by Cindy Dees
“Tell him his grandson is dying and I need his help. He’ll take my call.”
She wasn’t wrong. The billionaire’s gravelly voice came on the line in under a minute. “Who is this? And what’s this about Jeff dying?” he demanded.
“Agent Jennifer Blackfoot. Your grandson’s CIA debriefer. He’s in horrendous pain. Appears to be withdrawing from some sort of drug. We need to find out what it is and when he last had it.”
Strangely, Leland devolved into a bout of cursing fit to embarrass a sailor. Now why on earth would he react like that? Was this drug use an old problem of Jeff’s that had resurfaced, maybe?
In an effort to break the old man’s tirade, she interrupted. “Do you know someone with the initial G.? A friend or associate who might be supplying drugs to Jeff?”
Even more strangely, Leland abruptly went dead silent. So. He did know who G. was.
“Where’s my grandson?”
“I’m sorry, sir. That information is classified—”
“Classified, my ass!” he bellowed. “Tell me where my boy is!”
“I can’t, sir.”
“Agent Blackfoot. That’s your name, right? I’m about to roll a crap pile downhill onto your head like you’ve never seen before. Tell me where Jeff is, or I swear, I’ll bury you.”
She didn’t doubt for a second he could make good on his threat. Men like him didn’t have to bother with empty threats. She sighed. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to pull your strings, sir. I have rules to follow and it’s above my pay grade to deviate from them.”
Leland’s cursing grew so imaginative that, in spite of herself, she was a little impressed. She’d have to remember a few of his choicest phrases for the next time a Spec Ops guy stepped out of line and was due for a butt chewing from her.
He wound down soon enough, though. Into the heavy silence, she said merely, “And Mr. Winston?”
“What?” he snapped irritably.
“Hurry, sir.”
* * *
Time ceased to have any meaning for Jeff. He was aware only of varying degrees of pain. Once his formidable self-control cracked, there was no putting that genie back in the bottle. The pain had gotten the best of him and no amount of self-discipline could give him the upper hand again. His bones felt as if they were being bent by degrees in vises. Which, in a more lucid moment, he wryly noted wasn’t that far from the truth.
He’d known from the first that this outcome was a possibility. But he hadn’t counted on the ambush in Ethiopia, nor upon being captured and thrown in prison for months before anyone found out he was even alive, let alone freed him.
The next time Gemma Jones said something might become a little uncomfortable, he was going to run away from the woman as fast and as far as he could and never look back.
* * *
With daylight came an apparent lessening of Jeff’s pain. Jennifer offered him a glass of water with a straw to sip on. He’d been sweating like crazy for hours; he had to be badly dehydrated by now. She dozed in a chair beside his bed for a while, but woke immediately when he moaned. Her eyes popped open in alarm as she braced for the screaming to resume.
“What’re you doing here?” he rasped.
“You had a rough night. I was trying to help. Although there’s precious little I can do without knowing what you’ve been taking.”
He frowned like he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Your drug addiction,” she said impatiently. “I need to know what you were on so the doctors can tell me how to ease your symptoms.”
“Need my doc,” he muttered.
“Give me a full name and I’ll get him for you right now.”
Sharp intelligence abruptly shone from Jeff’s blue-on-blue gaze. “Not nice to take advantage of the sick guy.”
She frowned. “I’m not trying to trick you. I really need to know your supplier’s name. You might die if we don’t find out what you’re hooked on and help you come down off of it safely.”
He made a growling noise that might be a snort in a less torn-up throat. “Not. An addict.” His teeth clenched as a wave of pain clearly assaulted him. “Call Leland.”
“Stay with me, Jeff. I need more information.”
His eyes started to fog over. “You stay. With me. Please…”
Her heart broke a little at the entreaty in his voice. He sounded so utterly lonely. She lashed out in sudden, irrational anger. “Look at you. You’re a mess! You are an addict.”
“Got that wrong…” he gasped before his voice broke and the screaming began again.
* * *
It was midmorning when a motorboat pulled up at the dock visible from the house. Jeff was unconscious for the moment, and she happened to be in the kitchen pouring herself a cup of coffee when she spotted the boat. Thank God. She’d asked for the strongest pain killers and sedatives in H.O.T. Watch’s infirmary to be sent over here immediately.
She was startled to recognize the tall form jumping to the dock. What was Brady Hathaway doing here in person? She didn’t have long to wait to find out. He strode through the front door, a backpack slung over one shoulder, a few minutes later. He’d made good time up the mountain. She was gratified to seeing him huffing.
“What’s up, Jenn?” he demanded.
“I might ask the same of you.”
“Where’s the wild man?”
“Asleep right now. And for God’s sake, keep your voice down. At all cost we don’t want to wake him up.”
“Gonna have to if Rich Boy wants the painkillers and sedatives I’ve got in my bag.”
She leaped for the backpack eagerly.
“Whoa there, sister. You should use them as a bribe to get him to cooperate in your debriefing.”
She laughed without humor. “Trust me. He’s in no condition to answer questions.”
