“I’m not fucking with you, Simcosky. You and your buddies need to turn yourselves in. You aren’t doing my sister any favors by dragging her into this mess alongside you.” He reached for Cosky’s arm, but lowered his hand before making contact. “We’re looking into your commander’s claims—”
Mac snorted beneath his breath. Sure you are.
Cosky stared back, his face as hard as concrete. “The FBI has had months to investigate the attempted hijacking of flight 2077 and the events it spawned. Instead, you appear more interested in pinning everything on us. We’ll clear our names on our own.”
“Then you leave me no choice,” Clay said, reaching beneath his jacket for the weapon holstered at his side.
Instantly the sharp crack of a rifle sounded. A small circle of dust puffed up from the ground several feet in front of the asshole. The report echoed across the hillside and—surprise, surprise—the shot hadn’t come from him, or from Zane’s direction. Instead it had come from the ridge Jude was covering. Maybe the big Arapaho warrior wasn’t quite so unprepared after all.
Amy’s stepbrother froze, his hand slowly lowering. “You just fired on a federal agent. Which adds a whole new world of hurt to the charges you’re facing.”
Cosky raised a brow. “I didn’t fire on anyone.”
The fed’s voice climbed. “Amy—”
“Saw nothing,” his sister said flatly from inside the car.
The fed’s face set. “It won’t matter what either of you claim. As a federal officer, my word will be enough for a warrant.”
Cosky snorted. “In other words, you’re gonna add this new lie to the list of fairy tales you boys have drawn up.”
Mac grinned slightly at that, before swinging his rifle to the left. Amy had gotten the little guy dressed, and both children stood by her side all spiffy in their new clothes. Which was perfect, since the helicopter was approaching in the distance.
“Time to catch our ride,” he said, rising to his feet.
It took a fraction of the time to get down the hill that it had taken to get up.
“I should arrest you four right now—” Frustrated rage twisted Clay’s face, but there was no surprise as Mac and Zane joined Cosky.
“Good luck with that,” Jude said without bothering to look at the fed.
The whop-whop-whop of the chopper blades was much louder and closer. Thin trails of dust spiraled into the air.
“Momma!” Amy’s youngest went back to tugging on her T-shirt. “That’s a hellcopper.”
“Indeed it is,” Amy said in an easy voice. “How would you like to go for a ride in it?”
Mac studied her composed face. Did anyone else sense the stress beneath the veneer of calm?
“We’re taking a helicopter back?” the older, quieter kid asked, glancing up at Zane for confirmation.
“That’s right.” Zane settled a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You ever been on a chopper before?”
Before the older kid had a chance to respond, the younger boy let out a squeal and bounced a couple times. “Really? Really? We’re gonna ride a hellcopper? Can I—”
The beat of the rotor as the bird closed on them drowned out the boy’s question. Dust began to fly. Through the gray film he saw Amy press her youngest son’s face against her abdomen. Zane drew the hem of the older boy’s T-shirt up over his mouth.
The Jayhawk settled to the ground twenty feet ahead. Jude jogged over, crouched as he neared the blades, and dragged the cargo door open. On high alert, Mac and Cosky covered the bird while Zane and Jude boosted Amy and her two youngsters inside. Once their civilians were stowed safely away, Jude and Zane boarded. Mac followed suit, with Cosky right behind him. The bird lifted as they pulled the cargo door shut. After one quick glance to make sure Amy and the kids were settled, Mac took a seat next to the cargo door and stared out the window.
Amy’s brother grew smaller and smaller as the dust bowl and hillsides spread out beneath them. He scanned the entry road as they flew over it. Nothing. It and the surrounding hillsides sat in frozen, unoccupied stillness. No vehicles. No men waiting to ambush them as they exited the rendezvous site.
He exchanged confused glances with Cosky and then Zane. Unless the kids’ clothes had been bugged, they’d massively overestimated the interest in Amy and her children, which left an unsettled, sour feeling spinning around in his gut. As well as the distinct feeling that the other boot was about to drop in some unknown direction with devastating consequences.
