Her Last Defense

by Vickie Taylor

  That woke her up. “In your dreams.”

  His hands went still. He turned his head toward her. Shadows and whisker stubs darkened his face, but his eyes were fever-bright. “If this were my dream, honey, you wouldn’t have to take them off. I’d do it for you.”

  Macy clamped her teeth together to keep her jaw from dropping.

  “Come on. Rain poncho first.” He waggled his fingers at her. “Give it to me.”

  The poncho was uncomfortable. It kept tangling up her arms. She pulled herself into a sitting position, her back propped against the wall, and dragged it over her head.

  “Good girl,” he said when she handed the tattered yellow vinyl to him.

  He yanked his poncho off and tied the two together, then put his butt on the windowsill and levered his shoulders through the hole. A moment later, he disappeared through the opening altogether.

  “Are you crazy? You’re going to fall!”

  “I hope not. It’s a long way down.”

  She scooted to the window, looked up and saw the toes of his rubber boots perched on a strip of metal about as wide as an elementary school ruler. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Making a distress flag, I hope. When we don’t show up at camp by nightfall, they’re bound to send choppers out looking for us first thing in the morning. This bright yellow ought to be visible from a good distance.”

  “Oh.” Pretty clever, her Ranger.

  Not too smart, giving up his bio mask with a lethal virus floating around, but definitely clever.

  And when had he become her Ranger?

  “Are you naked yet?” he called out as casually as if he’d been ordering a burger and fries at the drive-through, and she realized he was trying to make a joke of it, to relieve a little of the anxiety in the situation, even if his humor did sound a little forced.

  She appreciated the effort, but she really wasn’t in a laughing mood. She was tired and cold. She was sad for the lives that had been lost, worried for those that might yet be lost, including his, and she was scared.

  Scared that the searchers wouldn’t find them in the morning. Scared that when she closed her eyes tonight, she’d see monkeys swinging through the trees, just out of reach, and corpses floating in the creeks and rivers.

  Scared that she was going to be spending the night on the cramped floor of a tiny room with a very large man, and only a scrap of silver blanket to separate them.

  Scared that maybe she wished there were nothing to separate them at all.

  Clint hooked his feet back into the window, grabbed on to the edge of the roof and swung himself into the room, nearly landing on top of Macy. She was huddled in the corner, the silver blanket tucked up to her chin. She’d unbraided her hair, and the wet, heavy waves fell around her shoulders like an auburn shawl.

  Their gazes met, then his slid down. Past the edge of the blanket to the floor. To the puddle of blue coveralls against the far wall.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as if there were another storm moving in. Tension crackled and popped in the room. Heat suffused his body from the toes up.

  At least he wasn’t shivering any longer.

  “Your turn,” she said, and the sound of her voice pulled his gaze back to hers. Her eyes were still wide. Shocked.

  He looked away, studied the floor. “You know, I didn’t much care for this jumpsuit when your people issued it to me after decon.”

  “And your point is?”

  He risked a quick glance at her, tried to communicate with a look what he couldn’t with words: regret. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Damn straight.” He jammed his fingers into his pockets, leaned his hips against the wall across from her. As far away as he could get. “Look, Macy. You’ve had a hell of a day. We both have.”

  “Your point, again?”

  “Stress and naked bodies don’t mix well.”

  “Afraid I’m going to seduce you, Clint?” she asked softly. Dark was falling outside. Only the thin light of the sun setting behind the clouds gave the tower room a soft, shadowed glow.

  “I’m afraid you won’t have to,” he answered honestly.

  His life was coming apart at the seams. How easy it would be to forget his troubles in her. The sight of her. The scent. The warm, wet heat.

  She deserved better.

  He turned to stare out the window. Mist clung to the dark treetops, pooling in spots like filmy lakes. The sun’s last rays set the lakes aglow. The moon had already risen in a clear sky above it all.

  The rustle of plastic warned him she was coming before he felt Macy behind him.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking over his shoulder.

  Not as beautiful as her.

  He faced her and couldn’t resist tucking a strand of dark, wavy hair behind her ear while she studied him with luminous eyes.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

  “I don’t want to be hurt.” The warmth of her hands seeped through the damp coveralls where she laid her palms on his chest. “But I would like to be held.”

  She let him decide. He liked that about her. It wouldn’t have taken much to push him over the edge. A kiss. A touch. But she stood back and let him decide.

  In the end, she didn’t have to push him over the edge.

  He leapt willingly.

  Macy sighed against Clint’s lips when he leaned down to kiss her. She let the blanket fall when he banded his strong arms around her.

  He’d made his decision. He told her so with his kneading fingers on her shoulders, her back. His teeth on her lips, nibbling possessively, his tongue, teasing.

  Tentatively, she reached up, framed his jaw with her hands. His whiskers were rough. Arousing. She traced his ears with her fingertips, ducked her head to suck on the hollow of his throat.

  Moaning, he turned her until her back was against the wall. The slight impact of her back against the cool metal had the breath shooting out of her. The feel of Clint’s hand circling her breast had her dragging in another lungful.

