“I’m not killing cops,” Nash said. Callie raised her head and peered back at the beach. Several more gendarmes had joined their pursuers, and as she watched, four of them boarded the other speedboat at the dock.
“No worries,” said Travis, tapping his headset. “I’m on with Trey. He’s only a couple minutes out. Take the wheel a sec.” Nash did, and Travis pulled a small electronic device from his pocket. The second speedboat fired up and pulled away from the dock. Just as it passed The Tramp, however, Travis pushed the button on the device he held and the larger vessel exploded, sending a shockwave through the water and capsizing the speedboat.
A grimly pleased smile transformed Travis’s features, and he nodded in satisfaction before taking the wheel back from Nash. A moment later Callie heard the sound of helicopter rotors over the engine, and the Jayhawk appeared around a curve in the coastline.
“You’re first!” Nash shouted over the noise. The rope ladder dropped.
“How are you going to get Mac up there?”
“Don’t you worry; it’s under control. Just get up there before the cavalry arrives from Marigot!”
Callie got. When she reached the top of the ladder, Joseph helped her into the aircraft, then turned around to steady the ladder again for Travis, who’d hoisted Mac into a fireman’s carry and was carefully making his way up. Nash held the bottom, but the rope still swayed alarmingly, and Callie’s stomach knotted. Only when Joseph was hauling Mac into the chopper did she realize she hadn’t breathed since Travis had started his ascent.
Nash joined them, pulling the ladder up behind them as Trey headed out to sea.
She sat cross-legged on the floor of the chopper and positioned Mac with his head in her lap. The bleeding from his shoulder had slowed; the impromptu bandage was holding. Or maybe he just didn’t have enough blood left inside him to force its way out. She stroked the hair away from his face.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Aidan Macmillan Brody.” It was as close as she could come to saying the words welling inside her. I need you. I love you. Please don’t leave me. You promised. None of them appropriate for this time and place.
His eyelids twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The words slurred slightly but still brought hope. She turned to Nash.
“We need to get him to a hospital.”
“Screw the hospital.” Mac shifted and she could tell he was trying to get up. She held him down. He subsided but continued to argue. “The first thing we need to do is get that damned necklace bomb off you. For all we know, it has a timer built in.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive,” Nash snapped, interrupting her incipient protest. “You’ll both be taken into police custody the minute we land. No way around it. But this”—he tapped the silver briefcase—“should suffice as a get-out-of-jail-free card. I have to go up front and let Lexie know who to call to make arrangements. He stood, but Mac reached out and grabbed his leg.
“Get Boom-Boom to Puerto Rico to get that thing off Callie’s neck.”
“It’ll be quicker to let the local bomb techs handle it.”
“Right. Because San Juan sees so many sophisticated explosive devices.”
Nash nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“Try not to worry,” Callie said once he had moved off. “John wouldn’t have let them put something on me that might accidentally blow up. He needed me alive.”
“Why? What did he plan to do with that operating-room setup?”
Callie shuddered, then tried to keep the remembered terror from her voice as she spoke. “From what he said, I’m pretty sure he recognized something was wrong with him. But he was crazy. Utterly insane. He believed he could use pieces of Mark Lewis’s true children to correct the lack in himself.”
“Jesus.” Mac shifted position, and she resumed smoothing his brow, running her fingers through his thick, springy hair.
“It’s over. You killed him, didn’t you?” She’d known from the minute Mac had emerged from the cellar; he wouldn’t leave her attacker alive. And although she didn’t consider herself particularly bloodthirsty, she’d felt no guilt for the brief surge of satisfaction she’d felt.
“Yeah. But he died far too quickly.”
“He was insane, Mac. And, I suspect, miserable.” Amazing how forgiving she felt now the man was dead and no longer a threat.
***
“We’re landing,” Nash said far sooner than Callie expected. Far sooner than she wanted. Mac needed help, but she wasn’t ready to let him go. As if he heard her thoughts, he reached for her hand, drew it to his lips, and pressed a kiss into her palm.
“Don’t worry, sugar, Seth’s the best there is.” It took a minute for his meaning to penetrate.
“I’m not worried about me, Mac! You’re the one who’s been shot!”
“No problem. I’m hard to kill.” His voice, and his grin, had lost considerable strength, however, and she felt the press of tears behind her lids as she tried to return his smile.
“He is,” Travis assured her. He’d been so quiet since coming aboard she’d almost forgotten his presence. But then, she’d been focused on Mac.
The helicopter landed on the hospital’s roof, and before the rotors even stopped moving, men swarmed around it. Men wearing scowls and suits, men with uniforms and guns, and men in scrubs.
They lifted Mac out first, placing him on a gurney. Medical personnel rushed him away, followed by police, while others kept Callie, Nash, Travis, and Trey in place. Once Mac had disappeared, a dark-suited man stepped forward and called Nash’s name. Nash hopped out, conferred briefly with the stranger, and came back for Callie. And the suitcase.
“Trey, take her back to the airfield,” he ordered. “Travis, you can either go with him or stay here. You’re both to give your names and cell numbers to the officers before you head out, and make yourselves available for questioning should the need arise, though I don’t expect it will.”
