by Louise Dawn
◊ ◊ ◊
The world excluded her from all color and sound. Abby sat in an anesthetized bubble as the city flew past in a blur. Her brain couldn’t stay in tumble dryer mode. Think, Abby. Was her cover blown? Were they coming for her? She knew they would; it was just a question of when. The attacker took his time hurting her. Why would he do that? She couldn’t remember much after the bastard Tased her. She’d been vaguely aware of Max charging into the melee. Was he hurt? Why would she agree with a strange man driving her home? Max saved her life, but now he was involved, and that was the last thing she needed.
The adrenaline wore off. Her head pounded in time with sore muscles. Abby straightened her legs to relieve cramping pains. Those had to be the effects of the Taser.
“Where do you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.”
The expletive had her shrinking back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear, I should be taking you to the ER. Your head is pretty banged up. There’s a hospital two blocks from here.”
Max drove fast, Abby grabbed the seatbelt as he rounded a corner. “I feel tender, but nothing’s broken. Are you okay?”
He looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “I’m fine. Why don’t you want to go to a hospital?”
“Bad memories.” She knew he didn’t believe her and that was okay. He hardly knew her. It was far from a requirement that he know all her dirty secrets. “Pain pills and a first aid kit are all I need.”
The assessing look he gave almost made her squirm, but she already felt more grounded. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re fine. You’ve been through worse. You’re fine. The mantra played over and over in her brain, sedating frayed nerves.
◊ ◊ ◊
Evans handed Max her key card to access the complex. Once in the carport, he helped her out of the car. Awareness of her fragility added to the simmering anger. Max didn’t want to feel protective or responsible. This was a convenient way into her guarded life. All that mattered was getting to Khalid, and Evans was the golden ticket. She tried to brush him off at the gate to her yard. Not happening. Max grabbed the house keys.
“I’ll patch you up. When I’m done, John will pick me up at the gate.”
“I can take care of myself.” She stumbled, would have fallen if Max didn’t grab her around the waist, leading her up to the front door.
“Just like you’re walking all on your own?” He unlocked the layers of security and guided her in.
“Not my sofa. I don’t want bloodstains. The guest bathroom is down the passage to the right. There’s a first aid kit under the sink.”
Max guided her to the toilet and pulled the kit out, dreading to see what it contained. Most civilian outfits were useless. They included generic items like burn cream, cheap Band-Aids, small stretch bandages and maybe a tube of antiseptic ointment.
His fully stocked military-issue kit—sat in his room, just a hundred feet away. If she didn’t have supplies he could work with, he would make an excuse to run out to the pharmacy and pick up supplies across the lot. But hers was a well-stocked box. It shouldn’t surprise him. Every facet of her life was well organized. Why would she need such a large kit? Max filed the question away for later analysis and grabbed the iodine.
A dark smudge on her neck caught his eye. Brushing her hair back revealed a rapidly bruising bite mark.
“The son of a bitch bit you?”
Jumping at his voracity, she nodded.
“Shit. Jesus. Shit.” Max was up and pacing the small bathroom. “He fucking bit you!”
Putting his fist through the wall wouldn’t calm the raging anger. The only release would be pounding that sick bastard’s face into solid concrete over and over again. Evans’s cowering forced Max to bring himself back down.
“Just give me a moment, sweetheart. You’re safe with me. I just need a moment.” For the next minute, the only sound in the small bathroom was uneven breathing as Max leaned on the sink and dropped his head. Finally, he looked in the mirror, meeting her wary regard. “I’ll plug the slice on your forehead, but first I want to examine that neck. A human bite can lead to infection.”
Kneeling down, he gently ran a finger over the injury. The individual teeth marks were obscene, but the bruised skin wasn’t broken.
“I don’t think you’ll need antibiotics. You’ll need to keep an eye on it.”
“Sure.” Evans’s voice lacked any substance.
Her eyes showed no signs of a concussion. “How’s the headache?”
