Undercover Texas, page 9
Erin tucked the towel more tightly around her, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Yeah, he seems very upset.”
“He was crying,” Hunter protested.
“Since he’s okay now, could you please let me get dressed?”
He couldn’t leave the room fast enough and closed the door behind him. “Thanks a lot, sport. Now she thinks I’m a pervert.”
A few minutes later, Erin reentered dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. She held out her arms. Reluctantly, Hunter handed over Brandon. The baby tucked his head against his mother’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
“Why wouldn’t he do that for me?” Hunter asked.
She stroked her son’s back. “Because I’m his mom.” Her gaze shifted from the bed to Hunter. “He needs sleep.”
“Put him on the bed,” Hunter said. “I’ll sit up tonight. I’m not tired.”
“Liar.”
Hunter quirked a smile. “Maybe, but I need to check the perimeter. Just in case.”
After an uneventful security check around the cabin, and a small salute to the mama gator, Hunter returned to the shack. Erin had curled up with Brandon. He lay passed out with his fist in his mouth.
With a resigned sigh, Hunter grabbed a couple of blankets from the armoire and threw them on the floor.
“Don’t,” Erin whispered. “There’s room for all of us.”
Hunter hesitated.
“You need your rest,” she added, toying with the fine black hair on Brandon’s forehead.
“He’s amazing, Erin. You’re a good mother.”
Could she hear the yearning lacing his voice? God, he hoped not.
“Brandon makes it easy. He has so much joy inside.”
“I wish...” Hunter couldn’t complete the thought. He doused the lamp, and the room turned mostly dark, save small slivers of moonlight filtering through the wooden shutters.
“Me, too.” She tucked Brandon in closer. “I thought we had something special.”
Hunter eased his face down onto the bed. His entire body hurt; his back ached; his throat was scratchy. And yet he couldn’t drift off to sleep. He couldn’t stop from breathing in the scent of both of them. What he wouldn’t give to have them part of his life.
Brandon’s small snores purred, and soon Erin’s soft breathing grew steady. Their lives together could have been special.
Hunter had even considered leaving the organization. He’d thrown out a few hints to the general. The man had been sympathetic but clear. Could Hunter live with the consequences if his past followed him and his family were caught in the cross fire?
Easy answer. Hunter would do anything to keep Erin and Brandon safe. Even let them go.
Trouble was, what had been a lonely future had turned bleaker than he had ever imagined. He let his finger slide down Brandon’s cheek and hover over Erin’s hand.
Now he knew what he’d be missing.
* * *
THEY’D PUT TERENCE IN A private room. Probably so he wouldn’t scare the other patients.
He pressed his hand against the patch over the socket where his eye had been. They’d removed it. The doctors said he could be fitted with a glass eye.
Son of a bitch.
He breathed in. The smell of antiseptic overwhelmed him.
They’d told him how lucky he’d been, that his burns would heal eventually, and so would his body. With enough surgery his appearance would improve.
He might have to get a Phantom of the Opera mask. He didn’t really care about his looks. He’d have to learn to live without an eye, though. He didn’t mind that much, except it made him vulnerable.
“Mr. Mahew,” a quiet voice whispered from his bedside.
Just like that.
Terence hadn’t seen the guy coming. Normally, his peripheral vision would have warned him.
The man wore a long white coat, but when Terence glanced at his shoes—handmade, spit-and-polish black—nausea bubbled in Terence’s belly. His hand reached under his pillow. His weapon wasn’t there.
He felt on the bedside table. A plastic knife. He could make do.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Is that any way to treat your customer?” the man asked.
Terence stared up the man. “You’re not the man I made a deal with. Wrong voice.”
“He doesn’t take out the garbage, Mr. Mahew. You failed to deliver on your assignment. My employer is not pleased.”
Terence could see the next few minutes as surely as if he were watching a movie.
Not a good ending, but Terence Mahew wasn’t a man who would go down without a fight.
Eyeing his enemy, he shifted so he could maneuver better in the bed.
