“I’m turning over a new leaf. It’s nice guys for me from now on.” She hadn’t expected the sorrow that flitted over his features for a second. Was it something she’d said? Or a memory of something lost? There were many things about this man she’d like to know, but more than anything, she wanted to remove that sadness from his face.
Impetuously, she leaned toward him. “Still interested in that kiss?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
She inched closer until her shoulder brushed his chest, then raised her lips to meet his in what she intended to be a warm, but brief, closed-mouth kiss. He apparently had other ideas. His hand wound through her hair, holding her head so she couldn’t retreat. His tongue swept the edges of her mouth and gently coaxed her lips open, slipping through tentatively at first, then pulling back, letting her get used to him. With tender ministrations, he caressed her with his tongue and lips, until she was sure her soul lay bare before him. No one had ever kissed her like that. No one had ever possessed her this completely . . . and she didn’t want it to end.
But it would. There’d be no long-term relationship between them. He’d said it plainly. But not even that was enough to make her walk away. She was an adult. She understood the rules. If she chose to play this game, it would be up to her to safeguard her heart.
A glimmer of caution caused her to pull back slightly, but he caught her waist and deepened the kiss until Mac melted against him. He pushed her hair back, a luscious grin taking her breath away just before he kissed her one more time.
He caressed her throat as his gaze met hers, the bit of sadness turning his expression serious. “I’m not the nice guy you’re looking for, Mac.”
She drew back, and her gaze narrowed on him. There it was—just in case she didn’t hear him right the first time. I want you, Mac. We’d be good together, Mac. Just don’t expect forever, Mac.
She should have been angry, but she didn’t have the energy. It was easier to blame herself for stepping off a cliff when she’d already known how far it was to the bottom. Didn’t she just decide she was an adult? That she knew the rules? What a load of sentimental crap! And what was wrong with her anyway—falling for a guy she’d known for all of two days?
Mac inhaled deeply and smiled, echoing his sadness. “I think you’re wrong about that, Brady . . . but I understood you the first time around.”
His brow furrowed, and uncertainty clouded his eyes. “Mac—”
Nick hurried toward them. “If you two are done gettin’ better acquainted, we’re about to have some company.” He nodded toward the sky to the north and stepped over Mac’s legs to grab their bags.
Brady scrambled to his feet. Mac shaded her eyes and squinted, trying to locate the source of the men’s concern as Brady pulled her to her feet. That’s when she saw it. A small jet approaching, just above the treetops and in a big hurry. She stumbled as Brady gripped her arm and pulled her toward one of the outbuildings. Beside the chopper, Nick was trying to convince Maria to leave the cargo bay and follow him. She was shaking her head, her hands planted firmly on her hips. As Mac and Brady reached the shed and pushed inside, Nick grabbed Maria’s legs, draped her over his shoulder, and dashed after them.
They took cover in the shed as the jet flew over, low and fast.
“Put me down, you big jerk.” Red-faced and livid, Maria landed on her feet, stumbled, and glared at Nick. “Don’t ever . . . how dare you—” She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, what’s the use? No se puede esperar modales de un hombre de las cavernas!”
If her high school Spanish was any good, Mac agreed with Maria’s sentiment. Nick had acted like a caveman . . . but it was for a good reason, and she would try to convince her of that as soon as Mac figured out what the heck was going on.
She ducked involuntarily as the jet flew over again. Brady peered through a small window in the door, and when the noise of the plane’s engines faded once more, he turned toward Nick, and the two men exchanged a nod.
“Okay . . . talk! What the hell’s going on?” Mac looked back and forth between the men.
“We’re getting out of here.” Brady stood by the door, ready to jerk it open.
“But . . . they’ll be back.” Mac stood where she was. She wasn’t going a step farther unless they let her in on the plan.
A warning flashed in Brady’s eyes, and for a moment, Mac could see him picking her up and carrying her, kicking and screaming, to the helicopter.