“Manageable.”
“Any nausea, dizziness?”
She shook her head.
Max asked a few basic questions, checking for alertness. He then donned gloves and cleaned the wound just below her hairline. She barely flinched, which surprised him. That had to sting. The gash wasn’t as deep as he initially thought. Glue would work. He grabbed the Vetbond, stood up and pulled her head towards his abdomen.
Evans recoiled. “What are you doing?”
“Easy. I’ll need to squeeze the wound closed to glue it. If you lean against me and tip your head back, I have a better angle.”
Max knelt down and addressed the guarded look in her wide green gaze. “I swear I’d never hurt you. Abs, I can help. Let me do this. I need to do this.”
◊ ◊ ◊
He kept calling her “Abs”—rolling off his lips in that low growl—and it did something to her insides. Sitting opposite this striking man in her tiny bathroom was so intimately surreal, and his guiding attitude spoke to her desire to restore order. Maybe if she allowed him that control until she regained her equilibrium, it wouldn’t be so bad. Except his dynamic capability unnerved her. Anyone who was this well rounded was too good to be true.
“You have experience as a medic.”
Her statement seemed to surprise him. “I initially trained as one in the military. I still attend refresher classes. You never know when you’ll need it.”
His answer was adequate and would do for now. Blood rolled down her forehead. The quicker she got patched up, the better.
“Heck, let’s do this. Impress me with your medical skills but if I end up looking like Frankenstein’s monster, I’ll kick you in your rock-hard ass.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Max grinned as he rose. He gently dabbed at the gash and guided her head towards him. Holy hell. Those incredibly defined abdominals beneath his shirt were heavenly against her cheek. Max tipped her head back as his fierce eyes concentrated on her hairline. It hurt when he pinched the gash together and the glue burned like the blazes, but all Abby noted was the radiating body heat comforting her cool skin.
“Don’t move. It needs to dry.”
How long had it been since Abby had basic human contact? Someone holding her with affection. Touching another solid human being felt so damn fine, she never wanted it to end. Her throat burned. Not now. Please not now. Max made eye contact as humiliating tears spilled over.
“Oh, crap sweetheart. I can’t move yet, and I can’t let go; the glue hasn’t set.”
Abby couldn’t slam the floodgates shut and couldn’t speak or move without messing up the glue. Silent tears rolled as Max cradled her with his free hand, swiping gently at her cheek.
“You’re safe now. Cry it out, sweetheart. Just cry it out.”
She never took her eyes off his. This grim stranger’s bleached eyes touched her soul. Minutes passed as Max soothed her with kind words. When he could finally move, he slid onto the floor, pulled her into his arms and scooted against the wall.
◊ ◊ ◊
Jeez. Talk about moving at warp speed. They had only just met and here he was, sprawled on the floor with Evans – no Abby - sobbing in his arms. Max eased through her defenses like a buttered asshole yet couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. The cold space felt cramped, and his leg numbed under the weight but hell, she fitted him in all the right places. Way up in his personal space, Abby’s soft breat
h tickled his neck, and that ethereal scent hit him straight in the kahunas. Woodsy elegance. Vanilla sandalwood with that hint of coconut.
Max took target analysis seriously; working in the Middle East and Africa for many years, he’d learned about vices. A flutter of robes could unleash an opulent, beckoning trail of scent. The Middle East had the biggest spenders per capita on luxury perfume in the world; the locals purchased a new bottle every couple of months.
Then came the layering. Throughout the Arab and North African regions, both men and women approached fragrance ritualistically, layering on various oils and even infusing their clothing and hair with smoky incense before spraying perfume.
If vanity played a role, wealthier suspects like Khalid were advocates of exclusive clothing brands, body lotions, designer shoes, perfumes. If you knew what they couldn’t do without, then the game was on. When wealthy terrorists evaded surveillance, it was possible to track their digital footprint, and custom-made perfumes were good footprints for high-value targets.