  “You like that, baby?” he murmured against her ear.

  She nodded silently, incapable of speech.

  “How about this?” He lowered his head, laved the valley between her breasts with his tongue, and then pulled her nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh, God!”

  She should have known he would possess the same mute intensity in lovemaking that he displayed in other matters. She could feel the tension building in him, simmering, yet none of what he felt showed on his face. No urgent words of need escaped his lips. He searched out and exploited every sensitive spot on her body one at a time, hardly giving her time to catch her breath before moving on to the next.

  Bonelessly, she slumped to the floor and he came down on top of her, shedding his wet jumpsuit as he went. She writhed beneath him, luxuriating in the friction of his body on hers. The hard muscle holding her in place. The velvet-soft skin over the steely erection brushing her thigh.

  She reached for it, but he sensed her intent, pulled his hips away and gave her his fingers instead. Inside her. Stretching her and lubricating her. She clamped her hand over his and pushed him deeper. Faster.

  “Easy, baby,” he rumbled, the tip of her breast still in his mouth, but she didn’t hear.

  She was lost in sensation. Desperate.

  She’d never felt like this with another man. She enjoyed sex, but she’d never needed it. Never craved it the way she did now.

  “Please,” she whispered, knowing he would understand what she was asking for. Hoping he would give it to her.

  As if her wishes had made it come true, he inserted another finger, stroked her twice more and then pressed his thumb against the cluster of nerves that formed the center of her world at that moment.

  Her back arched. Her hips drove up, into his hand. Her body became a vortex and all of her blood, her consciousness swirled to that one spot, circled on the edge of oblivion
for one long second, and then dropped.

  Her stomach plummeted. Her muscles clenched in a spasm so strong she had to grind her teeth to keep herself from screaming. Bright light blinded her, then faded slowly to gray.

  In the darkness, she could just make out Clint’s silhouette above her. His forehead was furrowed.

  “You needed that,” he said.

  She tried to laugh, but it came out a warble. “Who doesn’t need that?”

  He pushed the damp hair off her forehead, frowning. “It’s been a long time for you.”

  “Since I felt like that? How about since, oh…never?”

  She felt his hesitation, his resignation. “David didn’t—”

  “David was kind. And smart. Ambitious as a man could be. But he had a hard time finding his keys in the morning, much less my—”

  “I get the picture.”

  “I sound so awful, criticizing him when he’s dead, and I’m alive.”

  “Too many people idealize the dead. It’s better just to tell the truth.”

  Tears stung her eyes. The truth was, she didn’t want to talk about David. Not while she lay in another man’s arms.

  “Will you tell me the truth, Clint?”

  “I’ll try.”

  It was full dark now. He was just a voice in the darkness. It made it easier to ask. “Do you feel anything. Here.” She traced a finger through the springy curls of his chest hair to a spot just above his heart. “Down deep. Do you laugh? Do you cry? Do you ever just get really, really mad?”

  She knew instantly that she’d said the wrong thing. His back stiffened. “I’m not a damned robot.”

  He rolled away. Sorry she’d asked, sorry she’d doubted him, she grabbed on and rolled with him, ending up with him on his back on the floor and her on top.

  His hands came up to move her aside, but she locked her fingers around his wrists and pushed them over his head. His chest heaved between her legs.

  She stared down at him a long time, trying to make out his features. The broken nose. The dent in his chin. The eyes that glowed faintly even in the absence of light.

  “What does it take to break your discipline?” she wondered out loud. “To make you lose control?”

  She still had his arms pinned to the floor. His fists clenched rhythmically, but he didn’t struggle. “Why don’t you try to find out?”

  A small smile stole across her lips. Could he see it in the dark?

  “I think I’ll do that.”

  Letting go of his wrists, she shimmied down his body, grazing her hands in serpentines over his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen as she went. His stomach muscles fluttered. His erection twitched against her bottom.

  She leaned over to delve her tongue in his navel and lifted her hips, then sank down on his shaft an inch at a time. Undulating, lifting, delving, sinking. Lifting. Sinking.

  His arms jerked up. His fingers dug into her hips, urging her on as she seated herself fully on him, then leaned back and rode.

  His breathing grew short and ragged. She quickened her rocking to keep pace. Then she slowed and clenched her muscles around him and he bucked.

  “Oh, baby. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  She couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. Her own need was flying up, up again, as if he were a horse with wings, carrying her into the clouds. Into the stratosphere.

  She was ready to explode, but she bit her lip, holding on, determined to make him lose control first.

  She leaned back and pulled his knees up, wrapped her arms around his thighs and concentrated on pumping harder. Taking him deeper. She arched her back and tilted her hips, plunged down on him and raised herself up, then fell again.

  A cry escaped her. She couldn’t hold herself together much longer.

  Then Clint growled. His back came off the floor. His hands shook as he lifted her, flipped her and came down on her with crushing force and she smiled inside because she knew at that moment, he had no control. No discipline.

