Beneath THE BLEEDING SKY

Standing behind her desk, Elizabeth Preston sent an anxious glance out her office window. The catch on one of the metal shutters had broken loose and a large expanse of glass was exposed as the shutter banged against the outside wall. She knew she was at risk but the need to find transportation kept her at her desk, making frantic calls. "This is Elizabeth Preston of the Charleston Psychiatric Clinic. I have three patients waiting for transport inland, plus three personnel," Elizabeth explained to a man in the State Emergency Preparedness Office. "We're one vehicle short. It was supposed to be here but hasn't shown up. Can you help us out?" "Charleston Psychiatric Clinic?" he repeated wearily. "Where are you located?" "East on Highway 17, just beyond the tidal creek bridge on Pirate Island." She heard the man sucking in his breath. "All the island's roads are clogged with vehicles trying to get inland," he replied in a frazzled tone. "The whole coastline is on emergency alert. We've got every available cruiser out warning people that they must leave without delay. I don't have any vehicles that haven't already been assigned. He was a stranger—she knew that. Yet as impossible as it seemed, she recognized this man on some deep level that went beyond words and senses. A compelling force that radiated from him was in some indefinable way a part of the storm. She felt a bewildering sense of familiarity and an emotional connection with him that had no basis in reality. She pushed against the man, trying to free herself. "I have to go. See the others." The weakened wall of the office could come crashing in on them any minute. And what about the rest of the main building? The two resident wings? She couldn't stay cowering under her desk. The nurse, her aide and the three young children were waiting in the day room to be transported out of this hell. Everybody else had been evacuated with Dr. Madison, the clinic's medical executive. Those who were left were her responsibility. Her stomach churned. She cared about the children more than anything in the world, and she was filled with a terrifying helplessness. Dear God, how was she going to keep them safe? "The children..." "Listen to me." She gasped at the sound of his voice and lifted her head enough to glimpse a cleft chin, bronze skin and dark hair. He tightened his grip and pressed his mouth against her ear to be heard above the bedlam. "The hall door may be hard to open. We'll go together." They backed out from under the desk and bent forward against the wind's fury and pelting rain. Pressure against the door was as fierce as he had predicted. He opened it enough for them to squeeze through into the hall before it slammed shut again. She leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Her head was reeling and every nerve in her body was raw edged. "Are you all right?" he asked, standing close enough to steady her if she wavered. His damp red wind-breaker clung to a magnificent torso and his black shirt was open at his tanned neck. Black pants hugged his flat stomach and outlined long, muscular legs. Long-ish black hair drifted forward on his well-molded cheeks. An ugly scar pulled one black eyebrow upward and spoiled the symmetry of his rugged features. A piercing shaft of light in his eyes held her gaze much beyond her willingness to be drowned in their murky blue-black depths. His presence disturbed her in some way she couldn't define. A rise of panic was at odds with the knowledge that his presence was a blessing she should grab with both hands. She needed all the help she could get. No time for melodramatic impressions, she told herself, giving a firm lift to her chin. As his gaze passed over her face and traveled down the length of her nearly six-foot slender frame, she was suddenly conscious of her bedraggled appearance. Her short white skirt had twisted to one side and her soft peach blouse was pulled out at the waist. Under his scrutiny, she made an effort to smooth back the damp blond hair plastered on her cheeks. "I'm fine," she finally said. "Thanks for your help." Then her eyes suddenly rounded with a spark of hope. "You aren't, by any chance, the driver of the van we requested?" "I'm not afraid , Elizabeth." She was taken aback by the use of her first name—even though it was plainly printed on her office door. The intensity of his mesmerizing gaze softened as he reached out and removed two leaves stuck to the top of her head. "If you are going to ride out the storm, it's foolish not to have all the doors and windows boarded up." His criticism broke through the haze of unreality. Her temper flared. She'd never been very gracious about accepting unwarranted criticism under the best of circumstances, and the tension she was presently under made her temper even shorter. It was Dr. Radison who should be here. He was the medical director, after all, but he'd left with the first evacuation vehicle. She didn't need this stranger dumping the blame for the ugly situation on her. "Thank you for the advice, Mr....?" His eyelids flickered in a thoughtful way. Then a hint of a self-mocking smile touched his lips as if he were enjoying a private joke. "Davin Delmar." Davin Delmar. She couldn't remember seeing the name on any of the records. "You have someone here at the clinic?" Before he could answer, a deafening roar like a giant buzz saw ripped through the building. Elizabeth stifled a scream and instinctively grabbed his arm as her eyes flew upward to the acoustic ceiling. Fright pounded in her ears. She was used to Chicago blizzards. Anybody with any sense stayed indoors while one was raging. In the warmth and protection of a solid roof and firm walls, a winter storm could even bring a feeling of security and peace. But there was nothing but raw terror and vulnerability in a storm like this. Roofs and walls could be instruments of death if the building couldn't withstand the fiendish destruction reaped upon it. Another jet like boom roared down the hall. "Who's left in the building?" he demanded. "Three patients... children. A nurse and an aide."