“There’s nothing to say. I poured all my energy and passion into my sport, and I have a silver medal from the Olympics to show for it. I didn’t let what happened take away my dreams. I saw a shrink for years—still do when I can—and I made peace with my past.”
“I admire your courage. And I understand why you have trust issues. You’re entitled.”
“No, I’m not. I’m still working on that. What I will tell you about my last job is that I helped people who were innocent victims. It felt damn good.”
He released her hand as he prepared to pass a big rig. “Why’d you quit?”
“I lost someone I was close to. I seem to make a habit of running away when I’m hurt.”
“We all have a tendency to seek a safe place when life gets tough. I mentally retreat into my writing where I have control over what happens next.”
Jaimee unzipped her jacket and sucked in a breath as she felt her side.
“What’s wrong? Are you bleeding again?”
“No, but moving hurts. You’ve heard enough of my sad story. Your turn to distract me with yours. What do you do other than churn out bestsellers?”
“I don’t churn. I slave over each and every one.”
“I’ve seen your photo in the society page of papers a few times, usually at fancy events with a beautiful woman on your arm. Writing must not be all you do.”
“No, I also promote. That takes up almost as much time as writing. My publicist sends me tickets to events I have little interest in attending and tells me to make an appearance. They’ve done their best to cultivate a suave, man of mystery image for me—think James Bond—when I’m really a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy. If I’m not dating anyone at the time of an event, my publisher sends arm candy along with a tux. Not that I’m complaining about the drop-dead gorgeous women, mind you.”
“And you said my life is more exciting than yours. I don’t think so.”
“Charity functions and the like are pretty boring. Lots of standing around waiting for someone to take your picture. Honestly, I’d rather be walking a pack of dogs. Or writing. I actually enjoy the creative process.”
“If you say so.” She was quiet for a minute. The tires hummed against the pavement as they ate up the miles. “You’re in decent shape. You must do something to stay that way.”
“I hit the gym several times a week, and I run. I think you might be faster than me, but I can keep a steady pace for quite a few miles.”
“How many miles?”
“I’ve run a couple of marathons.”
“That’s cool.” Her tone showed a spark of interest. “We could train together . . . you know, once I’m not in complete agony every time I change positions.”
“First we have to stop the maniac who’s been taking shots at you.” He smoothly changed lanes to pass a rusty pickup filled with hay bales. God only knew what the farmer was doing out driving at this hour. “At least I won’t slow you down much if we have to run from this freak again.”
“Next time, I don’t intend to run. I’ll be prepared to take him out.”
Her grim tone sent a shiver through him, and he reached over to turn up the heat. Eli debated asking her exactly what she meant but decided not to bother. He’d find out when Jaimee was good and ready to tell him and not a moment before.
Her stoicism was definitely her most irritating trait.
They traveled in silence until they’d crossed the state border into Massachusetts. Traffic grew heavier as they approached the metropolitan area on the outskirts of Boston.
“Where’re we going?”
She seemed to shake off whatever thoughts had been occupying her for the last half hour and straightened in her seat. “Head toward Storrow Drive. Our destination is in the Back Bay area.”
He followed her directions to a row of townhouses on a residential side street and was lucky enough to find a parking spot only a half block away from the building she indicated. The house looked much like the others in the row, with neatly trimmed shrubs inside a wrought iron fence between the building and the sidewalk. Shallow steps lead to the front door. As he turned off the engine and hurried around to her side of the car, he wondered at the unpretentious façade. Not what he’d imagined for the headquarters of a top-secret organization, but then, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected.
When he opened her door, Watson stood up on the rear seat and shook before letting out a soft bark and wagging his tail.
Jaimee turned sideways on the seat. “Oh, God. I don’t think I can walk.”
“No kidding. Slide your arm around my neck, and I’ll carry you.”
“Watson—”
“Can come with us.” Bending, he carefully lifted her in his arms and held her close to his chest. “Let’s go, boy.” Once the dog had jumped out onto the sidewalk, he kicked the door shut and hit the lock button on his key fob.