Much to the team’s horror, Max had taken his men to an institute of perfumery for a month to learn the basics about fragrance structure and tracing complex compositions. The taskforce had a global network of perfumers and technicians that assisted MIT teams in tracking orders. Virtual tracking had led to the location of more than a few elusive extremist targets.
But no one smelled as good as Miss Evans, and he pulled her closer. Those somber eyes undid him as he’d glued her gash. An unblinking stare stacked with fear and hurt… Max was in fucking trouble. Abby was a suspect in an international terrorist cell. It was sheer dumb luck that he’d landed on this cold-ass floor with the target snuggled in his arms and his expertise wasn’t to blame; it was all on the dickhead, the piece of shit that attacked her. He’d send a thank-you note later. Maybe stuff it down the unlucky bastard’s throat when Max found the son of a bitch and shot his balls off. Fucker bastard.
Abby shifted in his arms.
“You’re hurting, sweetheart. We need to get you tucked up in bed.”
She stiffened.
“Relax, I’ll just help you to your bedroom.”
“It’s not that.” Her voice sounded husky from spent tears. She cleared it as she pulled away. “I’m sorry. Oh hell. I’m never this clingy. I’m— Wait, let me get up.”
Shifting his weight, he pulled her to her feet. His leg tingled as nerves sprang to life.
◊ ◊ ◊
Leaning on a hard-looking stranger was a sign of her desperate state and Abby knew it needed to stop, but not tonight. Tonight, she aimed all her energy towards reaching her bed. She was grateful for Max’s assistance as he covered her aching limbs with a fluffy duvet and brought her some pain pills.
Abby muttered her thanks and asked him to swing the security door shut on his way out.
“I can’t leave,” Max said. “I can sleep on your sofa and monitor you through the night.”
“Thank you, Max, for saving me. Although I’m grateful, I don’t know you and I cannot trust in someone I’ve just met. You need to go.”
He didn’t move, instead those iced-over eyes assessed her as he stood at the side of her bed. Abby groaned and raised herself up. She didn’t want a strange man in her home while she was vulnerable. Before she could climb out, Max laid his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want to upset you. I don’t know if sleeping with that head injury is the best idea. Here’s my number.” He pulled out a card and laid it on the side table. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you but I promise my head feels fine. Will you get home okay?”
“I’ll send John a text. Do you mind if I ask Lizzy to message you tomorrow?”
Abby mumbled a yes into her pillow. Then he was gone. She heard the front door slide shut. The clanging of the garden gate closing meant that she was finally alone and safe, yet her dreams were filled with faceless attackers and a ghostly knight, fighting at her side.
Chapter Five
The noon sun filtering through the shades caused Abby to stir. Bruised muscles made rolling out of bed an ordeal; the head wound was tight and sore. Carefully covering it with a shower cap, Abby jumped into the hot spray. The steaming water helped a little, but it still took time to pull on a loose black T-shirt and a pair of grey leggings.
One brewed cup of coffee later, and Abby was sitting on the front patio, warming herself in the pale sunlight. The soft breeze and chirping birds calmed her rolling anxiety. She wasn’t ready to analyze what happened, who the masked man was. All she could handle at that moment was the creamy cup of caffeine and the simple sounds of nature.
She ignored the desperate need to phone the one person that mattered most, just to hear his beautiful voice. Her brain kept poking her—just use a burner phone—it’ll be a quick phone call, a minute tops. There’s no danger; no one will know. Abby knew better; she had to stick with the plan, and with the schedule. Soon she nodded off under the warmth of the sun, so when the latch on the front gate clicked, Abby spilled coffee down her shirt. Rising quickly and brushing off the wetness, Abby turned to see Max stalking down her garden path.
“What are you doing here?” Abby demanded.
“I came to see how you’re feeling, if you survived the night.” He winked at her as his mouth turned up into a slight grin.
