by Alex Lidell
“You. Shirt off,” she orders.
Cullen gives her a dark look. “Thanks, Addie, but I’m a one-woman kind of guy.” His hand slides dangerously to the inside of my thigh in an illustration that has Addie glaring.
“Let me put it another way,” she says, her voice honey sweet. “You let me see your shoulder, or I call Dr. Yarborough right now and just tell him what I think is happening inside. And then I’m calling all the Tridents with the diagnosis and giving them this address. In my professional estimation, that will have you in surgery by…” She glances at the alarm clock, where 11:26 is just shifting to the next minute, “two p.m. is my best guess.”
Cullen growls like an enraged German shepherd, but obediently unbuttons the shirt we’d just put on him, his smooth tattooed skin on delicious display once more. Tightening my thighs, because Cullen’s hard body is the last thing I need to be thinking about just now, I impertinently take the very wonton Cullen was deprived of and drudge back to our actual reason for coming here.
“We think yesterday’s fight was a setup,” I tell Cullen, drawing his attention away from where Addie is peering professionally at his shoulder. “The video sent to Addie was taken by one of the Denton Uncovered photographers using a damn good telephoto zoom lens. For Frank’s guy to be there at just the right time to get blackmail material is entirely too convenient.”
Addie blows out a short sigh. “Except Cullen wasn’t there when the problem started. Just guessing that it would be Cullen who’d happen to intervene is rather inefficient.”
I swallow. “I don’t think Jaden ever expected me to resist his orders. He only got physical when I refused to follow along with him and he lost his temper. His instructions could have been to maneuver me toward Cullen. Except he got carried away.”
Cullen’s eyes flash in fury, and he makes a visible effort to rein himself in, his chest expanding in deep even breaths.
“And the photographer?” asks Addie.
Cullen taps his good hand on his knee, wincing slightly as Addie probes the joint. “I’ve had a feeling that someone has been watching me the entire week at WorldROCK. I’d dismissed it as a…” He hesitates, and I suddenly know what he was going to say. Why is he afraid to say it?
“A flare-up of PTSD?” I finish for him, touching his knee when he nods. “It’s been bad lately?”
“The worst since I’ve returned.”
I wait for the instinctual wave of fear to hit me at Cullen’s admission, but nothing comes. I’m not afraid of him, I realize. PTSD or not, the man isn’t going to hurt me. Not now, not ever. I slide closer to him and feel some of the tension seep out of his rigid body as I press up against him. “Frank was just talking up your violent tendencies to me recently. And he has his photographer dog you on just the right week. It’s almost as if he somehow knew you’d be having a hard time.”
Cullen pulls away from Addie and turns to face me, his eyes intent on mine. “It does, doesn’t it? And it sounds a bit familiar. Sky. Remember I asked you about taking drugs during that Fleet Week incident?”
Seriously? Now? I pull back from Cullen, but his hand tightens on my knee, his head shaking. “Do you know why it was that specifically I asked about?”
I puff a bit of hair from my face. “Because you were looking at all possibilities of—”
“Because you tested positive for ecstasy.”
I freeze, feeling my eyes widen. I’ve never taken drugs. Ever.
“I had Liam dig into your file at the Post. They had you take a drug test, but they never shared the results with you. You had it in your system.”
A chill brushes over me. “I know how this sounds, Cullen, but I swear—”
“I believe you.” His eyes never waver from mine. “I imagine Jaden has something to do with that. But the fact that you had a drug in your system and didn’t know about it made me think that maybe I do as well. Or don’t, as the case may be.” He shifts his weight to look at Addie, whose hand on his shoulder now lies still, her face tight. “I’ll make you a deal, Therapist Peterson. You can call Yarborough and put him on notice, but he isn’t to sedate me and drag me into surgery the moment I walk into the ER. I’ll surrender voluntarily once I have this settled.”
Cullen and I enter the hospital two hours later, his muscles tightening as we step through the whooshing automatic doors. It’s a small motion, one I wouldn’t have noticed before—one I’m certain no one looking at his stoic features would ever guess—but that’s all too clear to me now. Sliding closer, I twine my fingers with his.
