Just as soon as she could.
Chapter Nine
“I told you we needed a bigger house,” Alex grumbled at Kelsey.
“You’re just a poor loser,” she shot back at him.
In an effort to thwart what he believed was Catalina—aka Athena, the liar—Montego’s demented plan, Alex had ensured all of his agents, their wives, children, parents, and grandparents were safe. He’d alerted Murphy Finnegan, the chief of his Seattle office, that Beau had been compromised and to take protective measures, though Alex doubted those measures were necessary at his second office. Still, a smart man didn’t take chances. Those agents all had families, too.
At the moment, his pride and joy was busy bossing Mark Houston’s three girls, JayJay, Faith, and little Markie. Lexie thought she ruled the roost, but it was easy to see Mark’s wife’s influence on her girls. Lexie adored JayJay, the oldest, and JayJay, in her gentle way, could get Lexie to agree to anything. Cute to watch. If a man had that kind of time.
Since Mark was out of the country, Libby and her family were staying with Kelsey until this debacle was over. Eric Reynolds and his wife Shea were, at this moment, escorting Hunter Christian’s wife, Meredith and their son Courtney to join the group now sequestered in the smaller-than-it-should’ve-been Stewart enclave. With Hunter on a mission in South Africa, Alex would make sure his family stayed safe while he was gone.
“But we could’ve had six more bedrooms. Think about it. Six. Everyone would be comfortable then.”
Kelsey chuckled as she cleared the corner of one of the two queen-sized beds he was helping her make. “Relax. The kids love sleeping on the floor. They think they’re camping out, and we’ve got two sofa couches downstairs if more show. Have you heard from Mother yet? What’s she doing?”
He tossed the pillows to the other bed. “She said she and Justice will be fine, but I told her to bring Dempsey here to play with the kids. God knows she spends too much time with that brainiac mother of hers.”
“Aw, you old softie,” Kelsey murmured, tugging the fitted sheet over one corner of the mattress. “Dempsey’s such a doll. Do you notice how closely Whisper follows her when she’s here? He’s turned into a regular babysitter.”
Alex nodded as he kept up with his wife and tugged his corner extra tight, military-style like she did. “He’s a born service dog, that one.”
“He’s always been my guardian angel,” she agreed as she floated the flat sheet over the mattress.
Remembering the dark day when Whisper had first encountered Kelsey, Alex came around the bed and caught her in his arms before she had time to protest. Which she would have, had he not spun her off her feet. “I need all of you to be safe,” he growled, something as simple as the scent of her hair was ambrosia to a hardened warrior like him.
She melted into him, her head under his chin, her ear over his heart, and her fingertips tapping his collarbones. “I can’t believe what Howie found in our little neighborhood. The poor Ringers.”
“We don’t know for certain it was them.” Alex said even as he steeled his heart.
The DNA evidence in the square container Catalina left behind had gone straight to the FBI lab. Right now, the rose plants, meat grinder, as well as eight more plastic containers and the various body parts Chief Prince had found in Ringer’s kitchen freezer, were undergoing thorough analysis. But DNA results weren’t spontaneous like Hollywood made everyone believe. It could take months, even years, before the FBI reported what comprised the bloody mixture Catalina had prepared as fertilizer.
If they were in the mood to report their findings to a private contractor, that is. Which the FBI often was not. The only person keeping the Bureau in Alex’s good graces was their director, Zachary Strong. If not for him and his stand-up policy of running a tight and honest ship, Alex wouldn’t hold his breath waiting. Most federal agencies were sucking black holes of bullshit and bureaucracy, more intent on covering their asses than in serving America. But Strong changed the Bureau’s way of doing business when he took over, and Alex trusted him, enough that he’d volunteered two of his best agents, Ky Winchester and Tate Higgins, to work for the FBI’s Deuces Wild Team.
But the fact remained. The Ringers hadn’t boarded their flight to New Zealand, and the national news hounds were, even now, filling every available second of airtime with their style of investigative reporting: theories, holier-than-thou suppositions, and downright ugly innuendos as to who murdered who, who cheated on who, and—the usual. Spinning what could tragically be two gruesome deaths for increased ratings instead of seeking something as noble as justice. Hell, just for the sake of good old-fashioned truth. Alex hated most everyone connected with the press. Not all. Only those who’d proven themselves to be predators instead of reporters.
