He was jolted to reality when he saw a menacing-looking man in a cowboy hat and crocodile boots step up next to Luke Prescott—obviously some sort of bodyguard.
He watched Crocodile Boots carefully, curious as to what he would do. Even from where Lash stood, his enhanced seeing ability allowed him to see Crocodile Boots’ face clearly as if he were standing right in front of him.
As Naomi approached the podium, the man’s eyes turned dark, and he took a step toward her. Lash immediately pushed his way through the crowd to get closer. Even though they were in a crowded room with hundreds of witnesses and cameras, instinct told him that Crocodile Boots wouldn’t hesitate to stop Naomi from what she was doing—at any cost.
Lash was about to position himself right behind Naomi when he heard Luke Prescott take a sharp intake of breath. Their eyes locked, and he saw the unmistakable glimmer of recognition on Luke’s face. At that moment, Lash felt a blinding pain that stabbed behind his eyes. He clutched his head, and a vision of rolling hills and a pretty woman calling out to him flickered across his mind. As quickly as it came, the vision disappeared.
What the hell was that? It was as if Luke knew who he was.
Lash rubbed his temples at the lingering dull ache. He looked back at Naomi, who was arguing with a couple of security guards near the stage. He then glanced over at Luke. Using his superior hearing, he could hear their conversation.
“Not here, Sal,” Luke said, placing a hand on the giant’s arm.
“Isn’t she the one?” Sal murmured as he glanced down at Naomi.
“Yes, she is.” Luke placed a finger over his mouth, deep in thought as he glanced between Lash and Naomi, who was now making a spectacle of herself.
Lash furrowed his brow. If only this damn headache would go away. He couldn’t focus on anything. He knew it was possible to get headaches; after all, his body was still a human body. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had one, though.
“Make it quick,” Luke said.
Sal nodded and made his way toward Naomi.
Lash attempted to intervene when the pain in his head intensified and black dots blurred his vision. He groaned and pressed his hands against his head.
“Are you okay, son?”
When he looked up, all he could see was a blur of a man with salt and pepper hair. The room swayed, and he felt sick to his stomach.
“You don’t look well. Let me get someone over here to help you,” the voice said.
Lash struggled to push away the pain. He had to get to Naomi. Where was she?
“Let me go,” he heard Naomi yell. A murmur rippled through the crowd, and he knew that Sal had gotten her.
“You won’t get away with this, Senator.” Naomi’s voice sounded farther away.
He’s taking her. I have to get to her, Lash thought.
A cool hand brushed his temple, and his head felt like it was about to explode. He stumbled, trying to get out of the room as if he could escape from the pain. A hand caught him and through his blurred vision, he saw a silver ring with a red stone.
“Come on, son. Let me help you,” the voice said, its owner gripping his shoulder.
Lash opened his mouth, about to tell the voice that he didn’t need any help, but quickly shut it. He swallowed hard to keep down the bile that was searing his throat. What was going on? What was happening to him?
“Hizaher,” the voice whispered into his ear.
For a moment, the shock of hearing Hebrew made him forget about the stabbing pain in his head.
“Remember,” the voice repeated his command in English.
The pain intensified as another image seared through his mind. This time, the woman was out in the fields, carrying a basket, and her beautiful hazel eyes gazed lovingly at him.
He felt the hand on his shoulder lift, and the vision and pain vanished. Lash blinked. He was back in the room. He looked up, and the strange man was gone. It was as if nothing had happened.
He quickly looked to the podium. The senator appeared to be shaken and wore a forced smile. Everyone in the room was looking at her, laughing at a joke she had just made. There was a loud applause as she stepped away from the podium. Luke held out his hand to assist her, and Lash saw a flash of red on his finger.
Impossible. He couldn’t be on stage and with Lash at the same time. And the language he spoke–Lash hadn’t heard it in centuries. Lash shook the thoughts away—he didn’t have time to dwell on them. He had to go after Naomi.
He pushed his way through the crowd, listening intently, hoping to hear her. When he ran out into the foyer, he heard her cussing up a storm.
“This guy giving you trouble?” Chuy and another guy stepped into the foyer.
Lash ducked behind a pillar. He didn’t know whether to be relived or laugh at the sight of the pair. Chuy looked normal in his navy suit compared to his companion, a heavy-set guy wearing a faux tuxedo t-shirt. He had a scowl on his face as if trying to appear tough, but Lash could tell from the sweat on his brow and the way his eyes moved from side to side that he was scared.