Simply The Best

by Denyse M. Bridger

  Max waited for her pronouncement.

  "It might be the anti-toxin,” she informed him, worry and anxiety creating the tiniest of tremors in her normally steady voice. “It's an unknown compound, Max,” she went on softly. “That's the best it can do."

  Max nodded, and returned his attention to Stadler, who had waited patiently for them to discover what he'd obviously known all along.

  "You'll have to take me on trust, Commander Richmonte,” Stadler smiled. “It is the anti-toxin,” his smile deepened. “Though you have only my word for that, of course."

  It was a judgment call, one that might cost a life. As choices went, he had none; she was dying anyway.

  "Get back to base, Marg."

  They waited again as she climbed into the van and drove out of the parking lot.

  "The computer's not turning up any breach in security, Commander,” T.J.'s voice murmured into Max's ear. “He may be bluffing."

  He may not, Max's inner voice jeered. He stayed silent.

  "I've delivered my part of the bargain, Commander,” Stadler reminded him. “Now it's your turn."

  Baldwin didn't look at Max, he took a deep breath and walked toward the lunatic who'd once worked for him. He kept his hands spread wide in surrender, each step measured and careful.

  "Retreat, people,” Max ordered.

  Stadler withdrew a gun, and indicated the open warehouse door to the right. Still watchful, he nodded at Max. “I'll be back for you, Commander Richmonte. When you expect it least."

  "I'm counting on it,” Max replied, tone low and lethal.

  The three remaining men were still as stone during the brief minutes it took for Baldwin and Stadler to cross the lot and disappear into the building.

  "All right, spread out,” Max ordered, and they moved into action.

  * * * *

  Marg brought the anti-toxin into the room, syringe in hand, her expression more worried than T.J. would have preferred. He was used to this woman's cool efficiency and dispassionate approach to anything; her visible trepidation was distinctly troubling.

  "Think he's told the Commander the truth about that?” T.J. questioned when Marg sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at Kaylee Masterson. The pretty designer was barely conscious at the moment; a state she'd not been in seconds before. Her screams had diminished, not because her agony had decreased, but simply because there was nothing left of her voice. Only the scratch of raw nerves dragging across tortured vocal chords.

  "There's no time to find out,” Marg finally answered, horror evident in the rough whisper.

  T.J. brushed a caress across Kaylee's forehead, then climbed onto the bed with her, positioning himself at her back as he'd watched Max do. Marg glanced once at him, bit her bottom lip, then slowly injected the cloudy serum into Kaylee's arm while T.J. held it steady.

  The reaction came swiftly.

  She bolted away from T.J., eyes wide, hair swirling in a wild chaos of sandy curls as she strained and pulled to be free. Unlike the seizures induced by the poison, the antidote burned its way through her system in brief, agonizing minutes. She fainted in T.J.'s arms; and he watched, awkward in his pose, as Marg sought for a pulse to tell them that they hadn't just killed her.

  "She's alive, T.J.,” the beautiful Intelligence Operative announced. “Her pulse is returning to normal."

  T.J. felt her waking, tears choking her with confused terror. She slid to one side and twisted enough to see him. He touched her cheek and smiled.

  "The Commander's on his way, Kaylee,” the aviator said gently. “I'm Thomas Jason Windsor,” he added with a wink. “My friends call me T.J."

  "T.J.?” she repeated, barely audible.

  "Do you remember Marg?” He asked and eased carefully away from her. With his support gone, she was limp and he caught her again when she would have fallen into the wall.

  "I ... f-fe-feel ... s-s-s-sick..."

  It was a near moan, and T.J. scooped her off the bed then carried her into the nearby bathroom.

  Ten minutes later he hadn't returned, and Marg went looking for them. She stood in the partially open doorway, leaning on the frame, her smile ironic. The shower was running, and T.J. was standing in the stall with Kaylee, fully dressed, while the water streamed over them. Max's t-shirt was on the floor. Kaylee appeared oblivious to the stranger whose hands at her waist kept her standing; the spray poured over her, soothing and cleansing.

  * * * *

  "You don't really think you'll get out of this?” Baldwin proposed quietly.

  "On the contrary, Carter,” Stadler answered with a laugh. “I already have.” He took a small black remote from the pocket of his jacket.

  Baldwin knew this would be his only opportunity, and with a sharp twist of his wrist he activated the mechanism T.J. Windsor had given him. The aim was true; Stadler never saw it coming. The small spring-loaded device strapped to Carter's right arm gave with a tiny ping of noise, and the surgical steel blade buried itself to the bolt-styled hilt in Sadler's temple.

  He died instantly.

  As the body fell to the ground with a resounding thud, Baldwin retrieved the remote that skidded across the concrete floor to his feet. Pocketing the device, he turned to leave.

  Max Richmonte was standing just inside the door, his expression one of near comical surprise.