“What are you talking—”
Jeff chose that moment to wake up, which meant he let out a banshee wail that sent Brady a foot straight up into the air. She was too exhausted to appreciate the humor of it. His face showing minor shock, Brady handed over the backpack. She rummaged in it frantically, as if she was the addict herself.
Meanwhile, he detailed, “My Ethiopian contact got back to me just before I left to come see you. Interesting report. He swears they did nothing to your boy. A guard tried to rough him up the night he arrived at the prison and Rich Boy supposedly killed him. But there are glaring discrepancies in that story. For example, the guard was garroted, but no murder weapon was anywhere in the room when the police arrived. And the prisoner was still handcuffed by one wrist to the table.”
She demanded, “How do you strangle someone with a table dangling from your wrist?”
“Good question,” Brady replied. “Apparently, the prison guards wouldn’t get near him after that. His first day with the other prisoners, Winston beat the crap out of a bunch of them, then refused to come out of his cell again the whole time he was in jail. My guy is adamant that no one tortured him. Says your boy gradually went from crazy to really crazy. My contact sounded genuinely relieved to have gotten rid of him.”
She poured out a handful of pills. Given his body mass, she figured she’d start with double the recommended dosage of both the sedatives and painkillers and see what those did for Jeff. She headed down the hall and Brady followed curiously.
Jeff had gone completely rigid in his bed, his body unnaturally arched off the mattress and statue-still. She rushed forward. “Jeff! Are you all right?” She knew it was a stupid question. But it was the first thing that popped out of her mouth in her panic.
He managed to open his eyes and seemed to struggle to focus on her voice. She spoke encouragingly as she picked up his water glass. “I’ve got painkillers for you, Jeff. I need you to swallow them. Can you do that for me?”
His entire body trembled with the effort, but he lifted his head off his pillow.
Brady jumped forward to support Jeff’s shoulders while she fed the pills to her patient. He swa
llowed the last one convulsively and she caught herself sagging in relief.
Frowning, Brady eased Jeff back to the mattress. “Man. He’s really dense.”
“As in stupid to have done this to himself?”
“No. As in unnaturally heavy. The guy weighs a ton.”
“Look at his arms and shoulders. His whole body’s that muscular. Of course he’s heavy.”
Brady shook his head. “I’ve carried my fair share of injured Spec Ops guys across my back before. I know how much muscular, fit men weigh. And I’m telling you something’s weird about this guy. He’s really, really heavy.”
She recalled Jeff landing on her during the gunfight. And the way the golf cart had groaned under his weight. Maybe there was something to what Brady was saying. “Well, I can tell you he’s the strongest guy I’ve ever seen. He ripped the combination lock right off the side of the garage down by the airfield.”
Brady glanced down at her patient. “Who is this guy?”
She threw up her hands. “That’s what I’ve been asking. Now you know why I’ve been so hot and bothered for you guys to dig up everything on his past few years. How did he go from Ivy League, spoiled rich kid to this?”
She stared down at the man in the bed. Sympathy for his plight shuddered through her. No matter what transgressions lurked in his past, no human being deserved to suffer like this.
She and Brady spent the rest of the morning on their respective phones and computers, pushing their staffs mercilessly for any and every thing they could find on one Jefferson Winston.
A little new information was forthcoming. Jeff had apparently experienced some sort of political awakening after graduate school. He worked on the campaign staffs of several politicians who were generally social liberals and foreign policy conservatives.
He seemed to settle down after that and largely vanished from the jet-set partying scene for a few years. About a year ago he’d surfaced again, taking up his old lifestyle exactly where he’d left off. Except, of course, he’d obviously taken up body building in a big way during his prolonged absence.
A few of his acquaintances described him as less approachable after his return. Without exception, every close friend of Jeff’s either was unavailable to talk to H.O.T. Watch’s investigators or flatly refused to speak when asked even the simplest questions about him. Give the guy credit for having loyal friends.
Jeff was the CEO of one of the Winston Industries family of businesses. His firm, CompuWin, Inc. was a software applications development company. Which was a fancy way of saying they invented new stuff to do with computers. It was small, but prestigious, apparently.
An entire team of researchers at H.O.T. Watch worked on isolating what drug Jeff might have ingested. Jennifer was relieved to hear that no known steroid or combination of steroids was known to cause symptoms anything like the extreme pain Jeff was experiencing. Although it did raise the question of how he’d gotten all those massive muscles. Most of the experts thought he was having some sort of bizarre allergic reaction to the absence of his mystery drug.
Blessedly, the medications she’d given him seemed to take the edge off his pain and he slept quietly for a few hours. Jennifer experienced a profound relief that startled her. She knew better than to get personally involved with her prisoners. But darned if she didn’t feel a connection to Jeff and his suffering. She couldn’t help but admire his courage, even if the pain had ultimately gotten the better of him.
A boat arrived in the midafternoon to drop off a load of supplies that included clothes for her guest and a lot more food. Brady departed in that vessel, leaving her alone once more with Jeff. She was actually relieved when silence settled over the island. Whatever she was feeling for her prisoner was too private and personal to be shared.
Around supper time, Jeff moaned from his room.
She raced to his side. His eyes were open. She asked quickly, “How’re you feeling?”
