by Debra Webb
Somehow Director Calder had changed her mind.
Since Joe had slept through the whole thing he had no idea how the director had accomplished the feat.
At any rate, Joe had awakened the next morning to an edict from the good doctor. She refused to discuss anything about the assignment with Joe until three days had passed. She wanted him to stay on the full dosage of the medication and in bed during said time. He hadn’t liked it one damned bit, but what choice did he have? It wasn’t like he could disobey a direct order from Calder.
During those three days Elizabeth had attended to his medical needs. She’d changed his bandages. Thankfully at this point the bulkier gauze was gone. The swelling was still pretty ugly as was the redness. He looked like he’d been on the losing end of a pool house brawl.
“Not like that,” she said, her impatience showing.
“Show me,” Joe countered, his own patience thinning.
It wasn’t like he’d been around Maddox that much. Getting his mannerisms down pat wasn’t going to be easy without a better understanding of how he moved.
Elizabeth did the thing with her right arm that she was convinced Joe would never get right. A clever little salute of a wave Maddox had tossed her way every time he saw her. It wasn’t that big a deal. He doubted Maddox waved at his targets.
Since she waited, glaring at him, Joe assumed she was ready for him to try again. So he did.
She shook her head. “That’s still not right.” At his annoyed look she threw up her hands. “This is impossible! You’re not going to get it. You’re not him!”
Enough.
Joe got right in her face. She blinked, but to her credit, she didn’t back off.
“You know what, you’re right, I’m not him.” He grappled to regain some kind of hold on his temper. “What I need is for you to teach me what I need to know, not dog out my every attempt.”
She held her ground, her arrogant little chin jutting out even further. “You know what? I think we need a break.”
He straightened, shook his head. “Oh yeah. That’s what we need. We’ve just gotten started and already we need a break. At this rate all those agents will be dead and we won’t even need to go through with this operation anyway.”
Her mouth opened and the harsh intake of breath told him he’d hit his mark way before the hurt glimmering in her eyes told the tale. “Someone else is dead?”
Dammit. He hadn’t meant to tell her about that. Calder had instructed him to keep quiet about the latest hit for fear she would be so shaken she wouldn’t be able to continue with their work. Continue, hell, they hadn’t even started. Not really.
He booted her words from the other night out of his head. He couldn’t keep going over that like a repeating blog. She’d admitted, when she thought he was asleep, that he affected her and her words had affected him. Even half-comatose he’d felt a surge of want deep in his gut.
Maybe it was just the fact that he’d despised Maddox that made him want her. Then again, the truth was, he hadn’t known Maddox that well. Maybe he’d despised Maddox because he had the girl Joe wanted.
And he wouldn’t have ever known if it hadn’t been for that one night.
That night had changed everything.
“Answer me, Hennessey,” she demanded. “Who is dead?”
His hope that being on a first-name basis might bring a unity and informality to their work had bombed big time.
“Agent Motley. You may not remember him—”
“I remember him,” she interrupted. “He was the first transformation.”
She looked ready to crumple but somehow she didn’t. Instead she looked at him with hellfire in her eyes. “What about his family?”
Joe hated even worse to tell her this part. “His wife was murdered as well. But his daughter was away with friends so she’s okay.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “She isn’t okay, Hennessey. She won’t ever be okay again. Her parents were murdered and she’s alone.”
Neither of them moved for five seconds that turned into ten. He couldn’t help wondering if the person Elizabeth was really talking about was her. She was alone…basically. Her father, retired Colonel Cameron, had died years ago, but her mother was still alive, at least in body. Alzheimer’s had made an invalid of her and she no longer recognized her own daughter. She lived in a home especially for Alzheimer’s patients. Maddox had been Elizabeth’s only viable emotional attachment.
Was that why she had such trouble dealing with this operation?
“She won’t be alone, Elizabeth,” Joe said softly. He resisted the urge to move closer, to comfort her with his touch. “She has aunts, uncles and cousins. It won’t be the same but she won’t be alone.”
Elizabeth wet her lips. He saw her lower one tremble just a little. “That’s good.” She nodded. “I’m glad she has a support system.”
The way you didn’t? he wanted to ask.
“Who are we really talking about here, Elizabeth? You or Agent Motley’s daughter?”
Fury flashed across her face. “I don’t know what you mean, Agent Hennessey. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I think you haven’t gotten over losing Maddox.”
Judging by the horror in her eyes, completely deflating her anger, he’d royally screwed up by making that comment.
“This isn’t a counseling session, Agent Hennessey,” she returned coolly, too coolly. “I don’t need your conclusions on my relationships.”
“Relationship,” he corrected, asking for more trouble.
She glowered at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. Hell, he was in over his head now, might as well say the rest. “Relationship,” he repeated. “From what I can tell that’s the only long-term commitment you’ve been involved in. Before or since.”
Her hands settled on her hips, drawing his reluctant attention to the way her jeans molded to her soft curves. Damn, he was doomed.
“Who gave you permission to look into my background? Especially my personal life?” she demanded, her tone stone cold now. She was fighting mad.