“I’ll stick around,” said Travis before Callie could beg him to do so. The police would want her and Nash—someone had to be at the hospital when Mac woke up.
***
Mac opened his eyes, winced at the light, and promptly shut them again. It was far from the first time he’d found himself in a hospital bed upon waking, but he couldn’t remember another instance being quite as painful. And then his brain caught up with his vision, and he looked again to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.
But there she was, curled into the chair beside his bed, feet tucked beneath her and her neck blessedly free of the bomb she’d worn when they’d wheeled him away from her. She’d showered while he slept, and her hair hung in a damp fall of curls over her shoulder. Someone had given her a pair of scrubs decorated with balloons so bright her fair skin turned ghostly in comparison.
Even the alarming outfit, however, couldn’t leach the color from the bruises beneath her eyes or along her left cheekbone. A surge of impotent rage overwhelmed him; he’d gladly have gone back and killed the men who’d hurt her a second time.
She shifted in her seat and her lids fluttered. Gradually, her gaze focused. “You’re awake!”
“Told you I was hard to kill.”
She rewarded his feeble attempt at humor with a brilliant smile. “I do believe you mentioned something to that effect.”
“Has anyone every told you you have a gorgeous neck?”
This elicited a full-on laugh. A more beautiful sound he’d never heard. “You’re crazy.”
“I guess you met Seth?”
“Yes. He’s very efficient. He took the bomb away to study. He said it was intriguing.”
“Naturally.” She obviously wanted to gloss over the incident, so Mac let it go. He’d watched the removal of a similar device from around the waist of a kidnapped executive in Atlanta. The man had almost collapsed in terror midway through the operation, though the bom
b tech had kept up a reassuring drone of chatter designed to keep his mind off the possibilities.
“What about the police?” he asked.
“Nash is working on it. Some guy from Homeland Security already interviewed me, as did another, who could have been his brother—or maybe it’s just the suits that make them look so much alike—from the Department of Justice. You’ll have to talk to them, too, no doubt, but they seem a lot more interested in the contents of that briefcase than in our many misdeeds.”
“You’ve been busy. How long have I been out?”
She checked her watch. “I’m not sure when we got in, but it’s almost nine. So about twelve hours?”
“Twelve hours?”
“Mac, you were shot. And lost a lot of blood. And had major surgery. No one really expected you to wake up before morning.”
“What about Falcone?” Jesus. He’d been unconscious half a day while she sat alone, possibly unprotected. Where were Travis and Nash? The machine next to his bed beeped angrily.
“Calm down,” Callie ordered, “or the nurses will come in and tell me I have to leave for upsetting you.”
“Falcone. What happened to him?”
“He’s in the wind.” Nash’s disgusted statement drew both Mac’s and Callie’s eyes to the door. “As usual, we can’t even conclusively prove his involvement with the bioweapon shipment. We’re tracking the rest of the items Lewis had stored, but I don’t have high hopes for those, either. Falcone insulates himself well. He probably has a dozen witnesses at hand to say he never left his buddy’s yacht in Anguilla.”
Mac cursed and Callie shivered.
“I doubt you have to worry.” Nash rested a hand on Callie’s shoulder, and Mac felt a growl rising in his throat. When the hell had he gotten so possessive? He stifled the sound before it emerged. “You were Lewis’s project. Now that he’s gone, you can get back to your life.”
The words slammed into Mac with the familiar punch of a bullet. As usual, Nash had cut straight to the heart of the matter; Callie no longer needed their protection. In fact, Mac’s presence in her life could only hurt her by potentially rekindling Falcone’s interest. The responsible thing to do was to let her go. So he gritted his teeth and forced a smile.
“Erin will be happy to have you home.”
She didn’t return his smile. In fact, all expression disappeared from her face. “Yes,” she said. “I spoke to her on the phone. She’s staying with friends in the city until I can get back to the house; she’s not up to being alone at the moment. We’re both very grateful for your help getting her away from those men.”
“I’m so sorry she got involved in all of this,” Nash said. Mac tried to recall ever hearing the man apologize before and failed. Clearly, however, Callie didn’t recognize the significance of the words.
“That’s it, then?” Although her face was still emotionless, anger seeped out in her words. “Go on home and play with your dollies while the big boys clean up the mess?”
Mac tried to intercede. “Be reasonable, Callie. You have a life, a home. Your roommate needs you. Yes, Nash is—I am—asking you to leave the mess to us, but not because we don’t respect your strength or intelligence. Just because it’s not your job to deal with men like Henry Falcone.”
“And is it yours?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He glanced over at Nash, who nodded. The promise of work, real work, not ferrying drunk tourists on fishing trips or overseeing security at a glorified playground, held more healing power than any IV drip. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Callie unfolded herself from the chair, the movement stiff. Because he’d upset her? Or just from the abuse her muscles had suffered over the past few days?
“I suppose that is it, then,” she said, her voice as expressionless as her face, as stiff as her posture. “It’s been . . . interesting.”
The door, swooshing quietly shut behind her, held a finality no slam could equal.