Jaimee tilted her head to look up at him. Her eyes were clouded with worry. “Right now, I’m trusting you more than you know.”
“I get that. If you’re worried I can’t keep a secret, don’t be.”
“I’m not.” She relaxed against him. “Thank you, Eli, for not letting me down when you had every reason to ignore my call.”
“I’m not the type of guy to leave a lady in distress.” He grinned. “Right now, I feel like a hero in one of my books.”
“Maybe because you are. At least I think so.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Chapter Seven
Held close against Eli’s chest with her arm around his neck, Jaimee leaned over to ring the buzzer. A moment later, a click sounded, and she pushed the latch to open the door.
“What, no secret password?” He entered the foyer and nudged the door shut behind Watson.
“There’s a camera. Whoever buzzed us in, probably Patch, knew it was me.” As she finished speaking, footsteps sounded on the polished hardwood floor, and a moment later her former teammate appeared in the hallway leading from the rear of the building.
Like Eli, Patch was a little over six feet tall, but the medic had a wiry build that belied his strength. Jaimee had seen him throw more than one man who out-weighed him by fifty pounds across his shoulder and sprint away from gunfire. With dark hair, a classic profile, and chocolate-brown bedroom eyes, the female members of Counterstrike called him Dr. McDreamy behind his back.
“It’s good to see you, Scarlet.” Patch’s blue scrubs would have been more fitting in an ER than the elegant foyer of the brownstone as he hurried toward them. “But not like this.”
“Thanks for dropping everything to help me out.”
He patted her arm. “Sleep is overrated.” Turning his attention to Eli, he gave a quick nod. “Bring her on back, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” Eli followed Patch down the hallway when he strode away without waiting for an introduction. Behind them, Watson’s nails clicked against the tile as they entered a room outfitted with medical equipment and an operating table.
Jaimee had no clue what most of the monitors measured, but she didn’t doubt she was about to receive exceptional care. Like everyone on the team, Patch’s past was a mystery, but she was pretty certain he was a highly trained doctor. She knew without a doubt he never panicked under pressure.
Eli eased her down onto the table and then stepped out of the way. His gaze shot to the tray of surgical instruments laid out nearby, and his eyes grew wide.
“I may need some assistance.” Patch studied Eli for a moment. “I hope you aren’t squeamish.”
He let out an audible breath. “Just tell me what you want me to do. If it helps, I was undefeated playing Operation when we were kids. I could even get the wishbone out without setting off the buzzer.”
His feeble joke lightened the mood. Jaimee giggled helplessly then clutched her side and moaned. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”
Patch grinned. “Despite your skills, I think I’ll do any necessary cutting and sewing. You can start by
taking the dog out of here.” He glanced toward Watson who was sniffing around the base of the table. “Then go thoroughly wash your hands while I cut these clothes off Scarlet.”
“Hey!” Her humor dissolved. “What am I supposed to wear out of here when this is over if you ruin my clothes?”
“I honestly don’t care.” The doctor turned to face the hall when an extremely pretty woman with skin the color of melted caramel stopped just inside the doorway. “Maybe you can deal with the dog, Luna.”
Jaimee studied the woman who had been recruited to replace Coffee. Tall, with smooth black hair fastened in a high ponytail, and a figure that made Eli’s mouth sag open slightly, she wore bike shorts and a jersey, an odd ensemble for the late hour. She didn’t look like a computer hacker.
“I like biking at night when the streets are uncrowded.” Humor registered in her hazel eyes as she seemingly read Jaimee’s mind before crouching down to pet Watson. “What’s his name?”
Eli snapped his jaw closed. “Watson. Thanks, uh, Luna.”
“No problem. I came to offer my help if you need it.”
“I think we have everything under control,” Patch answered. “Scarlet, this is Luna, our new data technician. Luna, Eli Croft, famed novelist. You’ve heard us talk about Scarlet.”
