The Bride's Protector

by Gayle Wilson

Hawk took a breath in relief. He didn’t know why he had been so concerned. Maybe because he didn’t have much experience with illness or injury. Other than his own infrequent ones—and those he usually ignored.

  “Something better,” he said, holding the brown plastic prescription bottle up to show her. “Pain pills.”

  She pushed up, propping herself on the elbow of her uninjured arm, but her movements were careful. There had been enough time, Hawk knew, for swelling and soreness to set in. Any movement probably hurt like hell.

  He walked to the side of the bed, opening the bottle and rolling two of the big capsules into his hand. He held them out to her. She looked up at his face, eyes searching it quickly before they fell to the medicine.

  She didn’t reach for the capsules for a moment, and when she did, she used her left hand. Her fingers trembled slightly when she picked them off his outstretched palm, but he was relieved to see her use the arm at all.

  “Could I have some water, please?” she asked softly.

  He nodded and headed to the bathroom. He remembered swallowing the pills dry, as large as they were. Reaching for them in the middle of the night, hand trembling as hers had done, when the pain had gotten too bad to endure.

  By the time he got back with the water, she had managed to sit up, shoulders propped against the pillows she’d stacked together against the headboard. However, her head was back and her eyes were again closed.

  In the low light from the bedside lamp, Hawk could see the tracery of blue veins in the thin, nearly transparent skin of her eyelids, and even the small network of lines around them. He had never noticed those before, and they, too, made her seem vulnerable. More...real, somehow. No longer like the images he’d seen on the computer screen, but just a woman, like any other woman he’d ever known.

  “Tyler,” he said, offering the glass.

  Her eyes opened immediately. She had been holding the capsules in her right hand, and she put them into her mouth before she reached for the water. She drank all of it, drank it as if she had been really thirsty.

  Fever? Hawk wondered again, resisting the urge to put his fingers against her forehead to find out. That was another temptation it would be better to avoid.

  “Thank you,” she said, finally looking up at him.

  “I brought your suitcase up,” he said, without acknowledging her thanks. Belatedly, he was wondering if he should have given her two of the capsules. That was the prescribed dosage for him, for his weight. Not for her thin fragility.

  These pills had been pretty potent, he remembered. He had spent a lot of time sleeping during the weeks he’d been forced to take them. Of course, that sleep might simply have been another form of escape, and not so much the result of the medication.

  “Thanks,” she said again, her eyes were still on his face.

  She seemed to be waiting for whatever else he intended to say. Only, Hawk couldn’t think of anything else. All he could think of was how fragile she seemed. How damned vulnerable.

  “I should probably look at your arm,” he suggested.

  Her eyes widened slightly, again searching his. That had surprised her. And it made him examine his own motives. He had a vested interest in her health, he reminded himself. And since there was no one else around to take care of her...

  “You need some help getting your clothes off?” he asked.

  She was still watching his face. Slowly her lips tilted, and the surprise that had been in her eyes was replaced by amusement.

  “I think I’d be worried if that offer had come from anyone else,” she said. “Other than you,” she added softly. “Thanks, but I can still manage my own clothes.” She had cleared the amusement from her voice, but it lingered in her eyes. “But before you go, you could put my suitcase on the bed for me?”

  Hawk hadn’t thought about how his offer might be interpreted. He had been surprised by the quiet humor that had infused her response. Or by its implication. For a second, he had been at a loss about how to respond. But her request for the case seemed to make a response unnecessary. And it gave him an excuse to move. Away from her. Away from the charged atmosphere.

  Or maybe that was only in his head, he thought, as he walked to the foot of the bed and picked up the bag. Maybe there had been no other connotation in her words, and when he repeated them mentally, he couldn’t really find anything sexual. But he had felt it. It had been in her eyes.

  Still thinking about exactly what he had seen there, he set the suitcase down on the bed beside her. He unzipped it before he looked up. Her eyes were impassive now. Calm and ordinary.

  “Thank you,” she said again, smiling at him. There was no provocation in this smile. When he didn’t return it, after a moment her eyes fell and, one-handed, she began going through the clothing in the bag. She didn’t look up at him again.

  Hawk watched a few seconds longer, and then, realizing that he was doing it again, he turned and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him to give her some privacy.

  Chapter Seven

  When Hawk knocked on that same door almost thirty minutes later, he had managed a hot shower and had finally changed out of the clothes he’d been wearing for the last two days. Despite the cumulative effects of the lack of sleep, he felt better, more like himself. And more in control.

  Tyler gave him permission to enter, and when he did, he was relieved to find she was sitting up in the bed. The pillows were still stacked behind her, but this time she had folded the comforter down across the foot of the bed. The sheet had been pulled up to her waist.

  She was wearing a sleeveless nightgown, not, of course, the same one she’d been wearing this morning. That had been blue. He remembered he’d had a hell of a time keeping his eyes off the low neckline that edged just below the beginning swell of her breasts. This one was white, and the fabric seemed a little more substantial. At least he couldn’t see either the shape or the rose-tinged darkness of her nipples through it.

