Her skin was cooling beneath his palm as her sweat dried. Grabbing a handful of blanket, he dragged it over her thin frame.
While he’d been vaguely aware of her thinness earlier, the urgency of his hunger had obscured just how frail she actually was. Jesus, her spine was far too prominent, every bump and hollow identifiable by touch. And then there were her shoulder blades and collarbone—they were so pronounced they looked capable of piercing her skin at any moment. The woman needed to eat—a lot.
He was making it a priority to pack some pounds on her.
As he continued stroking her, worry built, tension rose, and something very much like dread unfurled in his mind and clotted in his chest. How the hell could anyone think she was capable of making it out of that damn rescue mission alive?
It wasn’t until she lifted her head from his chest that he realized she was awake too.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, propping her chin on her hands and staring at him steadily.
She’d probably picked up on the tension invading his muscles. He lifted a hand and threaded his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the thick dark strands.
“You have the most beautiful hair,” he said, running his fingers through the glossy strands again before pulling his hand free and stroking a finger across the network of freckles on her cheek. Sometime soon he was going to kiss his way along every freckle on her body. “And freckles,” he added. He lifted his head to press a kiss to first her right and then left eye. “And eyes. You don’t have a clue how beautiful you are.”
Without reacting, she watched him solemnly. “What’s wrong?”
His chest tightened as he stared back at her. She didn’t believe him. Well, he’d just have to make it priority number two to convince her. But he needed time to do that. A lifetime of it. Starting now.
“Please don’t go on the rescue mission.” The plea broke from him and then just hung there.
“I have to. Surely you see that? I wasn’t exaggerating about what the technology can do, Rawls.” She seemed to hesitate and finally sighed. “If anything, I downplayed it. There’s no way to defend against what someone can do while under the influence of that machine. You, Cosky, Mac, Zane, Wolf and his team—you’d all be massacred.”
His stomach tightened and he shied away from that possibility. “It’s likely your team hasn’t gotten far enough along in the re-creation.”
She shook her head, and her silky hair slid through his fingers to tickle his chest. “It could prove to be a fatal mistake if we banked on that.”
“Faith—” His throat tightened, cutting the rest of the protest off.
This time she was the one to stroke his cheek. “I have to,” she said again. “If the machine is operational, they’ll need me.” She paused and leaned up to brush a kiss across his lips. “Besides, you’ll be there beside me, right? Keeping me safe.”
He flinched, memories of Sarah’s empty, dying eyes flashing through his mind. “You’d be wise not to count on me for that.”
A frown wrinkled her forehead and her dark eyes sharpened. But she just shrugged. “You’ve saved my life twice so far. I’d say you’re a safe bet.”
“My sister would disagree with that.” The admission was out before he could call it back.
“Why?” Her voice was neutral, but the palm she pressed against his heart was warm and calming.
“Because she died because of me. I couldn’t protect her.”
Maybe she expected something similar, because she didn’t look surprised, nor did she pull back. Her hand remained warm and encouraging against his chest. And her voice was the epitome of casual. “When was this?”
Somehow her lack of reaction made it easier to force the whole sordid story out. “Just before my final year of residency. Sarah was just startin’ medical school, and I knew the gruelin’ hours she was facin’, so I convinced her to join me and a friend, Carl, on his family’s yacht.”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice unbearably gentle, as though she already knew what was coming, or thought she did.
“The boat was surrounded and captured by a flotilla of pirates. Those aboard were held for ransom. Carl and I were left alone.” Except for constant vicious beatings and the mental torture of watching what was happening to their loved ones, while being powerless to stop it. “But they . . . used . . . Sarah and Bitsy—Carl’s girlfriend—they used them over and over again, by the dozens.” His sister’s white, frozen face and hunched body as he had cradled her in his arms burst so clearly into his mind he could actually smell the blood in her phantom hair. “And I couldn’t stop it.” He could hear the hollowness in his voice.
“Oh Rawls—”
He flinched at the tenderness on her face.
“They released you after the ransom was paid?” The question was matter-of-fact, and he relaxed slightly.
“Hell no, that would have been too honorable for those bastards.” His grimace was more a snarl. “I’m sure they planned to kill us. But Carl’s brother was in the Corps and he had contacts. HQ2 cleared ST4 to take down the ship and rescue survivors. Those malicious bastards never knew what hit them.” For a second, the sound of close-quarters gunfire and screams filled his head.
“Your sister?” Her voice was tentative.
“She died hours before ST4 scaled the yacht.”
“And you’ve blamed yourself ever since.” But rather than understanding, her brisk voice was full of . . . exasperation?
What in sweet Jesus’s name . . .
He frowned and zeroed in on her face. Yep, definitely exasperation, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it. The unbelievability of her reaction banished the ghosts.
“So tell me, Lieutenant Rawlings, how many pirates were holding you hostage?” she asked in that same annoyingly exasperated voice.