“I bet.” Jaimee shifted on the table and winced when her side throbbed.
“All good, I assure you.” The brunette smiled as she straightened to her feet. “I’m sorry about your current situation, but Patch will take good care of you. Let’s go get a treat, Watson.”
Treat was a word the dog knew well, and he trotted off behind the other woman without any hesitation. Jaimee narrowed her eyes as Eli stared at the hacker’s retreating backside.
“Can we start?” Her voice held a decided edge.
Eli turned abruptly. “I’ll get your clothes off while the doc preps for surgery—or whatever.”
Patch’s lips curved in a hint of a smile. “I’m not going to operate, just clean the wound and stitch her up. Hopefully we won’t encounter any problems. You’re sure the bullet went straight through?”
Jaimee nodded then moaned. “Damn. Every move I make hurts, but I’m positive. I’ve got two holes in my side to prove it.”
“There’s a pair of scissors over on that counter.” Patch pointed. “I’ll scrub up, and then I want you to do the same in case I need you to hold something.”
“Got it.” Eli returned to her side with the scissors and reached for her jacket.
“Just unzip it and ease it off me. You’ll probably have to cut my shirt, though.” Her breath came in short bursts as he did as she asked and helped her maneuver her arm through the sleeve. By the time he’d slit her T-shirt from neck to hem and pulled the blood-soaked material away from her skin, pain made her head spin. She looked down and wished she hadn’t.
“Jesus, Jaimee.” Eli stared at the ragged flesh around the wound still seeping blood as he worked the socks loose. His face paled, and he swallowed. “You’re a hell of a lot tougher than I am.”
“She’s tougher than all of us.” Patch checked her pulse and blood pressure before attaching a small square pad with electrodes to her chest. Behind them, the machines beeped to life. “Damn, woman, you’re lucky you didn’t keel over long before now.” He hung a bag of fluid on a stand beside the bed and swabbed the back of her hand on her good side. Before she knew what was happening, he slid a needle into the vein and taped it in place. “Get those pants off her. They’re filthy.”
Eli seemed to mentally pull himself together. “I’m on it.”
Jaimee barely paid attention as Eli removed her shoes and cut the black running tights off her. Her focus was on the bag of blood Patch hung next to the clear one, and the IV line he attached.
“Where did that come from?”
“Lucky for you, Luna is a universal donor. She’s a night owl and agreed to stop by and donate a couple of pints after you called. A good thing, since you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’ll have to thank her.”
Patch lifted a syringe off the nearby tray. “You’ll like her. She’s brilliant and focused, just like you.” He nodded toward the needle. “This is a local anesthetic. It will completely numb the area while I’m working on your wounds.”
Stretched out on the table wearing nothing but her bra and a pair of panties that didn’t cover a whole lot, Jaimee stared up at the ceiling as Patch pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Eli left her side, presumable to wash his hands, then returned a short while later and stood close beside her, careful not to disturb the lines dripping fluids into her.
“How’re you doing?”
“Okay.” The prick of the needle barely registered. “Thank you for everything, Eli.”
“You’ve already thanked me.”
“It bears repeating. You heard Patch. I’d be dead in the woods right now if you hadn’t come when I called.”
Eli touched her cheek with one finger. “Who’s kidding whom? We all know you would have hauled yourself down to the road and hitched a ride to Boston if necessary.”
As the anesthetic began to take effect, her pain eased. When Patch squirted brick-red liquid all over her side, she recoiled. “Am I going to be scarred for life after this?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“That’s what I figured. Can you at least make the stitches pretty so I don’t scare kids the next time I wear a bikini to the beach?”
“I’ll do my best.” Patch smiled at her. “My degree in home ec should come in handy when I start the embroidery.”
“Funny.” Jaimee sang softly to the tune flitting through her head. Her words slurred, and she couldn’t seem to make her tongue work right.
“Is she okay?” Eli’s question held a note of panic.
