Sleight of Hand (Outbreak Task Force)

by Julie Rowe

  When they reached the SUV, Joy asked again, “Where are we going?”

  “Jackson Barracks,” Rawley answered, not looking at either of them or Dozer.

  “Swanky,” Joy said.

  “Is it?” Gunner asked.

  “Yeah, it was completely rebuilt after Hurricane Katrina. I’ve stayed there a couple of times since.”

  Rawley looked at her. “It’s a barracks.”

  She smiled her patient smile. “It’s better than sleeping in the dirt, which is what I thought you meant.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  Gunner held up his hand. “I’m afraid that’s the first thing I thought of, too.”

  “Me, three,” Dozer said. “I’m an Army vet, myself.”

  Gunner shrugged. “When you’ve had to live, work, and survive in a combat zone, you discover the true meaning of rough.”

  “None of you fit into square holes, do you?”

  Joy mood lightened. Maybe this guy was finally getting them. “I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”

  Gunner laughed.

  The knot in Joy’s gut loosened at the sound of his laughter. A few minutes ago, he’d been in no place good. She wasn’t fooled into thinking he was okay. Shit, she wasn’t all that okay either, but he was holding it together enough to appear in control.

  Maybe after a couple of hours of rest, they’d both be in a place that might allow them to finish this investigation so they could take some real time off. She had the feeling Rodrigues was going to insist on it.

  The barracks wasn’t far from the French Quarter. Rawley dropped them off with their go-bags and gear. They were offered three singles rooms, but Joy shot that down without hesitation.

  “You’re injured and bleeding. Again,” she told Gunner. “I want a double room, so I can keep an eye on my partner.” She glanced at Dozer then angled her thumb at him while speaking to the receptionist. “Can you put him in a room close by?”

  Dozer ended up next door to them. “I’d say don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but given the very short list of things I can do right now, it wouldn’t leave you with much.” With a chuckle, he went inside his room and shut the door.

  They went in theirs and dropped their luggage.

  Joy folded her arms over her chest and pointed at the bathroom. “Strip down to your boxers. I want to see what’s going on with that wound.”

  “You’re assuming I’m wearing underwear,” he said as he limped into the bathroom.

  “You’re not?” There was no reason for her pulse to speed up, no reason whatsoever.

  “I am,” he said as he got out of his coveralls. “But you didn’t know that.”

  “Stop trying to start shit,” she muttered.

  “Don’t ask for the impossible,” he replied as he got his coveralls off and started on his pants. Blood splashed onto the bathroom floor. “Fuck me,” he breathed out.

  Joy came over to see. “Your coveralls must have trapped the blood inside.”

  “Damn it,” he said with feeling.

  She agreed wholeheartedly. “Get your pants off. Let’s see what the problem is.”

  “There’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear you say,” he muttered as he sat on the toilet lid and worked to get his boots, and the remainder of his clothing, off.

  The bandage around his calf was soaked in blood. Soaked.

  “What the fuck, Gunner?” she asked, angry, concerned, and pushed to the end of her patience.

  He glanced up and paused. “All I’ve been doing is walking on it.”

  “Which is obviously too much,” she snapped, grabbing a pair of gloves from her kit and attacking the bandage.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to have to cut it off you. The blood has glued it all together.”

  She pulled out supplies: saline, scissors, non-stick pads, gauze bandages, and surgical glue, then began cutting through the old gauze. It came away easily enough.

  Joy got down on her knees to get a good look at it. She was so close to his body, the heat of him was a seductive wave over her skin. For a moment she was lost in the almost contact, almost connection, almost care. So close, but not quite.

  If either of them were just a little bit more whole, or a little bit less damaged… No. Driving herself crazy with mights and maybes was no way to move forward. With conscious deliberation, she focused on Gunner’s leg.

  The wound wept blood slowly from the back of his calf.

  “Looks like the surgical glue didn’t hold back here,” she said, palpating around the edges of the injury with her fingers. “I think if I put more glue on, and you stay off of it for a few hours, it should stay closed.”

  “Barring any unforeseen emergencies, I should be able to do that.”

  She gave him a sharp glance as she carefully flushed away the old clots, dried it off, and applied more surgical glue to the wound. “If I catch you tap dancing in your sleep, I’m going to tie you to your bed.”

  “Kinky.”

  Her pulse did that stupid, irrational leaping high thing again. Nope. No going there, idiot. He’s hurt and trying to deflect, distract, or deny it.

  She gave him a hard stare, an expression she’d been told many times in the past could cut glass. “Don’t make me sit on you.” She put a non-stick pad on the wound, front and back, then nodded at him to hold them in place.

  He laughed as he complied. “Then stop saying things that don’t put naughty pictures in my head.”

  “How can you even go there right now?” she demanded as she wrapped the gauze around his leg, securing the pads against his wounds. And she hadn’t? Hypocrite. “We’re both exhausted, you’ve got to be in pain, and you’re probably dizzy from blood loss.”

  “Not that I’ve noticed,” he said. “Though, I should probably drink a little more water over the next couple of days.”

