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Was she concerned, he wondered. No one ever cared about his bodily ills, not since he was a kid.
“I have a killer headache,” he admitted. “Driving over 900 miles in two days is likely to cause one. Do you have anything in your purse to help?”
“I do.” She retrieved sodium naproxen, acetaminophen, and ibuprofen. “Which one do you want?”
“I don’t care, whatever works fastest. I need something to wash it down.”
“They had a cold case in the lobby. I’ll go get you something.” Willing to help, filled with kindness, he found her even more appealing than the sexy smart-mouthed bitch.
He swallowed the pills and drank some soda. Javier shivered. “Are you cold, Cecily?”
She hovered close, her face creased with a frown. “Actually, I’m too warm.”
“I’m freezing.” Javier trembled as a chill shook his body.
Cecily put a hand over his forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” she commented.
He caught her hand and held it. “I’m afraid I will before long. I’m sick, Azúcar.”
“Maybe you’re just worn out. Why don’t you lie down for a little bit?” She chewed her lower lip hard enough he saw a drop of blood.
Telling the truth could be hard, but right now he figured he should. “I think it’s malaria. I had it in Afghanistan, in the military. It’s supposed to be cured but it can return, and I think maybe it did.”
Until now, she hadn’t touched him very often except when they made love, but she brushed his hair back from his forehead with gentle fingers. “How will you know?”
“If the fever comes, I’ll be sure.”
Javier knew now but he didn’t want to alarm her. He would need prescription drugs and if he could avoid the hospital, he would rather endure the attack in the hotel room. After another chill, Cecily found a blanket and draped it over him. Since he was a small boy and Mami would care for any childhood illnesses he suffered, no one had tended him like this. When he suffered malaria, nurses cared for him but with professional detachment. Javier didn’t expect tenderness, especially from a woman he had forced to come with him, but Cecily gave it.
Two hours later, the fever came with searing heat until his bones ached, and his muscles hurt. Javier lay on the large bed and Cecily sat beside him. She put a wet, cold washcloth on his forehead, and it felt so good until the heat sapped the cool away. Cecily replaced it with another and held his hand.
“I’m not a nurse. I don’t really know what to do, Javier.”
“You’re here,” he gasped. “That’s plenty. The rag helps too. I need to tell you something. My real name is Javier Jesus Morales. I sometimes use others but that’s me. My brother is Jorge Morales. He lives in Guymon, Oklahoma. I need to call him if you can bring me my phone.”
As soon as his brother picked up the phone, Javier said, “It’s me.”
“What’s wrong? You sound awful.”
“I’m sick. The malaria’s back so I’ll be a day or two longer getting there.”
His brother’s voice sharpened like a brand-new pencil. “Where are you?”
“St. Louis.”
“Is she with you, your woman?”
He didn’t feel like explaining what she was and wasn’t to him. “Cecily’s here, yeah.”
“She needs to get you to a doctor or the hospital, pronto. I thought the malaria was cured.”
Javier attempted a laugh, but it became a cough. “Me too, but sometimes it comes back, and I knew that. I never thought it would, though.”
Jorge’s sigh echoed over the phone. “Brother, it’s probably not the best time to say this but maybe your lifestyle has caught up with you. It’s not too late to change, to give that all up.”
“Lifestyle?” The fever must be cooking his brain because Javier knew Jorge couldn’t know anything about the way he earned his keep.
“I know you’re not a security guard. I know what you do, or I’ve suspected.”