* * *
Chapter Five
* * *
NOW DARLIN’.” RAWLS caught Faith’s gaze and shot her an encouraging grin, but the smile faltered at the emotions boiling in her eyes. The uncertainty and awkwardness he’d expected—he intended to tease that out of her. But the desire and sexual awareness . . . hell, those caught him totally off guard and tied his tongue up good and proper.
A burst of sticky heat swept him. Coughing the sudden dryness from his throat, he dropped his gaze. Big mistake, since it latched on to her mouth. Her moist, slightly parted, far too enticing mouth. Her bottom lip was naked and plump, with the sexiest indentation in the middle. The urge to taste it, suck it—tame that sassy dip with the tip of his tongue—hit hard and fast. When the fit of his jeans tightened, he groaned beneath his breath and wrenched his eyes to safer territory.
The safety lasted all of three seconds, which was how long it took him to wonder if those cinnamon freckles stretching from cheek to cheek tasted sweet or spicy. The impulse to lean down and trace the light brown flecks with his mouth damn near swamped him.
He pulled back, his heart drumming in his ears, the tempo building with each throb of his cock. As he dragged his gaze from her face, it fell on her chest and the milky white crescent of skin between her waistband and the hem of her blouse—beneath which his hand, along with the tubing and diaphragm of the stethoscope, disappeared.
It wasn’t his heart beating a mile a minute, it was hers.
He could feel it pounding beneath his fingers, hear it throbbing in his ears. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his head and zeroed in on her face. A dusky rose invaded her cheeks, but it wasn’t the red of embarrassment, rather the sultry heat of sensuality. Her eyes simmered with hunger, and as he watched, her blue eyes darkened until they looked black.
A web of sexual tension enveloped them, cinched tighter and tighter, while they sat there, staring at each other, his hand pressed to the warm, satin smooth skin above her galloping heart.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Doc. The bed’s right there. She’s asking for a good hard screwing. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
It took a second for the words to hit home, but when they did, he recoiled from the bed like he’d just discovered he had hold of a black mamba rather than a stethoscope. Pachico’s raucous laughter followed him as he took a few giant steps back for good measure.
What the hell is wrong with you, hoss?
Besides his reluctance to entertain his obnoxious troll of a ghost, this wasn’t the girl to get down and dirty with. Innocence and awkwardness rode her like a threadbare blanket. He didn’t want to hurt her. But getting involved with her, while his head was good and scrambled, would end up hurting her—for sure emotionally, possibly physically. Hell, it could end up killing her.
He was smarter than this. He was—damn it.
“I’m gonna—” The words were raspy and borderline breathless, so he coughed to clear his throat and tried again. “I’m gonna go wrestle up your meds.”
Avoiding her face, and what he might find there, he backed right out the door.
“Smooth, Doc, really smooth,” Pachico said dryly, following him down the hall and across the cabin’s living room.
Rawls ignored his mouthy shadow as he shoved open the cabin door and took the steps in such a hurry it felt like he was in full-blown retreat.
“Probably for the best, all things considered.” Pachico continued matching Rawls’s breakneck pa
ce across the courtyard. “In her condition, who knows whether she’d survive the horizontal tango. And having a gal die while you’re doing her, well it just kills the mood, if you know what I mean.”
Pachico’s comment hit Rawls squarely upside the head and started to fester. All sorts of questions crowded his mind. Like, were there limits to Faith’s physical activities?
From what he remembered during medical school, organ transplants offered patients a normal, healthy return to life. But Faith had said her donor heart had been damaged during the harvest. How damaged? Bad enough to turn sex into Russian roulette?
Not that he had any intention of making love to her. But still . . .
It wouldn’t hurt to do some research into her condition, refresh his memory on heart transplants and preventative maintenance. There was a computer next to the sat phone with full Internet access thanks to Wolf’s ultra-sleek tech setup and satellite service.