“I feel so bad for Eloise. She was excited for this chance to get away.”
“It has been a helluva year for Bruce.”
“Every year is hard in his business,” Kelsey murmured. “Have you heard from Maverick yet?”
Alex shook his head. “He won’t call until he has something to report.”
“China’s got plenty of room if anyone would rather bunk there.”
Alex agreed. China Carson knew how to handle a rifle, too. She’d had no trouble ridding her land in Wyoming of varmints. Catalina wouldn’t stand a chance against her.
“We need another vacation, just you and me,” Kelsey whispered, her lips moving soft and warm up his neck, forever reminding Alex that he might be scarred, battered, and tossed aside by the rest of the world, but he had survived, damn it. And somewhere during that survival, he’d been blessed. He wasn’t about to apologize for finding Kelsey.
“Let me guess. Hawaii again.” Her favorite touchdown after some of the hard-fought wins they’d scored these past years.
Her breasts flattened against his pecs, firing his blood. “You know me. The sun. The surf—”
“Sipping mimosas.” His hands slid down her back to cup her bottom. Damn, he loved this woman. Kelsey alone had the power to make him forget and to remember at the same time.
“There is that. I do love a good mimosa,” she whispered, nipping his jaw while her warm breath skated across his neck. Enticing him. Inciting every last hormone in his all-male body to stand up and pay attention. To take her now, undress her quickly and make love, while the house was full of friendlies and their daughter was preoccupied.
But the moment he fingered the bottom hem of her blouse, his cell vibrated in his pocket. Not the vibration he was going for. “Hold that thought,” he said as he palmed his phone in one hand, her ass in the other. “Maverick?”
“Beau’s awake, Boss. He’s talking.”
“I’ll be there as soon as Zack and Jake show.”
“Copy that.”
“How’s McKenna?”
“Unhappy. She’s got patients. Doesn’t like having her wings clipped.”
“She’ll get over it. See you in an hour. Tops.” Alex tilted into Kelsey’s warm body as his phone slid back into its assigned pocket.
“I’ll be okay if you have to go,” she reminded him for the hundredth time. “I’ve got my pistol back from Beau. It’s loaded. Libby brought hers too if you want to leave now to beat rush hour traffic.”
At close to quitting time in the District, traffic was about to get thick, congested, and faster than speed limits allowed as people raced out of the city for home. But old habits died hard. “I’m not leaving you until I’ve got trained men here.” I won’t risk losing you again. My heart can’t take it.
Instead of arguing, Kelsey snuggled, her ear against the middle of his chest, listening to that very stubborn heart. There was a time that pesky organ hadn’t worked so well. A time when it had seemed broken beyond hope and repair. He’d been furious at the world back then. Pissed at himself for living when the best parts of his family hadn’t. But with Kelsey and now Lexie in his corner, he was born again. Saved. Might soun
d corny, but every man should be so blessed to have a good woman to come home to at the end of a hard day. Hell, at the end of any day.
“I love you, Alex Stewart,” she told him truly.
Inhaling, he knew without a doubt. Kelsey was saving him all over again. “I’m staying,” he told her. “Get used to it.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes glowing. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Ten
He was not staying in this hospital one more day. Groggy or not, injured or not, Beau Jennings was no slacker. It had been two long days of waking up, only to be given, against his will most of the time, something that put him right back to sleep. Hell, he could barely remember what he’d told his employer during that terse visit. Alex seemed pissed then. Who the hell wasn’t?
Finally alert when the nurse offered another round of pain meds last night, Beau refused the shot. A man needed a clear head to work, and those drugs were messing him up. It was past time to move out. While he lay flat on his back, the bitch was getting away.
If only Maverick and Gabe would listen. All he needed was a little help getting to his feet, and losing the catheter some busybody thought he needed, which he did not. How hard could it be to yank one of those things out anyway? He meant to find out.