  He thrust against her one more time. Twice. And when his back stiffened and he called out her name, there was no hiding the truth. No hiding his feelings.

  He was as desperate, and as transparent, as she.

  Chapter 9

  Straddling the roof of the fire tower, Clint guided the winch with the safety harness and little round seat dangling at the end toward the window below, where Macy waited to strap herself in. They’d woken to the chop of helicopter rotors. The search team had spotted the bright yellow ponchos he’d tied out almost as soon as they’d taken off.

  Their arrival had preempted the obligatory morning-after talk. He hadn’t been looking forward to it, but to be honest, he had some things that needed to be said, uncomfortable or not.

  She was the kind of woman who would be likely to have expectations after a night like they’d shared. Hopes for the future.

  He needed to let her know that that wasn’t an option for him right now. Not when he didn’t know what kind of future he had to offer her.

  Who was he kidding? It wouldn’t matter even if his future was all mapped out with a one-hundred-percent guarantee.

  Clint just didn’t do women like Macy Attois. Women who loved more deeply than he would ever be capable of loving them back.

  Yeah, sooner or later, they were going to have to have that talk.

  The winch operator on the helicopter hovering above was making frantic hand signals at him. Clint looked down and saw Macy hanging half in, half out of the fire-tower window, strapped on to the seat with her legs wrapped around the dangling cable.

  His body temperature rose a couple of degrees remembering what it had felt like to have those legs locked around him last night, then he pushed the thought away for later.

  Once she’d been hoisted into the chopper, it was his turn. It was a wild ride, spinning and wind-blown, as was the short trip back to base camp.

  On the ground, blood tests were dispensed with first. He and Macy had essentially been quarantined in the fire tower for more than the requisite twelve hours, so they didn’t have to wait long for the results.

  Negative.

  They’d been lucky. Again.

  The camp was busy. He saw some of the Hempaxe crew coming and going with their CDC partners. Security personnel were on constant lookout around the perimeter. Supplies were being unloaded. Maps were being pointed at by planning crews, lines drawn, routes plotted. Someone had cleared enough of a trail to get four-wheel ATVs in to them, and a motor hummed as someone revved one of them up.

  Macy went off with her team to get a status update. A young man whose bio mask looked out of place with his state trooper’s uniform called to Clint. “Are you Ranger Sergeant Hayes?”

  The “yes” that once would have tumbled easily out of his mouth nearly choked him. After yesterday, he needed to think seriously about his ability to perform as a ranger even in this limited capacity. He’d put Macy at risk, and that was inexcusable.

  He took the phone. Captain Matheson’s voice boomed in his ear. “You’re supposed to be keeping things under control out there, Hayes, not going off on safari.”

  “Yeah, well, Tarzan always was my hero.”

  “So tell me about this DB that Jane found.”

  The Dead Body. Mystery of the day. “Male, Caucasian, midforties. One small-caliber bullet hole in the forehead. Dr. Attois identified him as the pilot of the plane, Michael Cain. Twenty years in the air force, two years in the Gulf. Solid record, according to the military. Went to work for the CDC after he retired.”

  “Was he shot before or after the crash?”

  “After, I suspect, but you’ll have to ask the Medical Examiner to be sure.”

  Bull blew out a hard breath. “So at least one man survived the crash.”

  “Two,” Clint said, automatically looking around to see who might be in listening range. “Michael Cain. And whoever killed him.”

  “Injuries consistent with a fall from an aircraft?”

  “Not that I cou
ld see.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I’m thinking maybe the accident was more than just an accident.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Attempted hijacking, maybe?”

  “Somebody wanted the virus? The damn bug is running rampant in Malaysia. You’d think they could have gotten all they wanted without having to steal a plane.”

  “We don’t have all the pieces yet. But something happened up there that wasn’t supposed to.”

  Clint could practically hear Bull Matheson turning the puzzle over in his mind, viewing it from all angles.

  “Clint, Dr. Attois’s fiancé was on the flight, right?”

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  “And she flew home commercial?”

  Clint’s hand tightened on the satellite phone. “She’s not involved.”

  “They could have been working together. Her going home first to set things up.”

  “Why would they want ARFIS?”

  “Like I said, we don’t have all the pieces.”

  “Like I said. She’s not involved.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the clear-headed, uninvolved investigator I know and love speaking.”

  Clint ground his teeth. If he gripped the phone any harder, he was afraid he’d crush it. “What do you want?”

  “You have a relationship with her, I assume.”

  Clint neither confirmed nor denied. Relationship could cover a lot of ground. Friends. Acquaintances. Lovers.

  “Use it,” the captain finished. “Find out what she knows.”

  Clint said goodbye and hung up. Across the camp, Macy walked out of her tent, and looked his way. He couldn’t see much of her face behind the bio mask, but he’d bet his last paycheck that she’d pulled her lower lip between her teeth and smiled shyly, pausing a moment as she remembered last night. He nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.

  Looked like he’d be having that morning-after talk with her sooner rather than later. At least when it was over he wouldn’t have to worry about her having expectations of him. Not after he accused her of murder.