But she wasn't out of the woods yet. None of them were, but Peter was trembling with relief anyway. She wasn't captive or shot. She was sitting right there in front of him. Okay.
Panting, he dropped to a seat next to her. "Hey," he said, still panting. "You did good, lady, real good out there."
With her forehead still on her knees, she nodded.
"You need to take something," Peter told her. Ruefully, he noted he was moving into the biggest delayed reaction to an operation he'd ever had. His hands were shaking as he reached for the pouch on his belt that held the aspirin. It wasn't easy to yank it out. "It's aspirin. Anja wanted something simple for the back door, something easy to obtain. Here. All you need to do is take these." He shook four tablets onto his palm and held them out.
With what appeared to be a great effort, Brittany raised her head.
Peter's hand with the aspirin shook some more. "Are you okay?"
Brittany flinched. "No," she said, in a very flat tone. "But I guess after I take the aspirin I'll feel better. Do you have any water to wash them down?"
"Uh...yeah. Yeah." Peter felt like an idiot as he reached for his canteen. She'd heard his concern and didn't want it. She didn't want any of his heavy emotions. She'd told him so. Taking a deep breath, he resolved to come off more impersonal. "Hold the pills," he instructed, carefully atonal. "I'll unscrew the cap from the canteen."
She dutifully took the pills and even set one in her mouth. Peter handed her the canteen and she used it to wash down each of the four pills in turn.
Without looking at him, she handed back the canteen. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Sorry?" Peter didn't bother asking why she was apologizing. He just put on his biggest, most nonchalant grin. As if he hadn't had an arrow strike him through the heart, no, not at all. "Don't be sorry," he said. "Just get better."
She looked down the hill. Peter closed his eyes. She was all right. That's all that really mattered. She was all right. She would be all right.
He was dizzy with relief about it.
~~~
Olivia opened her eyes. She was between clean sheets on a soft bed in what had to be the nicest hotel room she'd ever seen. There were high ceilings, a fleur-de-lis pattern on the wallpaper, and a set of tall French windows, open to the breeze.
Was it a Caribbean breeze, she wondered? Where the heck was she? Her gaze roamed around the room, but didn't get very far. Gideon stopped it, standing at the foot of the bed with crossed arms. He was observing her with a very serious expression. It looked to Olivia as though he'd just ordered her back to consciousness.
Her voice husky, she asked, "How long have I been out?"
"A day and a half." Gideon's serious expression was close to, but not quite, a scowl. Olivia was pretty sure he'd been worried about her. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to give her the big lecture she was sure he'd been waiting a day and a half to deliver. She braced herself.
But Gideon wasn't done with the preliminaries. "How do you feel?" he demanded.
"Um...okay, actually." Indeed, she almost felt normal, she thought, as she rose to sit up against the pillows. "Where am I?"
"You're in a private house we, uh, appropriated from another suspect. Man named Hollister who was after the virus for its marketable value." His frown deepened. "Are you hungry?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe."
He nodded.
Olivia waited, but still no lecture erupted.
"The terrorists were a splinter group," Gideon abruptly said. "Called themselves the Gang of the Pure Sword. Special forces flew them to Guantanamo Bay."
He was telling her, Olivia realized, and without her even asking. This was strange, and for some reason ominously so. After all, wasn't candidness what she'd always wanted from him?
But not a candidness with this flat, detached aspect.
"We're still working on finding Hagar, Dr. Subrahmanyam. And our clean-up crew is scouring the abandoned mine, the place you were being kept, making sure there are no versions of the virus still lying around in there. Brittany and Shana are in rooms down the hall. Both are recovering well."
Olivia sucked in her lips. "Oh," she said. "Good."
"You and the other women are going to get debriefed by the boys above me," Gideon went on, "once we get back to the States. It's nothing to be afraid of, you're not under any kind of investigation, but they're going to want to know everything you can tell them about the virus." Gideon stopped and a brief, sardonic smile twisted his lips. "In particular, I suspect they're going to want to know what kind of effect the virus had on you."