“I’m out of it. I quit,” Terence said, buying as much time as he could.
“Oh, I agree. The money has been removed from your account, but we have unfinished business.”
The man leaned over Terence’s bedside, a cold smile on his face.
Terence clutched the plastic knife. In one thrust he stabbed the weapon at the man’s eye. His opponent dodged in a blinding-fast move. He rested his palm under Terence’s nose.
“You know I can kill you.” he said. “I will kill you. Failure is not an option.”
Terence couldn’t look away from the man’s deadly gaze. His eyes were cold, soulless.
The truth sucked the energy from Terence. He was dead.
The man smiled.
Then his eyes rolled back into his head.
Blood poured from a small hole on the man’s neck. He sagged to the floor.
Terence gaped at his second visitor.
A man in a perfectly pressed suit tucked a metal skewer into his pocket. Several crew-cut men filed into the hospital room and wrapped the body in plastic, cleaning up the mess with scary precision. “Terence Mahew?”
He nodded, his mouth gaping.
He’d almost wet himself at the efficiency of this man’s move, and after killing over a hundred people in his lifetime, being in combat, watching his buddies die, that said something.
“My name is Padgett. You’re wanted in Virginia. We would like to have a word with you about your—” he glanced at the dead body “—former employers.”
He tossed Terence some sweats. “Get dressed if you want to live another day.”
* * *
ERIN SAT IN THE KITCHEN CHAIR and tucked her knees into her chest. The afternoon sun filtered through the window’s slats. She’d convinced Hunter to lie down with Brandon for his nap on the auspices that he wouldn’t sleep. She’d had an ulterior motive, though. Since this morning, Hunter’s cheeks had grown flushed, and he’d turned an ugly shade of gray when Brandon accidently hit his back.
She glanced at the door for the umpteenth time. It had been twenty-four hours since he’d been shot, and Hunter had refused to let her look under the bandages. He’d said Doc would be here soon.
Unable to sit still a second longer, Erin crossed the room. She studied Hunter’s features. He didn’t look comfortable. A frown line marred his forehead; perspiration had broken through.
She laid a hand on his cheek.
Too hot.
“Oh, Hunter.”
The day had started out surreal. Despite feeling under par, he’d responded to Brandon’s every move. Her son had taken to Hunter faster than a gamma ray. Maybe it was a guy thing to connect at the speed of light, but they seemed to speak the same language.
From the bed, Brandon blinked up at her and smiled. He patted Hunter on the chest. Hunter groaned softly. Brandon frowned at his daddy. Erin could see the intent on her son’s face. She quickly picked him up and carried him to a makeshift playpen in the middle of the living room. “Daddy’s not feeling good. Why don’t you play with Socky?” Kneeling down, she handed him his puppet.
Brandon squealed and threw the sock at her. She squatted down to pick up the toy. He grinned at her, the look in his eyes merry with mischievousness.
So like the man she’d met on Santorini.
“You did that on purpose.”
He grinned wider.
She returned the toy and tousled the hair. “Your daddy’s getting sick. If help doesn’t come soon, we have to get him to the hospital. No matter what he says. He needs antibiotics.”
Brandon patted her face and blew some bubbles at her. She smiled, and then a slight sound wafted from outside—a rumbling she recognized.
Erin stilled. She glanced at the gun Hunter had placed on top of the armoire earlier. She kissed the top of her son’s head. “Be good.”
She chanced a glance out the shack’s window.
Another airboat sped up the narrow waterway. A man with light brown hair and tanned skin drove the boat. No question he knew where he was headed. The vehicle slowed. His body on alert, the man’s intensity reminded her of Hunter. He swerved to the dock.
Erin straightened her shoulders, cracked open the door and gripped the weapon tight. She pointed it directly at the man’s head, telling herself over and over again not to let her hand shake. She couldn’t show vulnerability. Not until she knew his identity. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice calm.
He cocked his head at the handgun.
“Tell me your name,” she ordered again.