  She taped the ends of the gauze down, gathered all the supplies, and put it all away. He sounded so damn blasé about everything. “Are you going to take this seriously or not?”

  “I get a choice?”

  “No,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

  “I thought I was supposed to be the grumpy one.” He cautiously flexed his leg. Wiggled his toes. “Nice job.”

  “Thank you. Don’t try and change the subject.”

  He sighed. “What do you want me to say? That I’m tired and in pain. I assure you, I’m both.” He limped out of the bathroom, sat on one of the beds, and studied her. “You look like I feel.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Angry, concerned, and exhausted. A dangerous combination that could combust into catastrophe.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m aware that becoming a human pincushion didn’t help either of us, but I didn’t do it on purpose. What I can do is promise to tell you when I’m getting close to my limit, physically or mentally.”

  She blinked, and all the bravado that had been powering her movements dissolved into nothing. The loss cut into her diaphragm and up into her throat, turning every breath painful, as if she’d swallowed crushed glass. “About that… You scared the crap out of me, Gunner.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your leg had been bleeding for a while, but you didn’t say anything. You’ve got to tell me when something is wrong.”

  He seemed to stare right into her soul, see more than she wanted him to.

  “All right,” he said slowly. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “It’s good that we’re getting some rest,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Both of us are getting punchy.”

  Well, wasn’t that just a simple way to sweep the whole thing under a rug. “I am not punchy.”

  “Joy,” he said, holding out a hand. “Come here.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. If she took what he was offering, what would that tell him? Everything was okay? Wrong. A little sleep would cure everything? Nope. They were going to beat the te
rrorists or whoever was trying to start an outbreak in New Orleans? Uncertain.

  Nothing would change, yet taking his hand would alter everything she thought she knew about herself. Accepting his touch was something she couldn’t give up.

  His palm was warm as she slid hers across it.

  He tugged her over to sit next to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Look on the bright side,” he said, hugging her close. “You didn’t have to shoot anybody today.”

  She snorted and laid her head on his shoulder as if she’d done it a thousand times before. As if they’d been together for years. “I can’t believe you’re the one looking on the bright side.”

  “A very wise person I know told me that’s what a partner does,” he said. “We take turns being the strong one, the smart one, the silly one.”

  “Okay, enough of that,” she said with a watery laugh. “You’re making it sound like I’m neurotic.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re female. Neurotic comes with the territory.”

  She punched his shoulder. “Jerk,” she said fondly, wrapping both arms around his waist.

  They sat quietly. She snuggled up to him, her head on his shoulder. They fit comfortably. He kissed her hair, and she heard herself murmur a happy little sound as her muscles relaxed. She lifted her chin, her eyes half closed, and his next kiss found her forehead. Why was that so sexy? He kissed her forehead for heaven’s sake. But it was slow and sensual, and his lips on her skin made her needy for more.

  Her eyes opened and met his gaze. The heat in them stoked the hot ball of desire inside her that never went cold around him.

  “How much time do we have?” She didn’t want to think about terrorists or outbreaks or what might happen tomorrow. She just wanted him.

  “Not nearly enough,” he said, leaning down to kiss her parted lips. The kiss lingered, light and lithe, until a tremor rushed through her, and she tightened her hands on his shirt.

  It seemed to light a blazing fire in him, and he took her mouth as if claiming her for his very own.

  She made a desperate, panicked noise and clutched at him, her hands frantic. “Gunner, I need—”

  “Me,” he said, need so strong the word was barely more than a growl.

  She made that distressed, desolate noise again, as if she expected him to run from her. He couldn’t… If he did something would break inside her.

  He twisted, taking her down to the bed, one hand around her back, holding her close. The other skimmed her torso, cupping a breast, molding and teasing it, and she arched against him.

  He yanked up her shirt, levering himself off her only long enough to get the fabric over her head. She wore a pink bra made of a lace that covered nothing.

  “Pretty,” he whispered.

  She stared up at him, her chest lifting and lowering way too fast, her eyes so full of unshed tears his features were blurred.

  He froze, his whole attention on her. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Never.” She pulled him down to kiss her. His lips seduced hers. Her mouth welcomed his tongue and danced with his in a give and take she was already addicted to.

  Something banged against the side of the bed, and a surprised grunt came out of him.

  She pulled away. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He tried to kiss her again, but she put a hand against his mouth.

  “That wasn’t nothing.” Joy wiggled out from under him and looked at his leg. “Did you hit it on something?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed, seeming resigned to losing the moment.

  “Oh my God.” She pulled up his pants to check the wound then gave him a businesslike glance. “Hanging halfway off the bed isn’t a good idea, anyway.” She lifted an eyebrow at him.

  He shoved himself across the bed until he was lying on his back.

  Joy turned away, but she didn’t get up, didn’t move.

  What was she doing?

  What the fuck was she doing?

  He was injured, they were both exhausted, and she was…if something happened to him, it would kill her. Maybe not right away, but one way or another, she’d end up just as dead. She had to get up and walk out of this room while she still could.