“Hell, I don’t know, two dozen, but—”
“Two dozen, well then, of course you should have been able to defend your sister and defeat them all singlehandedly at age—what?” He could almost see her doing some quick estimation. “Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four,” he snapped. “You don’t know—”
“What I know is that that’s some mighty fine hubris you’ve got going on there,” she shot back.
What the hell!
He jolted upright and since she was lying on top of him, she did too, until they were sitting there, chest to chest, face to face, and eye to eye.
“Well, isn’t that what you’re telling me?” she asked, not backing down in the slightest. She lifted an eyebrow. “That even as an untrained twenty-four-year-old with no military experience, you could have subdued twenty-four heavily armed pirates? Who are you? Superman?”
“Of course I couldn’t . . .” He stumbled to a stop, suddenly seeing the trap she’d set for him.
“Exactly,” she said, the exasperation replaced by tenderness. “You couldn’t do anything. There were twenty-four armed men between your sister and you. Sometimes we have to accept that things are out of our control.”
“Jesus.” He collapsed back down to the bed, taking her with him. “That blitz attack was sneaky as hell.”
But to his surprise, he could actually feel a slight loosening inside himself, the easing of an ancient ache.
“Yeah, well, I knew you wouldn’t listen to reason.” The silence that settled between them was contented, rather than confrontational. “I’m sorry about your sister,” she said after a few seconds.
“Me too.” He forced the words through his tight throat and leaned down to brush his mouth across her forehead. “I’m sorry about Marcy and”—what had their names been?—“Bekka and Julio.”
“Me too.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She cleared it and slanted him a shrewd look. “When are you telling your buddies this entire rescue is based off information provided by a ghost?”
He’d wanted to respond “never,” but yeah, she knew him too well. “Mornin’ will do.”
They needed to know th
e circumstances surrounding this mission they’d volunteered for. If the revelation caused them to opt out—so be it. He was done lying, or skirting the truth.
Faith stretched and sent him another of those judicious looks. “Too bad Kait wasn’t on that yacht, or in my lab.”
The casualness didn’t fool him. Cocking his head, he studied her face.
“With Kait’s incredible gift, she could have healed them, like she healed you . . . like she healed me.” She paused, stared at him steadily. “Think how welcome such a gift would be on one of your missions.”
His scowl started back up now that he saw what tree she was headed up. “There’s no way Cosky is gonna let Kait come along on the rescue mission.”
She smiled back at him, amusement swimming in her dark eyes. “Do you really think Cosky is going to be able to stop her when there’s the possibility that he’ll be the one in need of her gift? Besides, this obviously isn’t your team’s call, and my guess is Wolf will want her on board.”
He stirred at that, a hand absently rising to drag the blanket back over her bare back. She was right. About all of it. But even having Kait on the team didn’t negate the danger to Faith, although perhaps it did lessen it.
“If Cosky is injured and unable to supply Kait with whatever it is he contributes to the healin’, her ability will be cut in half. Maybe even in quarter. We can’t count on her,” he told her.
“True.” Faith pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and Rawls felt his cock stir. “But remember this morning? Dr. Kelly mentioned two other healers. Kait obviously isn’t an anomaly among their people.”
“Maybe,” Rawls admitted, his hand sliding under the blanket for another round of stroking. “But judgin’ from what the good doctor said, it doesn’t sound like they’re nearly as strong as Kait.”
“Singularly, sure.” Her voice grew breathless as his hand grew bolder. “But it would be interesting to see what would happen if they pooled their— ah . . .”
She quivered against him, abruptly losing interest in the conversation. A damn fine thing, since his interest had shifted to other pursuits as well.
“Are you up for a round two?” he whispered in her ear before the perfect little shell distracted him and he circled the edge with his tongue.
He shuddered as her taste exploded in his mouth. Salty and sweet, it sank into his blood and set it on fire like the purest of drugs.
“Definitely,” she said, her voice raspy. A soft hand grasped his cock and gave it one firm pump. “I see you’re up for it too.”
He groaned at the pun, and pulled her down so he could steal a kiss from her lips.
And then his arms wrapped around her, locking her against his chest, until he could feel the strong, steady thump of her like-new heart against his.
Exactly where it belonged.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
ERIC MANHEIM PAUSED in front of the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows to stare absently down at the emerald sprawl of Central Park. “What do you mean the signal’s disappeared?”
“I mean the signal is gone. One minute it was broadcasting as it has been for weeks, the next second it vanished.” James Link’s voice rasped through Eric’s cell phone.
Forcing himself to turn away from the window for fear he might give in to his impulse to drive his fist into the glass, Eric paced back to his executive desk, which overlooked the huge bank of windows.
The desk had been a surprise gift from Esme on his thirty-sixth birthday. Custom-built to her specifications from Parnian’s exotic-woods collection—with each choice of wood embodying an element of their love and life together—he prized the desk as much for its sentimental value, as its half-a-million-dollar price tag.
It was a rare day that the desk’s stunning visual artistry and hidden symbolism couldn’t soothe his irritation.
Today was proving to be such a day.