“Doc,” he said. “You the mom of the baby I heard laughing on the phone?”
She let out a slow, deep breath and lowered her weapon. Finally. “Erin Jamison. It took you long enough to get here.”
“Erin Jamison? From Pensacola?” His eyes narrowed, and he let out a loud curse. “What the hell has that idiot got himself into this time?” He grabbed a bag and jumped onto the pier. “Where is he?”
“Inside. He’s developed a fever.” Strange. She’d never seen this man. How did he know her name?
An unsettling wave washed through her belly. She kept the gun in her hand and followed Doc inside to Hunter’s bedside. Brandon jabbered at the new intruder. The visitor took one look at her son, then stared down at Hunter. “Dude, when you complicate things, you do a hell of a job.” He turned to Erin. “Where’s he hurt?”
“I’m not invisible,” Hunter groused.
“Clay, your favorite teammate is here.”
Hunter opened his eyes and frowned. “Don’t bother, she knows my real name.”
Doc lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Long story.” Hunter shifted and winced.
“I’d guess so after seeing that little miniature you. You look like you’ve been dragged through the swamp by an alligator. Let’s have a gander at the damage.”
“I’ll make it simple,” Hunter said, and flipped onto his stomach. “Bullet under my shoulder blade, a few burns. Just patch me up, give me some antibiotics and forget you ever saw us.”
Doc removed the bandage under Hunter’s scapula. His mouth screwed up. “So glad you’ve got a medical degree now. You dress this?” he asked Erin.
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Good job, but the bullet needs to come out.”
“Didn’t I just say that?” Hunter groused.
The medic pulled a sealed surgical kit out of a small bag. He dug inside. “Shut up and swallow this pill.”
Hunter downed it. “What did you give me?”
“Pain pill. You’re going to need it.”
“Damn it, Doc. I need to be alert.”
“You need sleep more.” Doc laid out a sterile pack, complete with a scalpel, forceps and sutures. “Have you got a strong stomach, Dr. Jamison? I could use a second set of hands if your baby is occupied.”
She couldn’t let Hunter down. No matter what he’d done in the past, he’d taken that bullet to save them. “Whatever you need.”
He gave her an approving nod. “Let’s wash up.”
They scrubbed and slipped on surgical gloves. Doc took a syringe and filled it. She couldn’t help the shiver.
“Lidocaine. It’ll numb the area.” He placed his hand on Hunter’s back. “You ready, bud?”
“Just get it done,” Hunter said.
After Doc plunged the anesthetic just under Hunter’s skin, he pressed on the area. “You feel anything?”
“Just pressure.”
“Good.” Using a scalpel, Doc made a quick incision on either side of the bullet hole.
Erin didn’t have time to think. She followed Doc’s orders and within seconds the medic explored the hole with forceps. A low moan escaped Hunter. Erin bit her lip and shifted her back in sympathy.
“Almost there. Hang on.” Doc maneuvered the instrument, then smiled. “Got it.” He pulled out a slug and dropped it into the kit. “Round one accomplished. Now we have to clean these wounds.”
They worked to cleanse the rest of Hunter’s back, treat the wounds with silver nitrate cream and reapply the bandages.
“Okay. We’re done.”
“Thank God,” Hunter said with a groan.
Erin’s knees shook. She glanced over at Brandon. Her son had quiet tears rolling down his face, his thumb stuffed in his mouth as he looked at his daddy.
“I know how you feel, cutie,” Erin said softly, blinking back the burning in her eyes. She glanced at Doc. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hunter interjected.
Doc smiled and pulled out another syringe. He pushed down Hunter’s pants, revealing a very muscular butt, then stabbed him. “This should jump-start the healing. I’ll leave a week’s worth of pills. Take them or you’ll ruin my good work.”
Relief filtered through Erin. She liked Doc’s tone. Hunter really was going to be okay.
Their patient glared at Doc, though. “You enjoyed showing my bare hind end way too much.”
