"Are you hurt? Sick? What's broken? Where does it hurt?"
Maggie knew better than to trigger Amelia's protective streak. She was a born worrier. "I'm fine," she quickly inserted before Amelia threatened to dispatch a lifeline helicopter. "It's a friend."
There was a pause. "I know all of your friends. Who is it?"
"A new one," she hedged.
"Hum. Is this friend of the male persuasion?"
"Yes, and I'll tell you all about it when you get here. And Amelia? Bring your big bag of supplies and keep it on the down low." Big bag was code for gunshot or worse.
"Now I'm intrigued." A car door slammed and then a motor revved to life. "I'm on my way."
"Thank you."
"That's what best friends are for."
#
"You have no idea when or how he was shot?" Amelia was stitching the bullet wound in the front, the back having already been sutured. She'd administered a shot of both antibiotic and a mild knock-out drug to Kris so she could probe the wound.
"None," Maggie confirmed, watching as his chest rose and fell. "No major damage?"
"As best as I can tell without an x-ray," Amelia concurred. "No fragments in the wound so that's good." Amelia had irrigated the wound with a saline solution to remove any stray debris and to aid in the healing process. Then she stitched the holes and covered them with a sterile pad taped into place. "Some muscle and tissue damage, but it'll heal. The bullet didn't break any bones. Infection had just started to set in but you caught it in time. He needs to stick to an antibiotic regime and he needs to keep the arm as immobilized as possible for the next few days. Ice will help." Amelia checked the wrap she had secured around his torso. "His ribs are badly bruised and could be cracked, but they aren't broken and I don't hear any hindrance in his breathing, so no punctured lung. His head wound is a worry. I've given him the first dose of antibiotics but you'll need to wake him and make sure he takes these pills every four hours. Check for confusion or slurring. If anything seems wrong, don't hesitate to call me, day or night." She handed Maggie a bottle and then peeled off her latex gloves. "He should rest comfortably for a few hours before you need to wake him." She stood to stretch her back.
"Thank you so much for coming. Again, no word of this."
Amelia mimicked zipping her lips. "But that doesn't let you off the hook, sister. I want the whole story, the pertinent facts and a glass of wine, not necessarily in that order." She snapped her bag closed and headed for the kitchen, just assuming Maggie would follow.
Maggie sighed and padded out of the room, giving Kris one last look. She should've known there'd be no putting off her friend. Amelia could be a pit bull. So far, she'd avoided telling the entire story, like she knew virtually nothing about the guy, including his name. So she filled her in on every detail.
"So he stuck a gun in your back and kidnapped you?"
"Pretty much," Maggie said, sipping a tangy merlot. They'd kicked off their shoes and settled on the sofa, the only lights coming from the Christmas tree and the gas fireplace where flames danced merrily, adding a warm glow to the room. Maggie had strung real pine boughs on the mantle, and that, along with the tree, gave the room the smell of Christmas. They'd sat and talked like this so many times over the years, it felt comfortable.
"Mags, this isn't like you." Amelia lifted her glass and studied Maggie as she sipped. "You don't even know his name."
She sighed. How did she explain the feeling deep in her gut? She trusted him. True, she knew practically nothing about him, but that didn't change the way she felt.
Amelia placed a hand on her arm. "I know you're a kick-ass warrior now," she said with a smile. "But I worry about you. You have a gentle, trusting heart."
"My heart's not involved." Lie. Her heart had been smack-dab in the middle of this from the beginning. She didn't know why that fickle organ had attached itself to Kris, but it had and there was no looking back. "I'm just helping him out. I have a gut feeling, that's all."
"And your gut is usually right. But Mags, the guy's sporting a bullet wound. You don't get those from an upstanding job like selling stocks and bonds."
"You might if you lose someone's fortune," Maggie joked. "And COBRA agents are upstanding and they get shot," she argued. "But I know what you are saying and I appreciate it. Believe me, my eyes are wide open."