***
She would not cry. Dammit, she would not. What had she expected? That they’d get married and live happily ever after? That he’d move into her house and share pancakes on a Sunday morning in her sunny kitchen? Not likely. Did she even want such a thing? With a man like him? A self-confessed adrenaline addict?
She liked her life just fine, dammit. She had her work, her friends, her house. She didn’t need some man to complete her.
“I’m sure you don’t.”
A smile hid behind Travis’s words. She hadn’t realized she’d been muttering on her way down the hall. A hot blush rose up her face.
“Sorry about that.”
“Not at all. Mostly, we’re a pretty useless lot, unless you want to open a jar.”
She forced herself to smile. “Some of you aren’t so useless.” Travis had stayed by her side while Seth Lindsay had carefully cut through first the duct tape, then the plastic shell, and finally the wires of the necklace bomb. She’d wanted him to go to Mac, but he’d refused. Mac, he’d claimed, would be unconscious for hours. And if he woke to find she’d gone through her ordeal alone, Travis’s life would be over.
So much for that idea. Their adventure at an end, Mac had dismissed her like a book returned to the library once the story had been absorbed. Not a keeper.
The teasing grin disappeared from Travis’s angelic features. “Give him some time, Callie.”
“Don’t worry about it, Travis. I’m not.” Liar. “I just wish I could go home, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone about how I am supposed to manage that. I don’t have a license, let alone a credit card, so I can’t buy a plane ticket.”
“Let me see what I can do,” he offered. “Grab a seat in the waiting area—I’ll be right back.” He gave her a gentle push, then disappeared down the hall in the opposite direction.
Out of options, Callie obeyed the command, curling up on a couch in the foyer at the end of the long hall beyond the nurses’ station. In her head, she began composing a list of the things she’d need to do to get her life back. A new driver’s license, passport, bank and credit cards, keys to her car and house . . . She drifted off imagining the reams of red tape.
When she woke, Travis had not yet returned. How long had she slept? Minutes? Hours?
The nurses, who’d become used to her while she waited for Mac, nodded to her as she wandered down the hall. The guard who had originally sat beside Mac’s door had disappeared, but she could hear voices from inside.
Despite herself, she sidled up and pressed her ear to the door.
***
Mac itched to put his fist through Travis’s face. Which didn’t make any sense, really, since Trav was his closest friend and was only doing the right thing by offering to see Callie home safely and to ease her way over the bureaucratic hurdles she’d face when she got there. Still, he couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice when he responded.
“Why don’t you just move in with her while you’re at it?”
Travis cocked his head. “Might not be a bad idea. Just to be sure she’s okay. Plus, I haven’t got a place to stay yet.”
“Stay the fuck away from her,” Mac spat.
“Dog in the manger, Brody. Either you want her or you don’t.”
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what she should have. She deserves better than a scarred ex-cop who barely finished high school and can’t possibly support her.”
“We haven’t even discussed salary yet, and you’re already angling for a raise?” Nash asked.
“It’s not about money!”
“You just said it was. HSE pays well.”
“This whole conversation is ridiculous! She left. Walked out. Went home. She doesn’t want anything more to do with any of us. For God’s sake, you’ve all seen it before—adrenaline and fear make for strange bedfellows. Give her a week or two and she’ll be happy to be rid
of everything having to do with the island and her trip there!”
The door squeaked slightly. Great. Doubtless his pissed-off attitude had triggered something, and now they’d poke him again. But at least the nurse would make Nash and Travis leave him alone.
But it wasn’t a nurse.
***
“Out. Both of you.” Callie pointed at Travis and Nash, who rose quickly from their seats by Mac’s bed.
On his way out the door, Travis kissed her cheek and whispered “Give him hell, kid” in her ear.
“Callie,” Mac started before the door even finished closing.
She held up a hand. “Don’t. I don’t need excuses, Mac. I just need you to answer one question for me.”
He studied her, then nodded. She swallowed hard, determined to keep her voice level and not to play the tears card.
“Do you think I slept with you because I was afraid?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“‘Adrenaline and fear’ were your exact words, I believe.”
“Yes. But I didn’t mean them that way. I meant . . . the excitement . . . It seeps into every aspect of experience while you’re living it. Everything seems bigger, sharper, more colorful, more potent. That wears off eventually.”
“So you don’t have any feelings for me. Just chemicals in your bloodstream that will fade in a couple of weeks.” She was proud of the flat, unemotional tone.
“Stop putting words in my mouth! I lo—”
Callie thought her heart might literally stop. She reminded herself to breathe, then said in as offhand a manner as possible, “You what?”
“I love you. Dammit, Callie, you know that. I could barely fucking breathe the whole time Lewis had you on that island.”
“It might have been nice of you to mention that before now.” She blinked hard, trying to stifle the welling tears. “As it happens, I love you, too.”
“No—”
“Yes. It’s not fear or gratitude or any of those things. It’s not even the great sex, which you seem to think could get better.”
Heat flared in his eyes, but it wasn’t the heat that practically melted her into a puddle right there on the cold hospital floor. It was the hope. She walked to the bed and lowered herself onto the edge.
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