An instant later, he seemed to relax, and amusement stole slowly across his features. “Can we at least move out while we’re talking?”
For a heartbeat, everyone stood still, waiting for her answer.
Brady broke the impasse by opening the door. “The occupants of that plane can’t hurt us. They can’t land anywhere around here. The only thing they can do is call in another chopper or a ground assault team. Hopefully, we’ll be out of here before they arrive.” He leaned his head against the door.
Nick and Maria pushed through the doorway and jogged toward the helicopter.
Mac watched until they were out of sight, then strode to within a foot of Brady. “So, we’re just going to take off? Just like that? What if they shoot us down?”
Brady grinned smugly. “They can’t.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“They just made two passes over a Blackhawk with its engines running, ready to take off, and they didn’t fire a shot.” He reached for her hand.
“And that’s proof that they can’t?”
He closed his hand over hers and tugged her closer. “It is where I come from, sugar.”
Well, that was simply ridiculous, but somehow, with his warm hand around hers and his sea green eyes holding her gaze confidently, it was a foregone conclusion—she was putting her life in his hands . . . again.
She snorted and stepped through the opening ahead of him. As they ran side by side toward the helicopter, Mac stopped suddenly.
He paused a couple strides ahead and turned to peruse her curiously.
“What’s to stop them from following us?”
Brady’s crooked grin drew her in. “That’s the best part. If they want to play, we’ve got the toys.” He pointed at the Blackhawk. “Machine gun mounted in the cargo bay. I think we can discourage them, but if not . . . I’ll do whatever it takes.” When she didn’t respond, he turned and continued to the helicopter.
Mac watched him walk away. Was he willing to kill again to keep her and Maria safe? Or was he simply a killer? Is that what he was trying to warn her about? The panic growing in the pit of her stomach wasn’t about him. How many people had she killed since this nightmare began? Aside from a few twinges of guilt and horror after wounding the trooper in the alley, she hadn’t had any big attacks of conscience. Eight men died in that chopper, and she hadn’t given them a second thought. My God. Am I as cold and jaded as Brady?
“Mac.” He motioned to her from the helipad, concern drawing his brows together.
She hurried toward him, and he helped her into the cargo bay. Maria already sat, her back to the cockpit. Mac took a seat beside her. Nick exchanged a few words with Brady before returning to the controls.
Brady pulled himself into the cargo bay, wincing and swearing when his wounded hand slipped off the bay door and collided with a metal ammunition box. His face paled, and he clutched a nearby seatback as the Blackhawk lifted off and turned south. After a few minutes, he slid into the movable seat attached to the machine gun assembly that appeared to hang in midair, protruding out the open door. He was quiet, tense, and that muscle flexed in his jaw. Was that a tell? Did that give away how much pain Brady was in? She was seconds away from going to him when the jet appeared from nowhere and raced by less than thirty feet off the port side, jostling the chopper in its jet wash.
Brady retrieved a pair of headphones that were hanging on the machine gun armament, pulled them over his ears, and positioned an attached speaker near the corner of his mouth. He inserte
d himself into the seat behind the weapon with his legs braced on either side. To Mac, it appeared that the only thing holding him in the craft was his braced legs and his grip on the gun. She swallowed a giant lump in her throat.
“Okay, Nick. Red-con-one. Let’s get some. Line up the hostiles for me.” Practically yelling into the speaker to be heard above the noise of the craft, Brady seemed at home in this environment—confident and ready. He glanced at her and winked.
Warmth filled Mac at his stupid gesture. A heartbeat later, Nick must have cracked a joke laced with testosterone because rough and bawdy laughter erupted from Brady.
Her white knuckles stared back at her from the armrests of her chair, which her hands clenched so tightly her fingers ached. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Maria gripped her wrist. “Don’t worry, Mac. I think these two know what they’re doing . . . even if they are idiots.”
Mac snorted a laugh and squeezed Maria’s hand. She liked this woman more and more. It was clear why Paddy had been attracted to her. She was beautiful, for one, but also caring and loyal. Mac had to grit her teeth to keep the grief for what they’d all lost from sucking her down.