Until the woman trapped with him, namely Doc Fitzgerald, canted her lovely head at an extreme angle like she knew precisely what he was thinking. She’d been with him when he’d first come to, and she’d looked so worried. For a moment, he’d basked in her presence like a drug addict in the afterglow of a solid score, but that hadn’t lasted. She’d become just as big a watchdog as Maverick and Gabe. Twice as bossy. And she knew what she was talking about, damn it.
“Stop it, Agent Jennings,” she murmured, her elbow on the armrest and her chin in her palm. “If I have to stay here, so do you. Especially you. You just underwent extremely delicate surgery to attach a severed finger, that, oh by the way, your boss was smart enough to put on ice until he caught up with you. One wrong move could disable your hand for life. You don’t want that, do you?”
He offered her his chin, impatient to be gone. Hospitals didn’t agree with him. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“No, but Dr. Decker can,” Doc Pain-in-the-Ass volleyed back at him as she straightened in her chair. “Do I need to call Alex Stewart, too?”
Didn’t that take the piss out of Beau’s vinegar? Alex would do it, too. He’d fly in on that fancy helicopter of his and he’d have no problem telling Beau to shut up, lay down, and stop whining. Her threat was nearly enough to keep him flat on his back. But nearly wasn’t good enough.
Fighting a dizzying wave of determination, he swung both feet over the edge of his bed just to prove he could. The extreme nausea crawling up his neck like a chilly centipede was nothing. It’d fade in a few minutes, but he didn’t want her to help him get to the head and take care of his business. And she would. Know-it-all doctors did personal, private, embarrassing stuff like that. They fussed, and they bossed as if a guy were a two-year-old. This doctor in particular, had a way of talking to him like he’d better listen to her.
“You’re not getting up,” she told him. Like she could stop him?
Just watch me, he thought, his dander up and both palms now flat beside him, what was left of his fingers gripping the mattress. He’d had surgery on his hand, for Hell’s sake. Not his head or his ass or either of his very capable feet. There was no reason to lounge around and feel sorry for himself. Wounds healed. Soldiers reengaged. That was what they did, by hell, and he needed his ass back in the fight to do what he did best. Find the bitch who’d cut off his finger and end her sorry ass before she hurt someone else. That was her MO, right? Well, this was his.
Once Beau wrapped his head around a mission, he didn’t give up, and he didn’t fail. This mission, though self-proclaimed, was no different. Up and on his feet now, he took it slow and easy to make sure he had solid footing. There was no need to hurry or fall on his face and end up making a fool of himself.
Of course, Doc Fitzgerald jumped to his side, but okay. She could tag along. Until he hit the head. Baby steps. Like an old man, he inched forward. She followed with that damned IV tree and his pee bag. Finally at the door to the head, he grabbed hold of the tree, pulled the embarrassing bag out of her hand, and bit out, “Do you mind?”
She shrugged. “Trust me, I’ve seen it all before, buster, and you are not going one more step without me.”
Buster? Squaring his shoulders, he straightened to every inch of his six-foot-five height. “Trust me. You haven’t seen this equipment, cupcake. Now back off and let me do my business in private.”
Her gaze narrowed up at him like a sniper, because, yeah. She was a short little thing. She had no choice but to look up. Tiny, but fierce in a cute sort of way. The left side of her upper lip lifted. Her nostrils flared. She narrowed her brows. Oh, my hell, she’s trying to intimidate me.
He gave her his chin again to get her to step back and climb down. “I’m a big boy, Doc. I can wipe my own ass. Been doing it for years.”
Damned if she didn’t lift to the tips of her toes and get in his face, glaring at him like a five-foot-nothing drill sergeant, her hands on her hips like he should be afraid of her. Seriously? Not happening, sister. Yet something like a double somersault flipped in Beau’s chest. Might have been his heart. Sure felt like it stuck a perfect landing. Had to have been indigestion.
But the woman was on the light side of a hundred and ten pounds, tops. A delicious hint of sugar cookies struck his nose, tempting another long inhalation—just because. Not that she smelled good, but that soft feminine fragrance was a helluva lot better than the antiseptic taint. Beau took another deep breath—also just because.