As luck would have it, the command center was empty. He grabbed a couple of chocolate chip cookies off a rack on the dessert-laden kitchen counter as he passed.
“Man, those suckers look good.” Pachico stopped next to the counter and hovered there, his translucent feet several inches off the floor. He swiped at the stacks of cookies. “Fuck,” he said morosely as his hand sliced harmlessly through the towering, chocolate-studded, golden-brown stacks.
Just for spite, Rawls stopped, backed up a few paces, and grabbed a couple more cookies. Ignoring the grumbling rising behind him, he headed for the computer desk tucked in the far corner of the room and settled in the wheeled chair behind the screen while munching on one of his prizes.
First things first. He dialed Wolf’s cell phone from the command center’s sat phone.
A burst of static sputtered through the phone, followed by a garbled, terse “Speak.”
More static crackled from the sat phone. Rawls waited for the noise to clear and quickly recapped Faith’s medical crisis and required prescriptions.
“Ten-four . . . next chopper out.”
Rawls released a relieved breath. Jude could have gone for the meds once he returned from picking up Amy’s kids, but it was a useless trip without a prescription. His shoulders tightened at the thought of his teammates and the danger they were in. He forced his muscles to relax. His teammates were old pros at these kinds of missions. They’d be fine. Everyone was going to be just hunky-dory.
He glanced toward Pachico, who was hunched over the cookie tray, trying to pick one up.
Except . . . maybe . . . me . . .
Time to grab hold of his balls and ask the other question he needed to talk to Wolf about. He shot Pachico a quick look. His troll was staring morosely down at the tray.
Now was the time, while his stalker was distracted, to question Wolf about ghosts, what he knew about them, if he’d had anything to do with Pachico’s disappearance . . .
“Hey, Wolf,” he said quietly into the phone’s mouthpiece.
An earful of static answered him. He waited a few seconds . . . a minute . . . but the static grew louder. Disconnecting the call, he dialed Wolf’s number again. More static.
Damn it.
He shoved the phone back in its charger. Apparently his questions would go unanswered for the time being.
A quick glance toward the counter proved that Pachico was still trying to assuage his cookie craving. Relieved at the uncommon peace, he booted the computer up and got to work on his research assignment.
His relief was short-lived. After several Internet searches on organ transplants, worry crested. According to the data available online, the average viability for a pediatric heart transplant was listed as just eleven years.
Faith had said she’d received her transplant at fourteen, fifteen years earlier, which put her current heart well past the average lifespan. Even if they got her back on her meds early enough to avoid complications, she’d still be living on borrowed time. Her heart could start failing at any moment. It wouldn’t be long before she’d have to go back on the transplant list and wait for another donor match.
A match that could take years, assuming it even happened at all. According to his research, on average, twenty-one people died every day while waiting for an organ to become available.
Or . . .
Kait and Cosky kneeling beside his prone body, their hands pressed hard against his still chest, as a dense bubble of silver cocooned them, flowing out of their hands and plunging into his chest, where it advanced in a glowing puddle until it infused every inch of his inert form.
Or . . . they could try some of Kait’s magic on Faith’s heart. Kait’s gift had healed his multiple chest wounds, and wrenched him back from the dead.
Okay, so maybe he hadn’t come back alone. Or maybe he hadn’t come back sane.
But Kait’s touch had given him another shot at life. It could do the same for Faith.
“Jesus Christ, Doc. What the fuck are you moping around here for? You got a camp full of gorgeous women. Maybe the little brunette is damaged goods, but there’re still the two blondes.”
The comment proved how attached the asshole was to loyalty to think Rawls had any interest in straying in that territory. Cosky was in love with Kait, and Zane with Beth. Both women were off limits. His mind veered to Faith, but he wrestled it back and fought to concentrate.
Frowning, he drummed his fingers against the wood grain of the computer desk. Of course asking Kait for her help meant breaking his patient-doctor confidentiality with Faith. Except that he wasn’t a doctor, and he hadn’t exactly promised to keep her condition private. Besides, breaking any implied confidentiality was for her own good.