“Yeah, I did.” The smile creased, then left Doc’s face. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse. It could have been.”
“Are you a doctor?” she asked.
“Hardly. I learned the skill out of necessity, and not always with a good outcome.”
Something about Doc’s tense shoulders made her nervous. The two men met gazes, and the communication between them made Erin quiver. Doc might be a healer, but he had Hunter’s edge. That indefinable quality that said he would do whatever it took, no matter the cost.
“Protect them,” Hunter said, his voice slurring just a bit, and then he closed his eyes.
Erin knelt beside the bed and pushed away the hair from Hunter’s forehead. Something she might never have done when he was awake. It was safer to her heart without his knowing brown eyes searing through her. “He’s really going to be okay?”
She lifted her lashes, ignoring the slight dampness on their tips.
The medic’s expression gentled. “By tomorrow he’ll be a new man. You’ll never know this happened.”
Erin bit her lip. “And you’re staying?”
“Oh, yeah. You have at least three groups of people looking for you. Until Hunter regains consciousness, Dr. Jamison, I’m your bodyguard.”
Chapter Six
The pulsing surf of Santorini sounded in Hunter’s ear. The black beaches of the volcanic island gleamed against the turquoise sea. The woman across from him smiled, her eyes guileless, her expression open and honest.
Everything he wasn’t.
The backdrop of the ocean framed her blond hair. Several strands had escaped the sophisticated knot. He missed the flowing blond locks he’d seen when they’d first met. Now his fingers itched to release the captured tresses so they’d once again bathe her shoulders.
He prayed his gaze didn’t telegraph half of what he wanted from Erin. Every instinct within him shouted that her innocence was real, evoking a protective feeling that he hadn’t felt since his mom had gotten so sick.
He couldn’t stop staring at her. From the amazingly long lashes surrounding her emerald eyes, to the blush staining her cheeks, to the fullness of her lips. He wanted to hold Erin in his arms and fold her close. He wanted to touch her in ways no man had. He wanted her to cry out his name.
Erin took a shuddering breath and lowered her gaze. She must have recognized his want. God, she was beautiful with this naive, hopeful air he’d never experienced.
If only he could wash away the stains of everything he had done.
She cleared her throat. “Why did you choose Santorini, Clay?”
Right. Clay. Not Hunter. Not in this place.
Her gaze begged him to take their conversation somewhere safe. He reined in his desire as best he could. He didn’t want to scare her, but this primal force inside drew him. He scooted his chair a bit closer.
“I needed a vacation. My last job was...brutal.”
More than she would ever know. Blood, bullets, betrayal. Not from his team. Never from them. From the moment General Miller had tapped him directly out of his Special Ops training, the team had become his family. He would sacrifice everything for each of them, and he had no doubt they would do the same, but year after year the enemy became less clear. Informants turned on them; insiders changed loyalty more often than he changed socks. Hunter was so tired of the game. He still believed his organization’s work to be critically important, but fatigue gnawed at him from the inside. Bone-jarring, soul-wasting exhaustion.
“I guess the economy has made the consulting business tough,” she said, sympathy clouding her expression.
He shifted in his chair, the discomfort unwelcome—and disconcerting. Normally, he wouldn’t feel even a twinge of guilt in that minor of a lie, but with Erin his standard operating procedures felt wrong. He crumbled the napkin in his lap. The woman across from him was perfection. Better than he deserved. She took a sip of white wine, but instead of getting up and leaving, he reached for her hand.
She studied his fingers enveloping hers, but she didn’t pull away. Something inside Hunter swelled. She wanted him, too. He could feel it.
“Tell me more about your research,” he prompted, desperate to shift his focus from her extremely kissable lips.
Her eyes lit up with excitement. He didn’t understand half of the technical terms she used, but as each minute passed his belly twisted. When she mentioned radioactive isotopes and targeted exposures, his neck tightened. He could see the Departments of Defense and Homeland Security salivating at the potential weaponization for her nanosized robot. And the terrorists—they’d pay a fortune.