Chapter Four
Carter woke to a dark room, light jazz playing softly in the background. He searched his memory but he couldn't remember where he was. He was lying on something cushy and comfortable. A thick blanket covered him, keeping him toasty. He kept his eyes shut as he tried to remember. Then it all came crashing back to him. His nephew. At the mercy of one of the most notorious gangs in the Midwest. His fragile, drug-addicted sister begging him to rescue her son. Him leaving the military to help the only family he had left. Infiltrating the gang. Meeting his nephew for the first time, and his brother-in-law—the notorious Ronnie "Rebel" Floyd. Rebel was one of the reasons why his baby sister was hooked on drugs. He got her pregnant and Cami swore to Carter that she quit the entire nine months and didn't plan on starting again. She wanted to raise Ronnie Junior. But Rebel didn't approve of the way she coddled RJ, never mind that he was an infant. So he got her hooked again and then took off with RJ when he turned three.
Cami was devastated. She'd forced herself to rehab, got in touch with Carter and begged him to save her, as he had done so many times in her life. This wasn't the first abusive boyfriend, but it was the first child and Carter knew she'd be a good mother if she could stay off drugs.
His reenlistment was coming up and he planned on re-upping but then Cami's call altered his future. He'd never met RJ but he was family, so he loved him and didn't want him around the crude environment of a biker gang. RJ didn't need to spend his formative years watching burly bikers shooting up and falling down drunk, as Cami said they did every night. There were guns and drugs and sex and she was afraid RJ would be in the middle of everything. It pained Carter to think that she'd been part of that world.
He came home and planned his foray into the group. He'd grown out his hair for his last operation. Delta Force had more leeway than most military groups. They didn’t wear typical military uniforms and they could look and dress differently. It allowed them to mingle with the locals on a mission and not be singled out.
He had a former Delta teammate in the FBI but he couldn't go to him yet. According to Cami, Rebel had an informant in the Bureau. He trusted his friend, but he didn't want any leak of him infiltrating the group and possibly endangering RJ. He planned on documenting all the crimes he could and when he had enough to bury Rebel, he'd call his buddy and make a deal—Rebel for Cami being awarded custody of RJ.
Cami had one friend inside who kept her updated on RJ. According to her, Trigger was loyal to her and not Rebel. Carter prayed she was right.
He'd been a Floyd gang member for three months now. He'd gained the trust of RJ, who spent most of his time with Carter, and of Rebel, who included him in all of the secret meetings. Thanks to his inclusion in the inner fold, he now had enough to take down Rebel and all of the leaders of the group. They ran drugs and guns and stolen merchandise, most they'd stolen themselves. Carter had pictures and recordings documenting all of their nefarious activities. He was invited to sit in a hush-hush meeting about their next big venture, the movement of cargo—human cargo. The Floyd Gang was new to trafficking but Rebel had big plans and bragged about the contact from Chicago. Now Carter had that man's name, too. Before he could notify his buddy in the FBI, someone tipped Rebel off to his real reason for being in the gang. Rebel invited him to a park for a beer and then ambushed him, bashing him in the head with a baseball bat before beating the crap out of him when he was down. The gunshot was meant to be the death blow but he'd been able to roll enough to avoid the kill shot. Unfortunately, the move took him tumbling down a steep embankment. The trip was excruciatingly painful, especially to his damaged shoulder, but it saved his life. Rebel didn't follow
him down, assuming he'd killed him.
He didn't know how long he'd been out, but eventually the cold seeped through his brain, forcing him to move or die. He stumbled up the hill, glad to find Rebel long gone.
Unfortunately, so was his Harley.
He began walking towards town when he spotted a Santa costume hanging in a beat-up truck. The perfect disguise. He left a few bucks for the suit on the driver's seat, ditched most of his blood-soaked clothes, donned the red velvet outfit and pretended to be a bell ringer while he racked his addled brain to come up with a solution. Thankfully he'd hidden all of his evidence where Rebel wouldn't find it, but it was back at the Fort, as Rebel called their hideout. He couldn't just waltz back in and get it, seeing as how Rebel thought he was dead.