“I’ve been watching you for weeks, Elizabeth,” he said, purposely saying her name the way he’d heard Maddox say it on the few times they’d met. “It was part of my job. Get to know your routine. Get to know you. Find out who you talked to. Where you went. What you ate. Who you slept with.”
She staggered back a couple of steps. “You’ve been watching me?”
The question came out as if the reality of what he’d been saying had only just penetrated.
“That’s right. I’ve watched every move you’ve made for weeks,” he replied, stoking the flames with pure fuel.
Her eyes rounded. “I haven’t slept with anyone since…” Her words trailed off and something achy and damaged flickered in her eyes. Something he couldn’t quite name and never wanted to see again.
“Since Maddox,” he finished for her. And then he turned away, unable to look at the emotional wreckage he’d caused. It hadn’t been necessary for him to push that hard. He could have stopped this before it went anywhere near this far.
“Try again.”
What the hell?
He turned back to her and she stood, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him. “What?”
“I said,” she hurled the words at him, “try again. People are dying. You have to get this right.”
Something shifted inside him then, made him wish he could turn back time and do those last few minutes over. He hadn’t meant to hurt her but he had. But she was too strong, too determined to let him win without a fight.
Dr. Elizabeth Cameron was no coward.
Just something else to admire about her.
ELIZABETH AWAKENED that night from a frightful nightmare. David had been calling to her, begging her for help and she couldn’t reach him. No matter how she’d tried he just appeared to draw farther and farther away.
She tried to get her bearings now. It was completely da
rk. Not home. The safe house. Joe Hennessey.
A breath whooshed out of her lungs and she relaxed marginally. The dream must have awakened her.
A soft rap sounded from her door and she bolted upright. A dozen probable reasons, all bad, for her being awakened in the middle of the night crashed one by one through her mind. She felt for her glasses on the bedside table. “Yes?”
“Dr. Cameron, this is Agent Stark. We may have a problem.”
Elizabeth was out of the bed before the man finished his statement. She dragged on her robe and rushed to the door without bothering with a light.
“What’s wrong?” The hall was empty save for Agent Stark. A table lamp some ten feet away back-lit the tall man and his requisite black suit.
“I’m not sure there’s a real problem, but Agent Hennessey has requested that we bring in something for stomach cramps. Agent Dawson insisted I check with you first.”
Stomach cramps? Worry washed over her. “I’ll need my bag.”
Stark nodded. “I’ll wait for you at Agent Hennessey’s room.”
Elizabeth flipped on the overhead light and rushed around the room until she determined where she’d left her bag last. She never had this problem at home. But here, with him, she felt perpetually out of sorts.
By the time she was in the hall she could hear Hennessey growling at his fellow agent.
“I don’t need the doc, Stark. I need something for—”
“Thank you, Agent Stark,” Elizabeth said by way of dismissal when she barged, without knocking, into the room. “I’ll let you know if we need anything.”
Judging by Hennessey’s bedcovers he’d been writhing in discomfort for some time. “Why didn’t you let me know you needed me?” she demanded of her insubordinate patient.
“I don’t need a doctor,” he grumped as he sat up. One hand remained fastened against his gut. “What I need is Maalox or Pepto. Something for a stomachache. Apparently dinner disagreed with me.”
Before Elizabeth could fathom his intent he stood, allowing the sheet to fall haphazardly where it would, mostly around his ankles, and leaving him clothed in nothing more than a wrinkled pair of boxers. She looked away but not soon enough. The image of strong, muscled legs and a lean, ribbed waist was already permanently and indelibly imprinted upon at least a dozen brain cells.
“Oh, man.” He bent forward slightly in pain.
Elizabeth tried to reconcile the man who refused the proper dose of pain medication with one who couldn’t tolerate a few stomach cramps without demanding a remedy.
“Are you sure it was something you ate?” Less than a week had passed since his surgery, there were a number of problems that could crop up. Before he could answer, she added, “Let’s have a look.”
“Come on, Doc, this isn’t necessary,” he grumbled.
She held up a hand. “Sit, Agent Hennessey.”
With a mighty exhale he collapsed back onto the bed. She didn’t really need to see the rest of his face. His eyes said it all. He had no patience for this sort of thing.
When she’d tucked the thermometer into his mouth, she moved to the door and asked Agent Stark to send for an over-the-counter tonic for stomach cramps. He hadn’t mentioned any other issues that generally went hand-in-hand with cramps, but she didn’t see any reason to take the risk. The medication she requested would cover either or both symptoms.
Hennessey sat on the edge of the bed, the thermometer protruding from his lips, and he looked exactly like a petulant child with an amazingly grown-up body. And a layer of gauze concealing the majority of his face.
She thought of the agent who’d died in the past twenty-four hours and she prayed that her efforts wouldn’t be too little too late. She’d taken an oath to save lives. Had her support of the CIA helped or hurt? She had thought her work would save them from this very fate and now it seemed those she had helped were on a list marked for death.
How could that be?
It didn’t make sense.