  “Joy?”

  Gunner’s voice pushed her to her feet. She picked up her shirt, put it back on, and managed to say in a normal tone, “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  “Fuck.” The word came out fast and hard. “I’m not going to be able to rest unless you’re on this bed with me.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d cave, give in to what her heart wanted.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his tone concerned and apologetic.

  She should keep her mouth shut and let him believe he it, but she couldn’t let the lie stand.

  “No.” She punctuated the word by fisting both hands.

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  She spun around, her cheeks hot, her vision blurred with unshed tears. “Because I crave you, your touch, your taste, your smell, like a fucking junkie.” She lifted one hand and unfurled it. It shook. Her whole body shook. She stared at her hand. “Look at me, I’m completely fucked up.” She met his gaze, and she was pretty sure he could see the building panic on her face.

  “And I’m not?” His tone said he understood, because he was the same.

  She flinched.

  He took in a breath then forced it out slowly so when he spoke again, he sounded surprisingly normal. “We’re both suffering from a lack of sleep, decent food, and the effects of getting blown up. We’ve been under a lot of stress, some of it pretty damned lethal, and there’s no end in sight. The various morons we dealt with in the last few days”—Gunner paused—“managed to trigger us both to dump more adrenaline, testosterone, cortisol, and God knows what other stress hormones into our bloodstreams. We’re high, depressed, frustrated, and horny all at once. It’s a wonder neither of us has actually killed someone by now.”

  What a succinct train wreck he’d just described, and it was their train.

  He stopped to take a breath and must have noticed her wide eyes and jaw. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, flopping back on the mattress. “I fucking jumped off the verbal deep end, didn’t I?”

  She closed her mouth with a snap. “Um, no, but I do think it’s an accurate diagnosis of what’s going on with both of us physically and mentally.” She started to giggle and cry at the same time. She’d never done them simultaneously before, and it wasn’t comfortable.

  He held out an arm. “Come here.”

  “Is that”—she hiccupped—“a good idea?”

  “I think it’s the best goddamned idea I’ve ever had.” His fingers beckoned her. “Come on. Sleep with me. Just sleep. As much as I’d like to have fun with you naked right now, we both need sleep more.”

  She nodded, two huge up and down movements of her head, and lay down next to him.

  He scooped her into his arms until their bodies were tangled together, and her head was pillowed on his chest.

  He was warm and smelled good. Desire was a hot river through her body.

  She was tired, so tired of resisting the multitude of threads tying them together. If there was one person on the planet that could understand her and all the crap she carried around in her head, it was Gunner. Just as she understood him and all the broken pieces of him.

  They’d comforted each other before. Used sex as a cathartic coping mechanism partially because they saw each other as safe.

  She didn’t want safe anymore. She needed more than that.

  What did Gunner need?

  Joy breathed him in. He smelled so good, so right. She nosed her way to his neck and began kissing him in an unhurried feast.

  His whole body tightened under her, and his arms came around her a little more. “Joy?” He sounded startled.

  Good, she wanted to be sure she had his complete attention.

  Chapter Twenty- Five<
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  Wednesday 2:04 a.m.

  “Hmm?” Joy’s lazy response only made Gunner’s cock harder, and he was already on the verge of coming in his shorts.

  Then she found his pulse, opened her mouth over it, and sucked. It damn near sent him into the stratosphere.

  “Fuck,” he managed to get out. “I thought you wanted to sleep?”

  “That’s not what I want,” she said between nibbles as she made her way up his neck to snag his earlobe with her teeth. She bit down very carefully and flicked it with her tongue.

  It sent a spear of white-hot heat down his spine. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her hair in one fist so he could turn her face toward him. He took her lips in an aggressive kiss that wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger he had for her.

  Instead of withdrawing or getting upset with his aggression, she hummed a satisfied noise low in her throat and stroked her hands over his torso.

  They’d had sex before, both times had been explosive and hot, but this was different. They were different.

  “Joy?” he asked between kisses.

  “Hmm?” She helped him out of his shirt, then he helped her out of hers, all while kissing with a single-minded focus that stroked a warning bell in the back of his head.

  “Are you going to get mad at me later for…ah…not resting my leg?”

  She smiled, and it was a glorious beacon of warmth, sensuality, and sinful promise. “Don’t worry, Gunner, I plan on doing all the work.”

  Her words kicked his jaw open and stalled his ability to breathe. It took effort to remember how to suck in air. “I think I just came in my pants.”

  Her laugh came out husky. It was such a delicious sound he had to lick it off her lips. He angled a hip between her legs, but she shook her head.

  “I get to be on top this time.”

  He could live with that and rolled so he was under her.

  Joy wiggled off of him far enough to reach for his sleep pants and underwear, tugging them off with impatient hands.

  His were shaking worse than an addict’s, but she was an addiction he never wanted to give up.

  As soon as she’d freed him of his clothing, she slid off the bed and took her own clothes off in a whirlwind. She climbed onto the bed to straddle him, but his hands caught her before she could kiss him again.