He was concentrating on ringing the bell and staying awake when a tiny blond angel stopped to drop money in the kettle. Something inside him shifted. He didn't know her, but the moment felt monumental, like his life would never be the same—assuming he managed to stay alive.
His plan to follow her to her car and beg for a ride quickly fell apart as he realized he was in worse shape than he thought. He didn't know how much longer he'd be conscious and he needed to get somewhere safe, regroup, and figure out how to rescue both the evidence and RJ.
RJ had taken to him instantly. When Rebel saw this, he figured Carter could be in charge of caring for his son, and Carter readily agreed. He made sure RJ was fed, bathed, clothed and took vitamins that he'd purchased himself. RJ slept beside him most nights, and never let go of the stuffed dog he bought him. He was worried what his departure would do to the boy. He hated it there and no one else had time for a little kid. They mostly ignored him or shooed him out of the room. It had been that way before he arrived and it made his stomach cramp to think of RJ going through that again. He would be so scared.
He shot up straight but quickly fell back down when his injuries protested. He wasn't in any shape to rescue his nephew right now. He needed to regroup. Focus. Come up with a plan to get him out safely. He wanted to call some of his Delta buddies, but they were overseas on a mission. He'd have to do it by himself.
He vowed to get RJ to safety and if Cami should relapse, he would take care of him. RJ was terrified of his father. He told Carter several times that he wished he were his dad and it was all he could do to not tell him that while he wasn't his dad, he was his uncle.
#
"You're finally awake, Kris. How do you feel?"
Carter sucked in a breath at the sight of his rescuer. Her long blond hair was down and fell in lustrous waves across her delicate shoulders. Her wide blue eyes were direct and concerned. He didn’t believe in anything as ridiculous as love at first sight. But what was this tingly feeling in the pit of his stomach? "A little like roadkill," he admitted. His hand cupped his damaged shoulder. "It feels like stitches pulling."
She hurried over when he started to rise. "No, keep still. You do have stitches and you don't want to rip them out."
His brows knit. "You sewed me up? Are you a doctor?"
"I'm not, but my best friend is. Before you get all excited," she admonished, "she knows you're here but she won't say a word to anyone. Speaking of medical…" She shook out a pill and handed it to him, followed by a glass of water. He obediently drank.
"Did I dream you forcing these down my throat?"
Her smile was wide and white and blindingly beautiful. He choked on the water. She carefully pounded his back. He held up his hand. "Better."
"You didn't dream it," she said, a smile in her voice. "I had to wake you so you could take them, but then you fell right back asleep."
"How long was I out?"
"Pretty much since you arrived."
He rolled his eyes. "I know that. How long?"
"Well, you kidnapped me—at gunpoint, I might add."
"Let's gloss over that," he grumbled.
Her smiled widened. "It's now Monday morning and I have to go to work soon. I took Friday off but I can't take another this close to Christmas."
He shot up again. "Monday? I've been out three and a half days?"
"Whoa, there, Kris." She eased him down. "You need to rest and heal."
"I don't have time to waste," he blurted out, his leg shaking in agitation. He needed to get up, save his nephew. Almost four days out. His shoulder hurt but it wasn't life-threatening. His ribs ached but he could deal. His head throbbed but nothing he couldn't overlook. He hadn't slept well since he infiltrated the gang, always keeping one eye open for any sign of trouble. His body must have just crashed. "Wait a minute…why are you calling me Kris?"
"You don't remember?"
When he shook his head she scooted his legs out of the way and perched on the edge of the bed. His body reacted instantaneously. He suddenly realized he was naked under the blanket. He bunched up the covers so she couldn't see what her nearness did to his uncooperative hormones. He didn't have time for an inconvenient bout of lust. He had a mission to complete.
"After you kidnapped me—at gunpoint."
He rolled his eyes. "You just love saying that, don't you?"
She nodded eagerly.
"You'll be telling that story to our grandchildren," he groused. When he realized what he'd said, his eyes snapped to hers in horror. Hers were wide with shock and awe. "I didn't…I mean…"
Her hand covered his. "No worries," she said, letting him off the hook. "As I was saying, you were dressed as Santa. Do you remember that?"