“Normal,” she commented aloud after reading the thermometer. She set the old-fashioned instrument on the bedside table next to her bag. “Any other symptoms.”
“No.” He groaned. “At least not yet.”
“Let me have a look at your face.” She’d changed his bandages this morning and all had looked well enough. Still some redness and swelling, but that was perfectly normal.
“My face isn’t the problem.” He pushed her hands away. “It’s my gut.”
Worry gnawing at her, she reached into her bag and removed her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. She saw no reason to take chances.
Hennessey swore but she ignored him. BP was only slightly elevated. The thrashing around in the bed and any sort of pain could be responsible for that.
She listened to his heart and lungs. Nothing out of the ordinary. His heart sounded strong and steady.
As she put the cuff and stethoscope away he said, “I told you I was fine.”
“Yes, you did,” she agreed. “But I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t double-check.”
He made a sound that loudly telegraphed his doubt of her motives. “You probably just wanted an excuse to see me in my shorts,” he said glibly.
Elizabeth tamped down her first response of annoyance and thought about that remark for a moment. Deciding he wasn’t the only one who could throw curves, she sat down beside him. Tension went through him instantly, stiffening his shoulders and making the muscle in his jaw flex.
“Actually, Agent Hennessey, I’ve already seen most of you the day of surgery.” She produced a smile at his narrowed gaze. “Sometimes when they shift a patient from the surgical gurney sheets drop and gowns get shoved up around waists.” As true as her statement was, it hadn’t happened with him but he didn’t have to know that. “But don’t worry,” she assured him, “the only person who laughed was the nurse, but don’t tell her I told you.”
Elizabeth would have given anything to see his face just then. If the red rushing up his neck was any indication, his whole face was most likely beet-red.
She couldn’t torture him too long. He did have a problem. “I’m kidding, Hennessey.”
He moved his head slowly from side to side but didn’t look at her. “Very good, Doc, you might get the hang of this after all.”
Feeling guilty for her bad joke, she urged him back into bed and tucked the sheet properly around him. Minutes later Stark arrived with the medication. Elizabeth thanked him and gave Hennessey the proper dose.
She settled into the chair near the bedside table and waited to see if the medication would work.
“You should get some sleep, Doc,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “If I need any more I can handle it.” He gestured to the bottle she’d left on the table next to her bag.
“That’s all right, Hennessey. You’re my patient. I think I’d be more comfortable keeping an eye on you for a while.”
Resigned to his fate, he heaved a put-upon sigh and closed his eyes.
Elizabeth glanced at the clock—two-thirty. She should go back to bed, but she doubted she would sleep now. Not after that awful dream and not with Hennessey uncomfortable.
She watched him try to lay still, his hand on his stomach and she wished there was a way to make the medicine work faster, but there wasn’t. It would take ten to twenty minutes. She thought about what they’d eaten for dinner and wondered why she wasn’t sick. Then again maybe she would be before the night was through.
As if the thought had somehow stirred some part of her that had still been sleeping, her stomach clenched painfully then roiled threateningly.
She recognized the warning immediately and reached for the bottle to down a dose.
“You, too?”
Her gaze met Hennessey’s as she twisted the cap back onto the bottle. “Guess so.” She grimaced, as much from the yucky taste as from another knot of discomfort.
A light knock on the door and Stark stuck his head inside. “Any chance I could get some of t
hat?”
Before the night was finished all three agents on duty had come in for medication.
At dawn Joe lay on his side watching Elizabeth sleep in the chair not three feet from his bed. She looked more beautiful than any woman had a right to. Her long hair lay against the crisp white of her robe. And those lips, well, they were pretty damned sweet, too. He would give anything right now to taste her. He would lay odds that she tasted hot and fiery, just like her spirit.
Oh, she tempered the fiery side with that cool, calm facade, but he could feel the hellion breathing flames beneath that ultracontrolled exterior.
His gaze traveled over her chest and down to her hips and then to the shapely legs curled beneath her. She worked so hard at everything she allowed herself to do. He wondered if she would work half as hard to be happy.
This was one lady who didn’t fully understand the meaning of the word. He’d read what was available on her childhood. Nice family. Moved around a lot since her father had been military, but there didn’t appear to be any deep, dark secrets. What had made Elizabeth Cameron so hard on herself? So determined not to fail when it came to helping others?
That was the sole reason, in Joe’s estimation, that put her out of the suspect pool. No way would she do anything to endanger another human being. She simply wasn’t wired that way. No amount of money—if money were even an issue for her—would entice her. He understood that completely.
Maddox was dead and Calder and Allen were directors. Joe had been filled in when he was selected for the assignment. Who else could have accessed those files?
Three months ago when he’d had to step in long enough to save this pretty lady’s skin, someone had broken into her clinic. Had that been the beginning? Were the files the target then? Or had the whole exercise been about casting suspicion in a different direction?
There was no way to know. All he’d had was Maddox’s urgent request for backup. Maddox claimed he’d stumbled onto a plan to go after the files of Dr. Elizabeth Cameron. Someone had evidently connected her to the CIA. Of course she had no files related to the Agency.