Instead of letting go, Cullen squeezes my hand, his grip tight.
“Addie said she extracted a promise,” I murmur under my breath.
Cullen gives me a dark look. “I’m sure she did. But I’m not sure you know Yarborough very well. He didn’t get the note that I own this fucking hospital.”
From another man, the words would sound conceited. Hell, when I first met Cullen, I would have taken them exactly the wrong way too. But I’m no longer the same woman who barged in on a traffic accident and made assumptions about a tattooed, too-beautiful medic. “I’ll ask Catherine to send him a memo,” I promise.
He snorts. “I’m not sure Catherine knows either.” Nodding briskly to the man at reception, Cullen uses his key card to open the ER door, unleashing the smell of disinfectant that always clings to medical offices. At the center of the large rectangular room, Michelle rises from behind the nurses station and frowns at the sling on Cullen’s left arm. I’m glad she’s here, because Cullen’s tight grip slackens by a marginal degree.
“How’s the baby?” Cullen asks.
Michelle brushes her hand over her no-longer bulging belly. “Started displaying his admirable lung capacity the moment we brought him home from the hospital. And thank you for the thoughtful gift, Cullen, though you really shouldn’t have.” Her voice softens, her hands fingering a heart-shaped silver locket around her neck, the baby’s name engraved on the outside. Tiffany’s Forever Love. Yeah. I was an idiot. Michelle shakes her head. “I’ll argue that point another time, however. What do you need?”
He draws a breath. “Blood work. On me. I need you to do it personally and mark it stat for the lab.”
Her face tightens, but instead of asking the question clearly running behind her intelligent eyes, she pulls a pair of gloves from a box and jerks her chin toward an empty treatment room. “What are we testing for?” she asks, pulling out a butterfly needle and stopping with her hand hovering above the tube choices.
“Draw the whole set, Michelle,” a man in a thigh-length white coat says from the entranceway. “I’ve already put in the order.”
“Of course, Dr. Yarborough,” Michelle says, her gaze cutting from the test tubes to where Cullen has seated himself on the treatment table. “It wasn’t me this time, Cullen. I promise.”
Saying nothing, Cullen offers his arm, wincing slightly as she taps the vein with expert precision. I wonder whether I should leave the room when she does, but Cullen motions for me to stay. “Addie called you. I imagine that blood work has pre-op orders already in the computer?”
“Would you have preferred to be stuck twice?” Yarborough retorts, utterly unfazed as he strides forward. Stopping about a foot away, he gives me a measuring glance before returning his attention to Cullen’s ruggedly perfect face. “I didn’t come to give you an I-told-you-so speech. I came to tell you to worry about your mission and to leave the shoulder worrying to me. I’m very good at what I do, son. You be good at what you do, all right?”
A muscle twitches alongside Cullen’s jaw, his posture managing to relax without moving. “Yes, sir.”
Yarborough nods and strides out of the treatment room.
Cullen snorts softly. “You know, sometimes I wonder if this place doesn’t have me under surveillance.”
I lean forward in my chair. “I’m guessing the surveillance here is more the word-of-mouth kind, but Cullen—speaking of surveillance, don’t you have a system set u
p at your house?”
“A security system, you mean?” He nods. “Of course I do. Liam’s people run it. Why?”
“Because if you’re right and someone altered your medication, wouldn’t they need to get into your house to do it?”
Pulling out his phone, Cullen starts dialing.
The Tridents arrive before the lab results do, Eli, Liam, and Kyan striding into the ER like an attack squad and scaring off the technicians. The men’s shrewd and calculating gazes assess everything they touch, from Cullen’s torn-up knuckles and slinged arm to the stiff set of his shoulders—the most Cullen shows in deference to the pain. Then their eyes turn on me, locking in trained unison. Hard, beautiful faces, all as open as stones.