The helicopter veered abruptly to starboard and slowed until it hovered in place. Suddenly, the jet was visible again, rushing straight at the open cargo bay from a couple hundred feet away. Evidently, the pilot got a good look at the big barrel of the machine gun staring him in the face because in the next instant, he also turned sharply to starboard.
“We’re goin’ hot.” Brady held the gun with both hands and peered through the scope at eye level. “Got a little precision-guided whoop-ass for ya, boys!” He opened fire, and the spray of lead drew a perfect line across the port side of the jet plane.
They turned sharply until all Mac could see was their tail section as they faded in the distance, leaving a trail of smoke that hadn’t been there before. Only time would tell if that would be enough to convince them that pursuing the Blackhawk wasn’t advisable, but Brady smiled at her like the victor he was.
As though his sparkling eyes and the seldom-seen dimple in his cheek were only for her, Mac’s heart beat an erratic pattern that left her short of breath. She stood and slowly made her way across the bay to where he was extricating himself from the gunner’s seat. When he turned to her, she slid her arms around his waist and leaned back to look in his face.
But one glimpse of his eyes and there was no mistaking the fact that something was wrong. She’d erroneously judged the glaze there to be a sparkle, and the dimple apparently emerged because he was clenching his jaw so tightly. Whether due to pain or something else, Mac couldn’t ascertain, but she didn’t like the thin sheen of sweat that coated his face.
She rose on her tiptoes to brush his lips with hers and stepped back with something that felt like a rock on her chest. He was burning up.
“Brady, what’s wrong?” She tried to use her dispatcher’s voice, but even then, it was heavily laced with concern.
“We sent them home with their tails between their legs. The jet sustained severe enough damage to require their immediate landing, but they’ll be okay if they don’t dawdle. You’re safe. Whatever the hell that was, your part in it is over. What could be wrong?” He feathered the hair back from her temple.
“You know that’s not what I meant. You’ve got a fever. Are you sick?”
He glanced over her head toward Maria, then met Mac’s gaze again. “Don’t panic.” Gripping her hand in his, he backed toward a row of seats aft. “My body’s just fighting an infection.” He sat and drew her down beside him.
“Infection? You mean your hand? It can’t be infected already.”
“Yes—it can. I’ve seen wicked infections set in within two or three hours. Granted, that was mostly in steamy, bug-infested jungles, but you have to trust me on this.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he squeezed her fingers and claimed her attention.
“I’ve had some experience with this before, Mac. I know my body. I just need to rest, push fluids . . . and take antibiotics as soon as Nick gets us to a hospital.”
She tried to pull her hand from his, the need to help foremost in her mind. “Hospital? I’ll tell Nick. There’s one in Ketchikan.”
“Whoa. Hold on. I already talked to Nick before we lifted off. We’re way past Ketchikan. We’re in British Columbia, heading for Prince George.”
“That’s over five hundred miles away.”
“Three and a half hours. Piece of cake. Now stop worrying . . . although I think I could get used to you worryin’ about me, sugar.” A crooked grin settled into place, but he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.
Mac tried to calm her nerves as she settled into the seat beside his. Thoughts were swirling at Mach nine in her head, and she tapped one foot, annoyed with herself for not paying closer attention. In hindsight, the signs of his ailment were glaring. He hadn’t been the same silent, sure-footed SEAL coming off the slope as he’d been the first night they’d met. His skin had been damp with perspiration by the time they reached the helipad. She’d chalked it up to being in a hurry to make contact with the chopper pilot before he took off without them, but in reality, they’d taken half as long coming down the slope as they had going up. Add in the extra burden of his wound, and she hadn’t considered it out of the ordinary. Why? Was she so focused on herself and what she was going through?
