Healer's Touch (Deadly Touch #1) [Complete]

Chapter 1: The Dead Man

Llew didn't break stride as she kicked the empty glass bottle aside, barely giving it a thought. Litter was the least of the hazards in Cheer's streets at night. She walked with her head down, hands thrust deep in the pockets of her coarse brown trousers, blending in with the evening's wildlife. With hair in dire need of a trim, there was always a risk that the disguise wouldn't hold – but it only had to hold until she got home. She would cut the offending locks in the morning.

A commotion broke out up ahead at Camille's Cathouse. Some john lacking the financial means to sate his desires by the looks and sounds of it. Perhaps he should have thought about that before buying such a large bottle of whisky. The town's men hunted gold by day, oblivion and pussy by night, and sometimes the two nocturnal aims conflicted. Both could spell danger for Llew.

She approached the still cussing man, stepping into the road to give him a wide berth. At this time of night at least one didn't need to be so cautious about steaming piles in the middle of the dusty streets; all the horses were asleep in their stables or paddocks or waiting lazily outside a bar or brothel.

"Out for a good time, boy?" The old coot stepped in front of Llew, stopping her in her tracks. "I'll share one wi' yer."

Llew tried to side-step him, but he shadowed her movement.

"It's still five miras each. Two men, ten miras." The half-dressed madam on the porch folded her arms across her chest and stared down at them.

"You said five miras per girl. We only need the one." His arm snaked across Llew's shoulders drawing her in to him. If she hadn't already been cursing staying out late with Kynas, she sure would have started now.

"What d'you say? I'll let you go first. I won't even watch. Sure you won't mind me listenin', though."

Llew struggled to find her voice – her deeper, more boyish voice. She shook her head.

"Five miras per... service." The woman's eyes narrowed. "You want cheap, Renny, you go down see Hedy's girls. They'll look after you real nice."

"Aw, but Hedy don't have your wee Tamra." Renny pulled Llew closer to his mouth. His breath reeked like it was coming from the other end of his body. "Wee Tamra's my favourite," he confided in a loud whisper.

"Tamra's busy, anyway. Now scoot." Camille waved the back of her hand in a brushing motion at Renny, dismissing him. "And don't come back till you've got some cash."

Still clutching Llew, Renny waved his bottle, miraculously not spilling any liquor.

"Oh, you're a hard woman, Cammy."

"Better a hard woman than a limp dick any day, Renny." The woman flashed a gleaming white grin at them. "Maybe next time you'll rethink the whisky. Or at least buy it here. Then we can talk discounts. Loyalty is rewarded at Camille's."

"Oh, aye." Renny turned Llew with him to dawdle back the way she'd just come. "Women, eh? Never give nothin' for free."

Llew didn't know anyone who gave anything for free and didn't see why the brothel girls should be any different.

"Well lad, shall we try Hedy's?" Renny squeezed again.

Llew tensed the second his step faltered.

He regained his composure almost instantly and squeezed her shoulders once more, this time looking down at the way her shirt bunched across her chest. Two small but distinct peaks appeared as her shoulders rounded under the pressure.

"Well, well. Looks like my luck's on the up 'n up." His arm reached around her shoulders so his hand could feel the soft flesh beneath Llew's shirt. He sucked back a glob of spit, took a swig from his bottle, and tried to bring her around in front of him. Llew pushed back and ducked under his arm. But he was quick and grabbed the loose waist of her shirt.