Right. I don’t belong here, amidst the Tridents. A girl who’s never worn a uniform, who caused Cullen so much grief. One of the Tridents’ own is hurt, and they don’t want me here. When I walked into the hospital at Cullen’s side, I should have known I was just a placeholder.
Getting to my feet, I lay a course for the door, the space between Eli and Kyan looking like my best option. If I’m lucky and neither man moves, I can blade my body and be gone without touching them. Without meeting anyone’s eye.
“Reynolds.” Moving faster than anyone has a right to, Cullen hops off the exam table and bars my path, his wide chest blocking out the room. Mossy-green eyes meet mine, every line of his face focused on me with heart-stopping intensity. Reaching out with all the self-assurance in the world, Cullen brushes a lock of hair away from my face, his touch gentle but so very deliberate. My pulse stutters, my body caught between Cullen’s touch and the knowledge that three men who very likely want me gone are watching every move I make. Bros before hoes.
“It’s all right,” I whisper. “I’ll go. I understand.”
Cullen’s brow twitches, and, moving with that same patent precision, he lowers his face and seals his lips over mine.
I have one moment to breathe in Cullen’s fresh masculine scent before the full force of his mouth on mine sends blazes of heat streaking along every fiber of my body. His tongue plunders me in luscious, possessive strokes that turn my knees to Jell-O. I gasp against Cullen’s demanding mouth, the feeling of his strong hand braced against my shoulders grounding me even as my breasts and thighs waken to the touch. Holy freakin’ Zeus. If we don’t pull apart soon, I’m going to get wet right here in the middle of the exam room. Surely that can’t be what Cullen is after just now?
And then I understand.
My heart hammering against my ribs, I rise to his challenge. Wrapping my hand in the fabric of his shirt, I kiss him back just as fiercely as he’s taking me and let the Tridents’ burning gazes be damned.
I’m breathless by the time he pulls away, tucking me against his side as he pins his focus to each member of his former unit one by one. “Are we clear?” he asks.
Silence.
Then Eli raises his hand. “Actually, sir, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you demonstrate again?”
Kyan smacks his knuckles into Eli’s diaphragm, the former SEAL grunting at the impact. Still, when he straightens up, Eli’s eyes twinkle with welcome, and Kyan’s visage relaxes slightly as he gives me a nod. Liam, being Liam, gives no indication of having heard or seen anything, but the tension in the room shifts palpably.
“So what else is going on, mate?” Eli asks, grabbing one of the tourniquets the nurses use for blood draws and wrapping it around his fingers like a toy rubber band.
Before Cullen can answer, Michelle walks in and wordlessly hands Cullen his chart, her face giving nothing away.
“Lab results?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Cullen scans the numbers, his jaw tight as he swears under his breath. “The lab is certain.”
“I had them run it twice,” Michelle confirms. “When you’re ready, let me know who you want me to call.”
“You pregnant, Cullen?” asks Eli.
“I’ve no prazosin in my system. Not any.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Liam snarls, making Michelle purse her lips at him for raising his voice in a hospital. He doesn’t look repentant, though. He looks pissed off. Still, he must respect Michelle, because he does quiet down as she walks out of the room. “I take it you didn’t stop the regimen?”
Cullen’s eyes flash. He doesn’t miss his doses. He’s downright religious about consistency. “You can do a fucking pill count if you want,” he says. “I just got a refill about two weeks ago.”
“About the amount of time it would take to clear it from your system.” Liam’s face darkens. “So either there was a mix-up at the pharmacy, which is as damn likely as me learning the violin in my sleep, or someone came into your house and tampered with it.”
Without waiting for an answer, Liam yanks his phone from his pocket and hisses orders to someone on the other end of the line. “Get everyone into the damn office. Now. I’m on my way.”
“Who’s he talking to?” I ask.
“Whichever employee on duty is in charge at his company, probably,” Cullen tells me as Liam swishes out like a galloping stallion, barking more orders into his phone. “If someone got into my house, Rowen Security Services will have footage.”