“Could they be dead? You said the signal would cease once the cellular structure broke down.” Which was a fancy way of saying once the Chastain boys had ceased to exist.
“Highly unlikely.” Link’s throaty rasp turned into heavy breathing. “If the cells were deteriorating, the signal would have gradually weakened. It wouldn’t just disappear. This appears to be something else.”
“What then?” Eric locked his snarl behind his teeth as he stalked behind the desk.
“If I had to guess—”
“You do.” Some of the growl escaped as Eric’s hand tightened around his cell phone. Silence pulsed down the line.
“Then . . . I’d . . . say . . . the signal’s being blocked.” The last four words came out in a spurt.
“How is that possible? You said the compound was unremovable. That the signal would be trackable from anywhere in the world, under any conditions.” Eric’s throat tightened against the desire to yell.
He pulled back the Ares line Xten chair—another gift from Esme. Only for no special occasion this time, other than the fact that the chair—which had been designed by Pininfarina, the same company responsible for Ferraris—was considered to be the most comfortable chair in the world.
Link coughed. “Which is what our testing indicated. But our testing was limited. It’s impossible to test it against every condition. I would guess the boys have arrived someplace that blocks the signal.”
Slowly Eric sat, relaxing as the Technogel cushions conformed to his frame, cradling him. If what Link had said was true, the signal would resume once the children left the area interfering with the signal. Since Link had been tracking them right up until the signal disappeared, he must know the approximate location they’d gone to ground.
“Where did the signal disappear?” he asked. At the last check-in, the signal had been approaching the Alaska state line.
“In the vicinity of Mount McKinley.”
McKinley? The mountain was—he ran a quick Google search on his phone—at least 1500 miles from Seattle. Which meant the aircraft the SEALs and their charges had appropriated was flying at speeds of three hundred miles an hour. At least—he googled typical helicopter speeds—twice as fast as any chopper currently in use by the military.
“Who in the hell are they working with?” he muttered beneath his breath. “They didn’t get that helicopter from Coronado.”
“Maybe it was a plane. A private jet can fly over six hundred miles an hour.”
Eric shook his head. His last team leader had specifically mentioned a helicopter taking out their Jayhawk—the second bloody one he’d lost to those navy bastards, mind you. Too bad he hadn’t gotten a description of the aircraft before his spineless, incompetent asshole of a team leader had fucked everything up and then gotten himself killed.
He grimaced and got back down to business. “If there’s something blocking the signal, it should resume once they start moving again. Correct?”
A pause echoed through his phone. And then Link cleared his throat. “Assuming they haven’t arrived at their destination, or that they haven’t transferred to another vehicle that is blocking the signal. If the latter is the case, they could be anywhere.”
Bloody hell. Eric scrubbed at the headache behind his eyes. He needed another team. Someone to send up to Alaska and do some poking around, but the fuckup in the Cascades had deprived him of choices. He thought about asking Link if he had anyone they could send, but he swallowed the question at the last moment.
It was pretty much guaranteed that anyone Link recommended would lack the sociopathic, cold-blooded killer instinct the job required. If you wanted to hire an assassin, your best bet was to ask a killer for recommendations.
“Let me know immediately if the signal comes back online.” He didn’t wait for an agreement. He simply ended the call and dialed David Coulson.
“Thoughts?” Mac asked, looking back and forth between his two officers. The two men in front of him were Rawlings’s best friends. Hell, they’d been roommates for years. If anyone knew how bad off the poor b
astard was, it would be them.
“At least we know what’s going on with him now,” Cosky pointed out, lifting the tumbler of whiskey to his lips and taking a healthy swallow.
Zane rolled his shoulders in what might—or might not—have been agreement as a hard knock sounded on the door.
Pushing back the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and then his chair, Mac climbed to his feet. He studied the grim faces across the table before silently turning and heading for the entrance to his quarters.
Since Rawls had been the one to call the meeting, his face on the other side of the door was expected. Mac stepped back, allowing him entry.
“You want a shot?” Mac asked, following Rawls back to the table. He lifted the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. When Rawls waved the offer aside, he refilled three of the four empty glasses spread across the Formica surface.
“I have some information y’all need to know,” Rawls said, jumping into the subject immediately.
Stiffening, Mac held up a palm, halting the flow of words. “We can’t assume this is a private conversation.”
It was a safe bet that the quarters he’d been given had come with an extra set of ears. Of course, it was an equally safe bet that they’d have someone listening in on their discussion no matter where they had it.
Rawls’s tight grin looked more like a grimace. He shifted from foot to foot, shoving tense fingers through his hair. “Trust me, Wolf and his people are fully aware of everythin’ I’m about to tell y’all.”
Cosky and Zane exchanged guarded looks.
“Okay,” Mac said, and waited.
“All the intel at the strategy session yesterday came from Pachico.”
Stunned silence rocked the room, thickening the air until every rustle of clothing or shuffle of feet sounded muffled and languid.
“Pachico,” Cosky finally said, his voice neutral. “As in our dead cop impersonator?”
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