  When he realized what he’d been thinking, Hawk pulled his attention back to her face. Too damn pale. And she was cradling the injured arm again, the elbow resting once more in the steadying palm of her right hand.

  “Ready for me to take a look at that?” Hawk asked, gesturing toward her body with a lift of his chin. He could see that the wound was covered by a thick gauze pad, heavily stained with blood. It was dark, however, and not fresh. Which meant this was probably the same pad she had put over it before they left Mississippi this morning.

  She nodded, shifting her weight to make a place for him to sit on the bed beside her. That wasn’t what he’d intended, but he supposed it was natural in this situation. It would allow him to get close enough to examine the injury without making her move any more than was necessary. It would also put him close enough to examine a lot of other things, he thought. Too close for comfort. Finally, however, he eased down on the bed beside her.

  She raised her eyes to his, still trusting. Depending on him to take care of her. To take care of everything. Almost annoyed by that unquestioning trust. Hawk deliberately broke the contact by looking down at her arm.

  “It’s going to hurt like hell when I take this off,” he warned. He was touching the corner of the gauze pad, and his fingers looked very dark in contrast to its whiteness.

  “I know,” she said.

  “You want it quick or slow?” he asked.

  His mother used to ask him that when he was a kid. Back when she’d still been taking care of him and not the other way around. She had always asked that same question before she pulled off a bandage. Hawk always chose quick, but he was that kind. The “do what you have to do and I’ll deal with it” kind.

  He looked up from the stained gauze to find Tyler’s lips tilting again, their upward alignment subtle, almost a smile. And what he found in her eyes was what he had seen there before.

  Despite the harshness of his features, there was apparently something about him that women found intriguing. Hawk had seen this same unspoken invit
ation in a lot of eyes through the years. Had seen it too many times to be mistaken about what it meant.

  “Either way,” she said softly. “I don’t have a preference. Whichever way you want to do it is fine with me.”

  He wondered if that was supposed to be the double entendre his brain was suggesting. Even if it were, however, he had already made his decision about that. Not the time or the place. Not the woman. Definitely not the situation.

  He grasped the gauze he had touched so lightly before and jerked it off. The cloth ripped from the gash with a sound that was audible. As was her gasp of pain. When he looked up, she had locked those even white teeth into her bottom lip, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Sorry,” Hawk said, disgusted with himself. He had done that deliberately, and it had been nothing less than an act of cruelty, like kicking a kitten. He even knew why he had done it. Because he needed to destroy whatever image seemed to be building up in her mind about who and what he was.

  He was no Good Samaritan. Nobody’s white knight. She needed to figure that out, and maybe, he thought, she needed a little help doing it. When she had, there would be no more of the kind of invitation he had just read in her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Quick is better, I guess.”

  There was no anger in her voice. She didn’t seem to be blaming him for the pain he’d just inflicted. Maybe she hadn’t realized he was bastard enough to want to hurt her because he believed she was attracted to him. Or maybe, he thought, inherently honest, he had hurt her because she was a temptation he was having a hard time denying.

  Angry with himself even if she wasn’t, Hawk looked down at the wound. His lips flattened at what he saw. Because he’d ripped off the bandage, the slash was oozing blood again.

  The area around it was red and swollen. He put his fingers, gently this time, next to the damaged skin. They looked as out of place against the cream of her arm as they had touching the white gauze. He could feel the heat of infection beneath the smooth surface.

  “Did you wash this out with antiseptic?” he asked. He didn’t add, like I told you to, but it was implied. And she would know it.

  “I couldn’t find anything. I tried to clean it with soap and water, but apparently...”

  He didn’t look up. Instead, he pressed the swollen areas around the gash, using her breathing to gauge how sore it was. Her soft inhalations were uneven, sometimes sharply drawn, but none as obvious as the first gasp had been.

  “I brought some salve,” he said finally. The wound wasn’t too badly infected, he decided. More painful than dangerous. “That should help it heal. Maybe even help with the soreness.”

  Hawk opened the first-aid kit and took the antibiotic ointment out. He slipped his left hand under her arm, lifting and turning it toward him. Her skin was still cool, incredibly soft against the hardness of his fingers. He ignored the sensation and squeezed a thick thread of salve along the track the bullet had made. Then, with his right forefinger, he rubbed the ointment into the torn flesh. He became aware that she was holding her breath as he worked. It took him a couple of seconds to realize he’d been doing the same thing.

  “Almost through,” he said in reassurance, as he recapped the tube of salve and laid it back in the kit. Using his teeth, he tore the top off one of the cellophane envelopes that held sterile dressings and awkwardly removed a new piece of gauze. He laid the dressing over the gash, pressing it into the salve to make sure it would stay. Finally, he put a strip of adhesive tape across the top and bottom.

  “We’ll see how it looks in the morning.” He replaced the tape in the kit and turned back to find that she was looking down at his handiwork.

  “Boy Scouts?” she asked, her eyes lifting from the neat bandage to his. That same smile played around her lips again.