Decision made, he shoved back the desk chair and rose to his feet. He’d have to track down Kait first, make sure she was willing to give this new healing a try, but he didn’t foresee her refusing. Kait had a good heart.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to do the hunting. The door opened and Kait entered the room before he’d made it halfway across the floor. She stopped short when she saw him, surprise sharp on her face.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Pachico’s voice was so loud Rawls almost flinched, but he locked down the impulse just in time.
“Rawls!” Relief lifted her voice as she flew across the room and hugged him hard. “I was just about to hunt you down. Sit.” She tugged him toward the table. “I’m going to make you something to eat.”
Rawls’s lips twitched. Apparently Faith wasn’t the only female determined to feed him.
“Faith brought me a sandwich earlier.” Which was still sitting on the table next to his bed. He kept that bit of info to himself.
“They say the way to a woman’s heart is through words,” Pachico said, appearing beside him and eyeing Kait with a lewd expression. “But speaking from experience, I’d say it’s through their cunt. Hell, I’d trade every one of those cookies for a stab at her.”
“Look, sweetcakes,” Rawls said, concentrating ferociously on Kait’s face and trying like hell to ignore the asshole by his side. “I need to run somethin’ by you.”
She pulled back to scan his face. “What’s wrong?”
Sudden humor kicked in. His shrug came with a quarter smile. “What ain’t?”
She skimmed his face again before returning his pained smile.
“Do you have any idea how worried everyone has been about you?” She laughed and threw up her hands at the dry look he leveled on her. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit that was a stupid question. Of course you know. That’s why you’ve been hiding out in the woods.” The humor faded from her eyes. “Is this about the healing I did on you?”
The question brought him up short. “No. Why?”
He hadn’t gotten around to questioning her about the healing she’d done on him. He’d been a tad distracted by his unwelcome roommate and far more freaked than curious until now.
“Because something went wrong. I can feel it. You’re different.” Her eyes brimmed with guil
t and worry.
So she’d picked up on something, but what exactly? “How so?”
“You’re way too tense and jumpy and well . . . ” She looked away as her voice trailed off, red claiming her cheeks.
She was thinking about the humiliating shouting match his LC and Cosky had walked in on. That was the problem with hauntings. Nobody else could see the damn ghost, so it looked like he’d been shouting at empty air. But everything she’d mentioned was symptomatic of the underlying problem—the big one she apparently hadn’t identified.
Thank Jesus.
“This ain’t about me—it’s about Faith. She’s got a medical condition I’m thinkin’ you might be able to fix.”
Kait’s eyes narrowed. “Did her cuts get infected?”
“No.” Rawls hesitated, guilt stabbing him. Faith wouldn’t be thrilled with his wagging tongue. But damn it, this wasn’t about gossip. He was looking out for her best interests. “Faith had a heart transplant, and the donor heart was damaged durin’ the surgery,” he admitted at Kait’s crinkled brow. “Plus, she’s out of her rejection meds. Wolf’s gettin’ a line on her prescription, but until he can ferry them in, she’s courtin’ disaster. What are the odds you can fix her up with that nifty trick of yours?”
“The odds are much better if we wait until Cosky returns,” she said after a moment, the skin across her forehead tightening beneath her frown.
“Cosky? What’s he got to do with this?”
“His touch amplifies my healing. Together we can heal injuries much faster. That’s how we managed to save you.”
Her words echoed in his ears and that strange waking dream took root in his head. Kait’s hands had been pressed to his chest, while Cosky’s hands had covered hers, and that liquid pool of silver had flowed through their joined hands into his chest. Was that how they’d managed to yank him back from the dead? They’d joined forces? How, exactly, did that work?
Hell, he’d missed some crucial information by hiding himself away with his head stuck up his ass.
“Well, she’s in no immediate danger,” Rawls said, pulling back slightly to study her face. “We can afford to wait for Cos to return.”
Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3) Page 9