“Just peachy.” Jaimee giggled. “I had the biggest crush on you when we were in college. I bet you didn’t know that.”
“I gave her a mild sedative and pain meds in the IV bag. They won’t knock her out completely, but they’re making her a little loopy.”
Patch’s words seemed to come from a great distance, but she didn’t care. Nothing could touch her as she slid into her happy place as she’d done so many times in the past. A clear stream rushed through a creek bed, drowning all the pain and anguish inside her. Wildflowers grew in profusion where she lay on the bank in the sweet-smelling grass, and a warm breeze caressed her face. Here, she could savor the simple joy of being alive, even though she’d never see her father again. Or Coffee. When Eli’s handsome face floated above her, his blue eyes filled with concern, she smiled. Somehow, he seemed to fit into the world she’d created for herself.
“Jaimee, the doc finished patching you up. Oh, I get it now. Patch,” Eli said.
“We don’t choose our own nicknames. The rest of the team has that privilege.”
“Why do you use them?”
Jaimee blinked, feeling like she was fighting through a fog as the creek and wildflowers faded away to be replaced by annoying mechanical beeps and cool metal beneath her. The only bit of warmth came from the hand holding hers.
“Because of the business we’re in, it’s best if we don’t know anything about each other outside of what we learn through personal interaction.” Patch spoke in a matter of fact tone. “I trust everyone here with my life. We all do. That’s about all I’m free to tell you.”
“It’s more than Jaimee—uh, I mean Scarlet—has said.” A note of sarcasm rang in Eli’s voice.
“She’s cautious. I’m pretty certain her past wasn’t easy. If you care about her, you’ll need to be extremely patient,” Patch answered.
“I figured that one out for myself, but we’re not—hell, maybe we could be. At any rate, I’ll keep what you’ve told me in mind.”
“Are you two talking about me?” Her head was muzzy, and she couldn’t seem to speak clearly, but with each passing second her senses grew sharper. So did the pain.
“Hey, welcome back.” Eli stroked her
cheek with his thumb. “You were out of it for a while there.”
“I feel like my head is stuffed full of cotton.” She focused on Patch. “What did you give me?”
“Something to relax you and ease the pain.” He removed the tubes from her hand and took the electrode patch off her chest.
“It’s not working very well.”
“I stitched you up and dosed you with antibiotics, but the bullet cracked a rib. That’s going to hurt like a mother for the first few weeks.” His deep brown eyes registered sympathy. “It should be completely healed in a month and a half, and I can give you a compression belt that might help, but I don’t advise wearing it all the time. You want your lungs to be able to expand normally.”
“Aren’t you full of cheery news. I’m currently living out of my car. How can I—”
“You’ll come home with me. Don’t bother arguing about it.”
Her attention snapped back to Eli as the lingering confusion cleared. “Are you forgetting I invaded your privacy and asked Wolf to run a background check on you?”
“No, but under the circumstances, I’ll cut you some slack.”
Jaimee eyed him steadily as her frustration mounted. “Since I seem to be out of options, I’ll accept your offer. I’m sorry I dragged you into this situation, but I’m feeling a little helpless at the moment.”
“You’re only in trouble because one of my relatives hired a cold-blooded killer. I’m involved, whether I want to be or not.”
“There is that.” She glanced down at the bandage taped over her side. Goose bumps covered her bare skin. “Any chance I can put something on? Discussing my future while wearing nothing but my bra and panties isn’t helping my state of mind. Not to mention, I’m cold.”
“There’s a blanket at the foot of the bed. I’ll go get the rib belt and something for you to wear.” Patch rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Be right back.”
“Thank you.”
Eli lifted the light cotton blanket, shook it out, and covered her with it. “Not very warm, but it’s better than nothing. Do you want to try to sit up?”
“God, yes. I feel like an idiot lying here with you hovering over me. I’m the one who’s always in control, not the victim, and I hate being dependent.”
Fatal Encounter (A Counterstrike Novel Book 1) Page 8