Doc Fitzgerald didn’t have a dog in this fight. It took her a minute before she licked that lush bottom lip, gave him one last impertinent nod toward the head and growled, “Keep it quick. I’m here if you need me.”
Then, because his eyes needed an assist in looking away from that tender bottom lip, he stepped back with his handy-dandy IV tree, his bag dangling off his fingers, and he snapped, “I don’t.”
Quickly, before he changed his mind, Beau crossed the distance and shut the door in her face. For added measure, he growled, “Good riddance,” loud enough she had to hear it.
“Don’t make me come in there,” she threatened.
That’ll be the day.
By the time he got rid of his IV and the catheter—which was not fun!—Beau was worn out and verging on the light side of exhausted. But he’d lived with being dog-tired all his life. Growing up on the hard streets of dusty Las Vegas taught a kid quick. You caught a few Zs when and where you could. If you could. If not, suck it up, crybaby, and keep moving.
Army life was no better. Cleaner, yeah, but none of the deployments he’d ever worked involved what Navy SEALs termed ‘easy days’. There was no easy day in his book. Some were longer than others, but days were just days.
Besides, he’d grab a power nap once he was out of the hospital and back on the street. After he caught up with the woman who’d snipped his finger off like he was a tree that needed pruning. Catalina Montego, a known murderer, and the sister of the human trafficker Seth McCray had ended less than a month ago in Cuba. She was on the FBI’s most wanted list and she was here in the States, damn her to Hell.
Well, she’s on my list, too. Want to guess who’ll get to her first?
Sure of himself and his way forward, Beau finished his business as quickly as he could. He brushed his teeth, ran the hospital issued comb over his thick, wavy hair, then ran a warm washcloth over what he could reach of his body. At last, feeling like a man in control instead of a gutter rat, he jerked the door open and—
There stood two pissed off former Marines who might could put him back in that bed. Gabe Cartwright’s usually mischievous green eyes weren’t smiling. Neither was his curled lip. He stood th
ere with both hands on his hips like he thought he was a door Beau couldn’t get through.
Maverick Carson stood beside Gabe, his expression blank, which was never a good thing. Maverick tended to explode into action when a guy least expected. He’d been known for taking down a fellow agent in the middle of TEAM headquarters and beating him bloody.
Shit. This might not work. “I’ve got things to do,” he told them instead of, ‘Fuck off. I’m outta here.’
“I don’t have time for this, Jennings,” Maverick growled. “It’s been a long day. Get your hairy ass back to bed.”
“And do what? Lay around and pick my nose while that bitch gets away? Not happening.”
Gabe shot him down with, “Pick whatever you want. Doctor’s orders, Beau. You’re on blood thinners and heavy antibiotics. You flat-lined, you moron. Son-of-a-bitch, where’s your IV? Do you see that, Maverick? This shithead tossed his cath, too.”
Beau shifted his weight, positioning his heft for the knockdown, drag-out that was sure to come. “I don’t need that stuff, boys. Let me pass.”
“So you’re a physician now? Been to college, did your internship, and know your blood pressure’s been out of control since you arrived? By ambulance, you dick,” Maverick hissed as he stabbed a finger at the bed. “Stop being an ass, Jennings. Heal first. Fight later. ’Sides, you’ve got no clothes. Were you going to stroll out of here with your ass showing?”
Shit, this was going nowhere, and Beau had the sneaky suspicion that tattletale, Doc Fitzgerald, had already ratted him out to Alex. That’d be her style. She’d called out Maverick and Gabe, why not Alex?
Speaking of the nosy woman... “Where’s Doc Fitz?” Beau asked his two over-protective mother hens.
Gabe looked at Maverick. Maverick glared at Gabe. Then both roared, “Son-of-a-bitch!”
“You guys lost her,” Beau crowed. “While you’re squaring off with me, a woman eluded you. A tiny, stubborn woman! Alex will be so pissed.”
Beau (In the Company of Snipers Book 18) Page 7