Olivia got it. She, Shana, and Brittany were now semi-precious guinea pigs. "Okay," she said.
Gideon finally uncrossed his arms. He drew in a very deep breath.
Now, Olivia thought. The lecture was going to come now.
A shiver passed through her; mixed trepidation, guilt, and...well, yes, yearning. She'd gotten past her anger at Gideon for keeping secrets from her. Oh, she thought he damn well should have told her about his real job as a big, macho commando guy, but she also understood why he hadn't. His purpose had been to protect her from dangerous situations, situations for which she was neither trained nor suited.
So it was coming now, Olivia thought, his speech on how his actions had been appropriate, and how her actions had nearly brought global disaster.
Gideon cleared his throat. "Um, the bathroom is through there." He pointed to Olivia's right. "Whenever you need it."
"Oh," Olivia said. "Thanks."
He gave a brisk nod. "I'll have soup and toast brought up, something easy to digest."
"Um...okay."
"Is there anything else you need?" He tilted his head.
It finally hit Olivia he wasn't going to lecture her after all. In fact, it looked like he wanted to leave the room.
"Um..." Try as she might, Olivia couldn't come up with a decent reason to keep Gideon in the room with her. "No," she finally said. "I can't think of anything I particularly need."
"We'll leave for San Diego as soon as all of you have fully recovered," Gideon told her. "Government jet. Don't worry, we collected your luggage from the hotel."
"Oh. Oh, good," Olivia said. But it didn't feel good. Nothing did as she watched Gideon, expression blank, back away and then walk out of the room.
Alone, she raised her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Inside, a deep pit opened. After pursuing her with relentless determination for the past few weeks, was Gideon now through with her? Washed his hands? Had she betrayed him that badly?
Sitting there thinking about it, Olivia thought she probably had. She turned her head and closed her eyes. Wasn't that just human nature, though? Now, when she understood his position and could see her way to getting back together with him, he was the one who didn't want her any more.
Olivia pressed her lips together and felt hot pressure behind her eyes. Life had a way of dishing out your just deserts. She was now getting a clear insight into how Gideon must have felt six months ago, when she'd walked out on him.
Yup, life sure was funny that way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Shana stretched, long and lazily. Oooh, eight hundred count — at least — Egyptian cotton sheets. Clearly, they'd managed to escape the bad guys. Nobody who had evil intentions toward you would put you between eight hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets.
She stretched the other way, yawned, and finally consented to open her eyes. Yup, she was definitely out of the underground cell. Real plaster moldings ran along the walls, a vintage Emerson ceiling fan was moving the limpid air, and excellent 18th century furniture reproductions stood scattered over the Aubusson carpet.
Besides, she was now remembering a groggy conversation she'd had with Anja, who'd come in to check on her. Everyone was safe and recovering. The bad guys had been captured. Ah yes, all this luxury was hers to enjoy, at least for the next day or so.
The best accoutrement in the room, however, sat slumped in the nearest Chippendale armch
air. Shana knew her eyes softened — her whole body softened — at the sight of Dash fast asleep.
My, but he was a picture: head bent onto his shoulder, legs stretched out for balance, and long, sandy lashes sweeping over his high cheekbones. Shana allowed herself the pleasure of gazing her fill. He was absolutely adorable; boyish and savagely competent at one and the same time.
But it wasn't merely his sleeping state that made it feel safe to look her fill at him, to let the emotions that had been simmering under the surface come bubbling up. She had some facts now to bolster the assertion he'd made at the end of their last, acrimonious interview. He was, indeed, interested in her, and not just because of his mission to find Anja.
For one thing, he'd come for her. She'd seen him top that ridge right before the shoot-out. She'd seen the look on his face. Oh, she didn't know if she could describe the look, but she felt deep down what it could mean.
And here he was now, waiting by her bedside. He'd fallen asleep in that chair rather than leave her. That was — Shana felt her eyes get hot and moist. Well, it was sweet, that's what it was.
It showed how what he'd said might be true. He might, a little bit, care.