  “I was never a Boy Scout,” he said, holding her eyes. Another warning, if she was smart enough to take it

  “Military?” she suggested, apparently undaunted by his tone. Her eyes held, waiting for an answer. Almost demanding one.

  “The less you know about me, the better.”

  “You could tell me, but then you’d have to kill me. I saw that movie.” Her voice was rich with amusement, and the smile had widened.

  Playing games, Hawk thought, inexplicably angered by the fact that she could smile. Could still think this was all some big adventure. Despite the fact that she had a bullet wound in her arm. Despite the fact that some very ruthless people were trying to kill her so she wouldn’t be able to identify them. Despite the fact that she was being used by a government assassin trying to clear himself of a murder charge.

  She couldn’t know that, of course. She didn’t know anything about him, about who he was, and that was exactly the way Hawk intended to keep it.

  “I guess I owe you another thank-you,” she said. “The list of things I owe you for is getting pretty long.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. He closed the lid to the first-aid kit with a snap and stood up. The quicker he got out of here and let her get some rest, the better. The better for both of them. Of course, he still had a few things to take care of before he could allow himself to make up any lost sleep.

  “Why is that so hard for you?” she asked softly. His eyes, when he looked up, must have reflected his question because she added, clarifying, “Why is it so hard for you to accept thanks for what you do?”

  Because whatever I do is strictly motivated by self-interest. Hawk wondered what she would say if he told her that. “You better get some sleep,” he said instead. “The pain pills should help.”

  She held his eyes so that he was again forced to break the contact. He turned and walked back across the faded carpet to the door. She didn’t speak again until his hand was on the knob.

  “Marines?”

  He turned, slanting a look at her over his shoulder. From this distance, the effects of the last thirty-six hours weren’t that evident. She looked a lot like the bride who’d invaded his hotel suite. Almost too beautiful to be real.

  “A few good men,” she said. “I think that would probably appeal to you. I think it certainly fits.”

  There had been the slightest slur to her words. Apparently, the capsules he’d given her were taking effect. He’d check on her when he came back upstairs—before he chose one of the beds up here and passed out on it. She’d be asleep by then. That would be safer. A whole lot safer for both of them, he decided.

  A few good men. For some reason the phrase kept repeating in his consciousness as he went down the stairs, taking them two at a time despite his tiredness. But that was not something that applied to him, Hawk thought. He was not in that category. And he never had been.

  HAWK HAD CONSIDERED the wisdom of making this call a long time before he finally dialed the number. But an offer of help had been extended. At the time, Hawk had believed he’d never have to take advantage of it. He didn’t like being obligated to anybody. However, he needed information the newspapers hadn’t provided. He had read them all, sitting in Griff’s study as the summer darkness finally closed in.

  And there was really no reason not to call, he’d finally decided. The phone line from the summer house would be secure, and he knew that whatever line Jordan Cross was using would be secure as well. He would never have given him this number if it weren’t, Hawk thought, listening to the distant ringing.

  As soon as Cross answered, Hawk asked, without identifying himself, “Your offer still good?” He had decided on no preliminaries. He needed a couple of favors, and if Jordan had developed any qualms in the last twenty-four hours, Hawk wanted to know about them. He thought he’d be able to tell by Jordan’s first unguarded reaction. What Hawk heard, however, was only silence. It went on long enough to make him uncomfortable. Just before he decided to break the connection, Jordan spoke.

  “Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need. You know that.”

  This time the silence was on Hawk’s end as he tried t
o decide how sincere that agreement had been. But he really didn’t have all that many options, he told himself. There was no room in this situation for his stubborn pride, because his was not the only life at stake. If it had been, he acknowledged, he’d never have made this call. And, he admitted, that was another effect on this situation that Tyler had had. Because of her, Hawk could no longer afford to be a loner.

  “Just information,” he said finally.

  “Shoot.”

  “How’d you hear they had fingered me for New York?”

  “There was talk here. It appeared to be solid.”

  Here would mean within the CIA. “Someone on the team mention it?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact...” Jordan hesitated, maybe trying to remember. “A couple of people. There was speculation that it had something to do with what you’d done in Iraq.”

  “Who knew about Iraq?”

  “It didn’t take much to figure that out. I knew it had to be you as soon as the news broke. Most of the team would know. Most of the company would probably suspect we had something to do with the hit, given Gaff’s death and the guy’s reputation.”

  “And the one in New York?”

  “You showed up on the security tapes.”

  “Why would the company review those tapes?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe that came from outside. Whoever made you, it didn’t take long for the fact you had been in that hotel that morning to get around.”

  Any leaks within the agency—the “company” to insiders—were deliberate, just as they were in the rest of the government.

  “We figured that if you did it, al-Ahmad must have been involved in the Langley massacre. Maybe financial backing or something.”

  “He wasn’t involved,” Hawk said, his voice full of surety. He had gotten the man responsible for that. The one in Baghdad. The one who had given the orders. As far as he had been able to discover, there had been no one else in on the deal in any way.

  “Then maybe they just plan to use what happened in New York to bring you down. Then they won’t have to admit they were going to let Griff’s killer get away with it and were even going to punish the man who had decided he wasn’t.”