It was hard to even remember the person she’d been two days ago when Paddy was still alive, but she’d never considered herself shallow or selfish. For sure, Paddy would have told her if she was. He would never have put up with her copping an attitude . . . and she wasn’t going to start now.
“I’ll get you some water. Do you need more Advil? Are you hungry?”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Water would be good, thank you . . . yes, please, on the Advil . . . and no, thank you. I couldn’t eat a bite.”
She started to stand, but he caught her arm. “Maria doesn’t need to know.”
Mac stared at his closed eyes. “She’s stronger than you think.”
“I know how strong she is, but she’s got enough to worry about right now.”
She was glad his eyes were closed and he couldn’t see the embarrassment that surely flooded her cheeks. Even sick and in pain, his concern was for those around him. He was so different from any man she’d ever known, and damned if she didn’t want to know what made him tick.
“I’ll be right back.” She scooted from the seat and crossed the open cargo bay, beginning to get a feel for the movement and vibration of the chopper. Brady’s duffel yielded one last bottle of water. Maria, apparently anticipating Brady’s need, had the pills ready to go.
“He’s sick, isn’t he?” Maria stared at Mac, and there was no way she could lie to her.
“He thinks the wound’s infected.”
Maria nodded her head like she’d expected as much. “There’s a trunk in the back—it says FIRST AID. Maybe you’ll find something useful. Do you want me to help?”
Mac touched her shoulder. “Thanks, Maria, but I’ve got it.” She spoke with way more confidence than she felt.
She took the water and Advil to Brady, then headed to the trunk. Inside was more water—good to know—blankets, a portable defibrillator, bandages of all sizes and shapes, and antibiotic cream. Mac grabbed a blanket and a tube of cream and closed the lid.
Returning to sit beside him, she shook the folds from the blanket. “Maybe you should stretch out on the floor. I’ll find something to use for a pillow.” His eyes were still closed, and for a moment she was afraid she’d awakened him.
His eyelids opened slowly, and he ran both hands over his face, heaving a long breath. “The floor’s not a bad idea.” He hoisted himself from the seat and knelt, his uninjured hand gripping her knee. “Stay with me?”
He was so totally serious that, for an awkward moment, Mac could almost imagine he was asking for something more long-term than sitting with him until he fe
ll asleep. Of course, that was utterly ridiculous, and she quickly shook off the sense of finally coming home that threatened to waylay her.
She couldn’t meet his gaze, allowing hers to linger only on his wonderfully soft and talented lips. “Did you take your pills?”
He nodded, then leaned forward, bracing his weight on his strong arms until he lowered his body to the floor with ease and control. Mac covered him with the blanket, then hastened back to the trunk for another that would have to suffice for a pillow. She rolled the blanket and tucked it under his raised head.
“I found antibiotic cream too. Shall we put some on?”
He held up his hand and studied it. An amused wink caught her off guard. “Tempting offer, sugar, but it feels okay right now. It’s wrapped up all pretty, thanks to you. Can we do it later?” Brady reminded her of a small boy trying to wheedle his way out of bedtime.
“Later it is.” She had trouble keeping a straight face.
“Now, will you answer my question?” His brow shot up.
“I . . . uh . . . I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“Well, what good is that? I can take care of myself while I’m awake. It’s after I’m asleep that I need someone to watch my back.” His sleepy smile was subdued, but clearly he enjoyed teasing her.
Her eyebrows raised in mock outrage. Then she shrugged. “How about if I sit with you after you fall asleep as long as you don’t snore?”
“Perfect. SEALs don’t snore.”
He uttered the words so solemnly, Mac choked on the laughter that rose in her throat. “That’s impossible. How could they train you not to snore?”
“I don’t know. Might have been hypnosis. Might have just been plain old necessity. However they did it, they probably saved my life a hundred times over.”
Mac narrowed her gaze. His claim sounded an awful lot like bullshit, but the seriousness of his expression had her second-guessing herself. Finally, she abandoned her quest for the truth and rolled her eyes. “Just go to sleep, already.”
Tempt the Night Page 14