Shana felt her lashes lower. She felt her limbs go soft and surrendering. Wouldn't it be nice if, when he woke up...
Shana grimaced. Wouldn't it be nice if she didn't smell like a locker room? Her eyebrows jumped as she had a thought. If she could move very, very carefully, she might be able to slip into the shower — she was certain a room this well-appointed had a bathroom nearby. She could then steal back into bed, all clean and inviting and...ready.
Shana grinned. Very slowly, she eased first one foot and then the other out from under the covers. Dash looked like he had to be developing the world's worst neck crick, but he didn't move a muscle. Slowly and silently, Shana eased the rest of the way out of the bed. She noted with some dismay that she was in the same tank top and shorts she'd been wearing since Sunday morning. God knew how long ago that was now.
Glancing over her shoulder at Dash, Shana tiptoed toward a paneled door in one wall. She slowly opened the door and sighed in pleasure at the sight of the jacuzzi tub, separate multi-spray shower, and long, marble, double-bowl sink. She'd be able to clean herself in high style.
What she would wear afterward was a puzzle, but one that didn't bother Shana overmuch.
She closed the door, stripped off her clothes, and dumped them straight into the pretty flowered wastebasket. She never wanted to see that tank top again. But then came the big decision. Jacuzzi whirlpool or multi-spray shower?
Biting her lower lip and turned determinedly away from the mirror running the length of the marble sink — she knew she had to look the ultimate fright — Shana chose the bathtub. Those whirlpool jets were simply too tempting to refuse. She started the taps and hummed under her breath as she looked for some bath salts among the appointments set on the shelf above the whirlpool.
Ooh, when she climbed in between those sheets again, she was going to be way aromatic.
More bits and pieces of her conversation with Anja were coming back to her. They were in the house of a guy named Hollister. He'd been the one to leave the crazy attack dog behind, the one that had nearly eaten Shana and Dash.
"Huh," Shana murmured, and went through the shelf again. She didn't mind using whatever the dog man had bought for himself and the more expensive, the better. She poured some bubbles into the bath, along with the salt. "But not too many," Shana cautioned herself. She well remembered the disaster she'd had in a hotel in Atlantic City with bath bubbles, a Jacuzzi, and a dark-skinned man with a moustache. "Not to go overboard," Shana murmured and tested the water with one toe. Delicious.
She climbed in, turned off the taps, and sank into the lightly bubbled, heavily scented water with a deep sigh. Not that she intended to soak for long. Dash was going to wake up any minute. Or at least, she didn't intend to soak for long...
The water was still warm when Shana woke up. That was to the good. But she could hear Dash calling her name in the bedroom with a note of panic. And actually...that wasn't so bad either. Now Shana didn't want Dash to worry unnecessarily, but it was good that he wasn't entirely sure of her.
"I'm in here!" she called out. She looked down the length of herself. Yes, her bath water was still warm, but she had to admit there weren't many bubbles left to cover her. She smiled and sighed. Oh, that was just too bad, wasn't it?
"You're where?" Dash asked, less panicked now and more demanding.
Shana's smile widened. "I'm in the bathroom, silly. If you want to talk to me, come in. I — I don't have the energy to yell through the wall!"
Clever, Shana told herself. Girl, you are ever so clever.
Because, of course, it worked. Hero of the damsel in distress couldn't let her expend her limited energy by yelling through the wall, could he? The door of the bathroom opened and Dash stepped in. He stopped abruptly when he found her.
Shana saw the switch go on behind the spectacles over his cool blue eyes. Her not-so-veiled self had had the appropriate effect on him.
Not that he didn't do his damnedest to pretend otherwise. He leaned one shoulder against the jamb of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, so cool. "You nearly gave me a heart attack," he accused.
A busload of guilt fell on Shana. The way the three of them had run off when they'd discovered where Anja was. The way they'd resisted giving themselves up to the men when they'd had the chance in front of the hotel. The trouble they could have avoided. "Oh," she said.
Dash pointed in the direction of the bedroom. "What do you mean by disappearing like that? I woke up, and you were nowhere in sight!"
