Since I've met you, I was too sick, blown away with pain meds, or busy being saved by you two or my fellow agents. Now, all of a sudden, I have nothing to do, and ... nothing to worry about. What am I supposed to do, just sit here in this rich man's home with my two beautiful women and hide until my group catches whoever is trying to kill me? Then, we have to wait for a trial before it's over. Will it ever be over? Even if our database can pick out whoever it is I saw from sketches I'm somehow supposed to do, will that be enough to arrest him? Sure, knowing who the big cheese is will help the investigation, but we all know how hard it is to make charges stick to someone who is truly wealthy, not to mention the muscle these people command. From what I hear, slavery is only one of the things this group does. There's bound to be a lot of money involved.

"Look what they did to try to kill me. An assassin, for crying out loud, and if not for the two of you, I would have been dead right then. But you blew him away, Sandra, and you Bobby," he said squeezing her, "threw your body across mine to take a bullet for me." He hesitated for a moment, "Look, please don't take this wrong, but here I am, the big FBI man," he said, sarcastically, "and two pretty nurses are the reason I'm still alive. That assassin would have succeeded, if not for you two. Then, they tried nerve gas. People don't do that. Oh, you hear about atrocities like that in some third world countries, but Atlanta, Georgia?"

Bobby leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "We have plenty of time; tell us about yourself. There's no one shooting at us, or coming with nerve gas." She looked at her watch. "We insisted on knowing when we could begin to help prepare meals. Jennie told us they start preparing supper about five. We have most of the afternoon. Maybe Hope will be there for supper so you two can meet again."

"I was expecting her at lunch. The kid went through a lot. She's pretty as a picture..."

That got him a matching set of frowns.

"Ladies. None of that. She's a kid."

"Wrong," Sandra said. "We saw her in the hall. She is not a kid. She is a living doll."

Art, having finished his milk and feeling somehow as if he were on dangerous ground, got up and got a soft drink for everyone. As he sat back and crossed his legs, the nurses snuggled to him again. "I'm feeling like a ... well, like a wimp."

"What..." the women said in unison.

"Where in the world did you come up with that?" Sandra finished.

"Well, like I said, I would be dead if it were not for you two, my fellow agents, and this outfit, whoever they are."

"Jeff told us that there would be no more secrets once we took that block thing. We did it, and they did tell us some things," Bobby said.

Sandra let out a chuckle. "They made a big deal out of that block thing, but I don't think mine took. I don't feel a thing."

"Me either," her sister agreed.

"I guess I don't feel the block, either," Art admitted. "But Colonel Matthews commands a damn spaceship, and that group he was with chewed up those mercenaries in just a few minutes, for crying out loud. If he says the blocks took, I'm inclined to believe him. And if we're fairly close to each other and he looks me in the eyes, I do know when he's telling the truth. I can feel it.

"I'm just feeling ... I don't know, maybe like I'm not in charge of my destiny any longer. But I know that you two had a major part in my survival. I'm not alive just because of a good surgeon. One or both of you were with me the whole time, working on me, and I know that doctor took your suggestions more than once. Yeah, and I guess my ego got swatted a bit — well, maybe more than a bit. I mean, I have had women saving my life, not just nursing me back to health. You two actually stopped me from being killed. But like I said, my ego took a trouncing. I just feel... so unnecessary," he finished, drawing out the last.

"Why, Baby?" the nurses both said. "Why should our helping to save you hurt your ego?"

"Well, look. My dad got himself killed. I decided to go to college. I sold our house and away I went. I was feeling a little put upon, and I've always been a loner, anyway, so I kind of secluded myself and actually studied in college. Well, I guess I studied a lot. School was easy for me, and so was college. All that studying produced some very nice grades. Anyway, the FBI recruited me, and I've always liked their look, so I took the job. If I had known what was ahead of me, I might not have been so eager.

"Anyway, Quantico was interesting, and I aced their tests and kinda fell in love with shooting at the same time. But I expected to go to work in a suit and tie. That didn't last long. By the time I was beginning to settle in as an agent, I was called in and given this 'important' assignment." The nurses didn't miss the hint of sarcasm in his words.

"They set me up with an identity, coached me for a few days, gave me a beat up old car, a 'wardrobe' of Goodwill clothes and turned me loose to try and get hired by part of this slaver organization. I couldn't just walk up and say I wanted to get into the slave trade, so I wound up being a roofer and hanging out at a bar that our intel said the slavers' muscle frequented.