He blinked up at her, and she sagged in relief to see the man looking back at her. For the moment, the beast had retreated from his gaze.
“Are the painkillers helping?” she asked.
He nodded fractionally as if to move more would cause immeasurable pain.
“Need some more?”
Another tiny nod.
“Only problem with narcotics this powerful is you’ll get addicted to them quickly. Particularly with us having to double up on the dosage to compensate for your body mass. Do you happen to know how much you weigh? The doctors want to know so they can dose you more accurately.”
He shrugged. She’d take that as a no.
“Jeff, I really need you to tell me what you’ve been taking. I don’t care in the least what it is. I just want to help you. I promise.”
His gaze went opaque. Stubborn.
She swore aloud. “Help me out, so I can help you!” Her frustration threatened to spill tears onto her cheeks. She couldn’t stand seeing him suffer like this.
“Lee. Land,” he rasped.
She threw up her hands. “I’ve already been in contact with him. He assured me he’s going to pull every string there is that goes over my head. For your sake, I hope your grandfather is even more influential than people think he is, and he gets here fast.”
“Thank you,” Jeff whispered. His eyes drifted closed.
“Give a shout out when you want more pain pills,” she said with a tinge of sarcasm. And on that note, she pivoted smartly, dashed away the tears on her cheeks and marched out of the room. Stubborn man. Wouldn’t even help her help him. For a moment she thought she felt his gaze on her back, but when she turned around in the doorway to check, he looked unconscious.
Which was just as well. She was very tempted to kill him.
Chapter 5
After the third dose of heavy-duty painkillers began to wear off, Jeff finally regained groggy consciousness. He remembered just enough about the past twenty-four hours to be glad he didn’t remember the rest of it.
“Jenn?” he called out. His voice was weaker than he’d expected.
She careened around the corner immediately, her face haunted. She approached the bed carefully. Crap. What had he done to put that look on her face? “How are you feeling?” she asked cautiously.
“I’ve been better.”
“You’ve been worse, too.”
He didn’t respond to that. No need to. They’d both lived through the past night and day. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. His throat felt like rough, gritty sandpaper.
“Just tell me what you were on so I can make this go away.”
“I can’t. Really.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So complicated you’re willing to die to protect it?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
Her gaze snapped to his, the anger draining from her dark eyes and replaced by curiosity and rapid processing of new information. She blurted out, “If I had my guys hack into the classified government database of medical research, would I find you in it?”
He answered promptly and honestly. “No.”
She must have heard the truth in his voice because her shoulders sagged.
“How’s Leland doing?” he asked, praying desperately to distract her from her current line of reasoning which was uncomfortably close to the truth.
She laughed quietly. “Your grandfather’s a piece of work. Took him under two hours to work his way all the way down from the White House to my direct superiors. But to answer your question, he’s frantic. He really does care about you.”
“I know.” Jeff’s father had died young in a car crash, and his mother had been more beautiful than reliable. Leland had been the stabilizing influence in his life that he would have otherwise lacked. Leland had taught him how to set goals and work to achieve them, how to be accountable for his actions, how to be a man, really.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” Jennifer murmured.
He wasn�
��t usually a grouch. In fact, he was known for his sense of humor and generally upbeat personality. He mumbled, “You haven’t exactly caught me at my best.”
“Hungry?” she asked.
“Famished.” Maintaining his body mass required substantial infusions of calories every day. He’d been shocked that the Ethiopians had fed him as well as they had. They must have been afraid he’d kill another guard if they didn’t. But the plentiful food they’d brought him had been gamy-tasting meat and bland gruels for the most part.
“Solid or liquid?” she inquired.
“Steak.”
She laughed. “It’ll take me a few minutes to heat up the grill, but one king-size T-bone coming up.”
He noted wryly when she carried the plate into his room that she’d already cut the meat for him. He was startled when she sat down beside him and picked up a piece of the rare meat with her fingers. She shocked him outright when she leaned forward with a wicked smile and held it out to him, murmuring, “Open up.”
He obeyed, and she popped the piece of steak into his mouth. His body reacted with intense pleasure to the protein it so craved.
They fell quickly into a rhythm of feeding and chewing.
And then on one bite, he closed his lips quickly as she withdrew her fingers, capturing her fingertip between them. She pulled her finger loose slowly, allowing him plentiful time to caress the captured digit with the tip of his tongue before it finally popped free.
Their gazes met over the next bite of tender steak, and fire blazed in her midnight eyes. He shouldn’t tease her, but for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Her breathing was light and fast, and a flush pinked her cheeks. It was probably all a ploy to get him to let down his defenses with her. But even so, it was impossible to resist falling under her spell. She was so exotic. Beautiful in a strong, wise, grounded way. Totally different than most of the women he’d dated before.
Not that he could ever contemplate dating her. Not with her job. Her employer.
But still. He savored her intimate attention almost as much as he did the meal. He watched with interest as she sucked steak juice from her palm. Her mouth was lush and full, and her lips glistened as she licked off the juice. His body reacted powerfully to the sensual frankness of it. She would probably be as direct in bed as she was in everything else. He liked women who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to tell him. More pleasure for everyone, that way.