"Oh," Shana said again, much relieved. He hadn't been talking about their whole escapade, merely the way she'd slipped out of bed. She swished the water lightly with her arms. "Well...here I am." Her eyelashes lowered.
Dash glared at her, apparently trying to retain what had been, at the outset, a ridiculous anger. Shana saw his nostrils flare, and his fingers tighten where they held onto his upper arms.
Oh, his switch was definitely on.
Smiling, she sat up. "Come and join me," she ordered huskily.
"No. I — " Dash's eyes widened as Shana took hold of his trousers. "Hey, wait a
minute — !"
"Come on, Dash," Shana chortled. "You know you want to." She could feel his sexual arousal even though she wasn't touching him directly. It was in the tension vibrating through him and in the pull on the material his trousers. Yet he was resisting.
Shana's brows started to draw down. For the first time since waking up she felt a frisson of uncertainty. Didn't he want to?
Just as she was about to really wonder, Dash made a little giving-up kind of a sound, bent down and planted on Shana the hottest, hardest kiss she'd ever received in her life.
The kiss was so mind-shattering that it was truly almost an accident when Shana leaned back, with one hand still fisted in Dash's pants. He toppled on top of her with a significant splash. Their bodies wrapped around each other in the tub as Dash continued to kiss and kiss, hungry and virile and possessive. He moved one wet trouser leg between Shana's thighs and pulled her so close to him that her breasts flattened against his chest. "I want you," he murmured, from deep in his throat. "God, how I want you."
Shana felt giddy. This was going to happen. Finally, this was going to happen. A chuckle bubbled up. "It's going to be hell getting your clothes off, now that they're soaked, but I'm sure we'll manage."
Not so clever girl. She'd flipped the switch off. All of a sudden, Dash stopped kissing her. Instead he pressed his forehead against Shana's and released a deep and shuddering sigh. "No," he said. "No, no, no."
"What?" Shana asked, terrified. "What, what, what?"
She could feel Dash shake his head where their foreheads connected. "We can't do this."
"We can," Shana assured him. "We just were, and doing a great job of it, too."
; Dash lifted his head and looked down at her through water-splashed lenses. "We were? Doing a good job, I mean?" But before Shana could answer, he gave his head a brisk shake. "No, that doesn't matter. What matters is...we're not ready."
Shana's jaw dropped. "We're not ready?!"
"No." Dash gave her a stern look. "I don't want to jump into this kind of thing with you. That's not — Look, I don't want to end up being just another daisy in your front yard."
Shana blinked. It took her a second to remember the conversation where she'd made the boast about daisy trophies. "Oh-h-h," she breathed.
Dash was doing his best to disentangle himself from her, but it wasn't easy in the deep and slippery tub.
"Wait." Shana put an arm around the back of his neck.
Dash stopped. He looked down at her.
"You aren't going to be just another daisy in my front yard." It was mind-blowing, actually, to realize it was true. And it was equally mind-blowing that he was worried about it.
That he cared about it.
Meanwhile Dash simply looked at her, breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to get out of the tub.
Shana sucked in her lips and took a deep breath. "I — You were right about me, about a lot of things. I don't let men get close to me. I never wanted one close. That would have been — well, hell. They might not even like me. Until you, I've always related to men by using their sexual needs. But you — " Shana's throat closed then, in a combination of fear and need.
The Adam's apple in Dash's neck moved up and down. "But I — what?"
"But you wanted to know me," Shana said, accusingly. "Or at least, I thought you did. That's why I got so angry when I found out you were only looking for Anja. It...hurt." Lying in the tub, Shana had never felt so naked in her life, with Dash ignoring her wet nudity and staring down into her eyes, taking in her words...and weighing them.
"I want to know you," he said at last. "I want to know you even better than I do now." It sounded part promise and part warning.
"Okay," Shana replied, though it scared the hell out of her. "And, um, I want to know you better, too. Like, your real name, for example?" She raised an eyebrow.
Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way Page 26