Kyan, who has been so quiet I nearly forgot he was there, now pushes off the wall where he’d been lounging. “Sky. Tell me everything you know about this photographer. I want to go have a chat while we wait.” There’s something so dark and menacing in the way Kyan says chat that I step back involuntarily. Cullen’s friend or not, Kyan has killed people. They all have.
“It’s all right.” Cullen pulls me over to stand between his muscled thighs, his amused gaze caressing my face. “You’re not about to become an accessory to murder, I promise. Keasley is the most reserved of us when it comes to breaking noses.”
Color rises to my face at having been so easy to read. Though maybe it’s just Cullen’s observations, because Kyan’s face flashes with a hit of surprise at my words.
“Make you a deal,” Kyan says, his arms crossing a wide chest that strains his button-down shirt. “I won’t do anything to get anyone arrested, and you call Jaz. She’s worried crazy, and if she learns I saw you and didn’t call, it’s my nose that’s getting broken.”
39
Sky
“So what now?” I ask, after Kyan saunters out through the curtain, leaving me, Cullen, and Eli in the treatment room.
“Now we sit tight for a few hours,” says Cullen. “Give Liam and Kyan a chance to work while Yarborough gets on the phone with every doc known to man to work out how to best get my drug levels up. Since he fully intends to operate, he’s probably interrogating the anesthesia department just now.”
I don’t realize my hand is squeezing Cullen’s shoulder until he covers my fingers with his own. “I’ll be all right. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t much like the idea, but the thought of having both my hands fully available for the things I want to do to you is rather appealing just now.”
I do turn bright red at that, especially since Eli grunts in hidden amusement. “Mate, you’re so out of practice, you’ll need a compass and guidebook just to find south.”
It says a lot that Cullen only flips Eli off without ever taking his eyes off me. “I’ve got a good medical team here. And afterward, with Addie Peterson being the best physical therapist in Colorado, I’ll be back on track in no time.”
“Addie.” My eyes wide, my fingers now dig into Cullen’s muscles for a different reason altogether. “Frank sent the video of your fight to blackmail her into letting her house go into foreclosure.”
Cullen shakes his head. “I told her I’ll take care of her. And one way or another, I will. No one blackmails my friends.”
“Have you met Adrianna Peterson?” I put my hands on my hips and glare at Cullen. “Does she strike you like the kind of woman who was going to take your ‘don’t worry, I got it,’ and let it go? She surrendered that house to the bank this morning.”
“She what?” Culle
n is on his feet at once, though I have no idea where he thinks he’s going.
“Damn it, Addie. I’m calling the bank now and—”
“No, you’re not.” Eli stretches his back lazily. “Until we have Frank in a vise, let the bastard think he’s winning. Mason Pharmaceuticals is in the middle of a half dozen real estate deals right now, I’ll have some subcontractors tie the land up in an assessment. The house won’t go anywhere for a while, and we’ll deal with it on the back end.” Despite Eli’s easy tone, the experience and intelligence backing each word are so potent that even Cullen sits his ass right back on the table.
Leaving the men to discuss the details of property law, I wander out to get some food. On my way back, I stop by to greet Michelle, who is typing details from Cullen’s chart into a wheeled computer station instead of using the more comfortable seats that make the screen accessible to wandering eyes.
“Did your delivery go okay?” I ask.
“It did,” the copper-haired RN says as she shifts her braid behind her, smiling at me. “Baby Henry was my easiest birth yet. My first daughter took seven hours and had to be induced. My second daughter took two hours with no induction, but Henry basically flew out to us once he got off his tuchus and decided to be born. From the onset of contractions to birth, the little booger took one hour, one minute. My husband timed it.” Without changing her facial expression, Michelle solicitously slides her eyes toward the treatment room where Cullen and Eli are debating something in hushed tones. “Speaking of men, it’s a relief for quite a few of us that Cullen found you. Even with the meds and the shoulder, he’s more centered than I’ve seen him since he came back. I just hope he doesn’t do anything to mess it up for himself.”