"Vaguely," he recalled. "Red velvet suit, smelled like the back end of Donner and Blitzen?"
She threw back her head in laughter and he smiled, loving that he could make her laugh like that. She was breathtaking. He vowed to make her laugh as often as possible.
"That's the one," she concurred. "Anyway, as I was saving your sorry hide, you fainted before you could tell me your name. So I just call you Kris, you know, as in Kringle."
"I didn't faint," he protested.
"What would you call it?"
"I passed out."
"And the difference is…?"
"Masculinity," he asserted.
She burst out laughing again and his heart flipped over. Not good.
"You know what's a little scary, Kris?"
"What's that?" he asked, not bothering to correct the name.
"I think we have the same sense of humor."
"Twisted, a little cynical with a hint of kinky thrown in?"
"That's the one," she confirmed.
They smiled at each other and the atmosphere in the room changed, charged. Their smiles slowly faded and time seemed to stand still. He leaned forward, intending to taste those lush, pink lips.
#
"Hello! Coma breath," Maggie announced, holding up a hand. "No offense, Kris, but you've been dead to the world for days."
He cupped a hand around his mouth mumbling a sorry and she felt bad for goading him. There was nothing wrong with his breath. She wanted to inhale it and then him. He made every feminine cell in her body stand up and cheer. But she still didn't know anything about him, including his real name. If she kissed him, there would be no retrieving her heart. She already feared it was a lost cause. She'd cared for him for over three days. Bathed him, fed him, read to him. She'd concocted so many different scenarios in her head for who he was, she was deathly afraid that the truth would shatter her dreams. She couldn't kiss him before she knew all about him.
"I do need to use the bathroom," he admitted, gingerly setting up. She stood to help but he stopped. "Uh, do you mind? I'm a little…exposed here."
Yes, she knew. She's the one who exposed him and was already intimately familiar with every inch of him. She smirked. "I guess you don't remember me helping you to the bathroom? The sponge baths?"
A tinge of red colored his cheeks. He looked adorable. But there was pain in his eyes so she took pity on him. "I have a pair of my brother's sweatpants." She lifted them from the bedside table. I'll get them started and then when you stand, you
can pull them the rest of the way up, therefore keeping your modesty preserved."
"I'm not modest," he said, jerking the blanket aside, revealing his amazing—albeit battered— body. "I just didn’t want to offend your feminine sensibilities."
She tried to keep her eyes on his, she really did. She managed for the most part. "So is that a no to the sweatpants?"
"Actually, it's a yes," he confessed, gingerly swinging his legs over the side of the bed. She bent down and lifted one foot, sliding the material over his calf before doing the same to the other. She looked up and gulped at the position she was in. He was very obviously affected by it, too.
"Here…I'll just…"
"Let me…"
They spoke at the same time, both fumbling to pull the sweatpants over his aroused body. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I think I can make it by myself," he insisted. "Once the dizziness passes."
"I'll just walk beside you in case," she said.
He made it to the bathroom without assistance. "There are supplies under the lavatory," she told him.
"I'm going to take a quick shower."
"Try not to get the stitches wet. And leave the door unlocked in case you need help."
He nodded and disappeared behind the door. She fanned a hand in front of her face, trying to calm her racing heart. He affected her so much. She checked her watch. She needed to be at work soon. She was in charge of the entire COBRA office staff. The place could run without her, but it wouldn't be easy. They'd learn though, once she was out in the field.
She gathered her things while he showered. She checked her watch again. She'd be late, so she called to make sure her assistant Marnie could cover until she arrived. Christmas Eve was two days away so many agents were off for vacation. Logan Bradley and Luke Colton, her bosses, lightened the workload around the holidays so staff could spend time with their families. As soon as she hung up, the door opened and Kris emerged from a cloud of steam. Water droplets still clung to his massive chest. He'd shaved, showcasing a granite jaw. Straight, white teeth flashed. "No more coma breath," he boasted.
Saving Santa Page 2