Oh boy. That Hollywood smile could strike down a girl. It rubbed her the wrong way, and she folded her arms over her damp shirt. “If I survived the night. Nice. You sure know how to charm the ladies. How did you get in?”
“I drove in behind another car, the gates were open.”
“You shouldn’t be tailgating, you’ll get fined for that. So what? You sat outside the complex waiting till someone drove inside?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not a psycho. It just so happened that another car was ahead of me when I pulled up. Otherwise, I would have rung your apartment number.” Max turned serious. “I’ve offended you. I can leave if you want.”
“Next time you decide to drop in, call me first. I don’t like strangers just showing up.”
“Is that what we are? Strangers?”
“We only just met last night. I hardly know anything about you.”
“Yeah, we’ve only just met. Call me crazy, but after what happened last night, after what we went through—Abs, that was fucking intense.” Max dragged a hand over his mouth and took a breath. “I hardly slept a wink worrying about you. I feel a stronger connection then I would with some random woman I went on ten dates with. Maybe the basis for these feelings stems from pure adrenaline, but I sure would like to make sure you’re okay.”
Dammit. How did a girl say no to that? The annoying part was that he was right. There was a connection. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable, not only that but he’d rescued her like a freaking knight in shining armor. Risking his life to save hers and, oh God, he’d been so achingly sweet with her. Holding her, rocking her… Abby at least owed him a cup of coffee.
As they stared at each other, she reached a decision. Giving him a brief nod, Abby turned towards the house. Max followed.
◊ ◊ ◊
Max expected the grilling. Walking into Abby’s property without warning put her on edge. If only she knew that he’d merely walked over from his team’s apartment a few hundred feet away. Abby had just invited a wolf into her pasture. The past night’s events provided a convenient gateway, a smooth insertion, into her world.
Max hadn’t been lying about everything. He’d been worried about her health, the head injury being a cause for concern. He should’ve insisted on waking her intermittently throughout the evening. Instead, Max stared at the monitors for the rest of the night, watching her sleep. As he trailed her to the kitchen, he noted her stiff gait. The woman was hurting.
“What would you like to drink—tea, coffee, water, juice?” Abby asked.
“Coffee sounds good. No sugar. No milk.”
Abby checked the coffee maker as she eyed him. He leaned against the counter, knowing
he took up too much space in the tiny kitchen.
“I have cake. Would you like a slice?”
Max had watched her baking a chocolate cake on the cameras the day before, and his stomach growled in response.
Abby’s mouth turned up. “I’ll take that as a yes.” A capable hand pulled long hair over a shoulder.
His eyes drifted back to the blackened bruise that obscenely marked her pretty neck. The perp bit her deliberately. Why? For his own sick pleasure?
Abby laid out the plates and mugs before pouring coffee. She took her time, her movements composed. She apparently didn’t feel the need to talk, instead falling into a comfortable silence. He enjoyed watching her move around the kitchen—that is, until she pulled a huge knife from the knife rack and walked towards him. Max tensed, eyeing the weapon.
She looked at him oddly. “Do you mind scooting over? The cake is on the counter behind you.”
Of course. Shit. He shifted slightly to the left, and she cut into the spongy bit of heaven smothered in dark frosting. Her warm scent mingling with the smell of cocoa made his dick stir. Hell no. Down, boy! She’s a target. An attractive target, but still a target.
Abby loaded the plates with mountainous slices of cake and handed him the largest serving. “Let’s eat on the front deck. I need the fresh air,” she said, licking a drop of frosting off her thumb.
His cock bucked in response. Holy chocolate crumbs. Grabbing his coffee, Max headed back out. Again, they sat in silence. It didn’t bother Max. So many people these days were insecure, always trying to fill space with bits of themselves. Bragging or competing for airtime with fellow humans. The silence spoke to his hunt for inner peace. His foot dragged a nearby chair closer and Max propped up his legs, settling in for the afternoon—or for however long Abigail Evans allowed him within her range.