  Tommy slipped in from another entrance, and Kevin dropped lightly from an overhead grill.

  "He's dead, Commander,” Tommy said after a cursory check on the body.

  "How?” Max asked. “You weren't armed."

  Baldwin smiled. He opened his sleeve fully, took off the tiny harness that banded his forearm, and tossed it to Max.

  "Tell T.J. I said ‘Thanks'.” He smiled. “Oh, you might want this, too,” he added, and tossed Max the remote that would have blown his saloon to pieces if it had been activated. “Let me know if you need a bomb squad, Max."

  Grinning, Max watched as the Director pulled out his cell phone and began making the calls that would obliterate any trace of the incident.

  * * * *

  "Where is she?"

  Marg indicated the room off their operations center.

  "T.J. is still with her, Max,” she began by way of warning him about what to expect. He didn't stop to listen and she went after him. She stumbled into his back when he halted in the open doorway.

  "He wouldn't leave her,” she whispered.

  Kaylee was tucked beneath the sheets, curled into a tight ball. She was, mercifully, asleep and peaceful. At her back, curved protectively around her, was T.J. He was wearing jeans, and nothing else; a pile of wet clothes had been dumped on the floor, Max's pale blue t-shirt easily spotted among the other things. The aviator must have sensed them at the door, and he looked up. He didn't move; Kaylee's hands still clutched at his forearm where it draped over her and held her to his chest.

  Max curbed the flare of jealousy, dismissed it as surprise; he'd deal with that lie later, some inner voice mocked. He walked to the bed and sat on the chair, his eyes searching her face.

  "She's going to be all right, Commander,” T.J. ventured softly.

  Max nodded.

  Kaylee's eyes fluttered open, and a slow smile spread over her lovely features.

  "Max?"

  She didn't relinquish her hold on T.J., but reached one hand out to touch Max. He caught her fingers and leaned over to kiss her forehead.

  She was asleep again before he pulled back. Max looked at his friend, and T.J. grinned at him.

  "Maybe you'd like to take my place, sir?"

  "Maybe I would,” Max replied with a slight smile.

  * * * *

  Silver Dollar Saloon Command Center-several days later...

  "How are you feeling?” Kevin asked when Kaylee hobbled into the command center, awkward with the cane she was still getting used to.

  She smiled. “Better,” she replied, voice hardly more than a husky whisper. Baldwin's physician had been by earlier; the latest blood
screen showed the poison was out of her system entirely. The prognosis for her voice wasn't so positive; it was too early to tell, but she'd done some damage to her larynx and the roughness might never leave her voice completely.

  "Where's Max?” she questioned when she was seated next to T.J. on the couch. He smiled a greeting, and Kaylee felt the now-familiar flush of shyness wash over her. Of all of them, T.J. was the greatest mystery to her. He was gentle, sweet, and kind to her; yet his quietness made her feel like a timid schoolgirl. She suspected he knew it too, each time he caught her staring at him, and his handsome face split into a teasing grin.

  Kevin came into the room, and she pointed at the small photograph that was framed and sitting close to her elbow. “Your brother?” she asked. Kevin had been delightful company when the others were busy; he regaled her with the most outrageous stories, and she hung on every word—something that made the stories grow wilder as he got into them. They'd laughed themselves into headaches several times during the past few days.

  "Yeah, Danny,” the pleasant computer wizard smiled. He'd been the most reluctant member of their elite team to accept her; now that he had, he was relaxed and protective of her. Once he'd spent some time with the lovely designer, the friendship seemed to fall into place naturally. As it had with the others. Marg and Kaylee had been spending a lot of time together, talking quietly, bonding in a way that excluded the men totally, even Max.

  "He's like you,” Kaylee murmured, then winked at the attractive New Yorker. “Adorable."

  "I'll go along with that,” he grinned.

  Before he could launch into another tale—it took no prompting when Kaylee was his audience, they'd quickly discovered—Marg's voice intruded.

  "Max's down on the beach, with Baldwin,” she supplied the answer to Kaylee's initial enquiry.

  Kaylee's glance went automatically to T.J., who smiled and nodded. He rose to his feet, and helped her to stand. Despite the warmth she extended to each of them, Kaylee had found something of a special intimacy with T.J., and the sentiment was mutual. If Max had been the type to be suspicious and jealous, he'd have had plenty of incitement watching the striking officer and Kaylee together.

  "That still don't add up,” Tommy remarked dryly, once Kevin and Kaylee had left them.

  "Jealous, buddy?” Kevin wisecracked.

  "Aren't you?” Tommy grinned.

  Kevin's eyes rolled theatrically.

  * * * *

  "We have company,” Baldwin observed when he spotted T.J. leading the team's pretty guest toward them.

  Max glanced over his shoulder, his smile easy and happy. He'd been sitting in the sand, back braced against a support beam from the boardwalk over their heads. He stood and took Kaylee's hand when she and T.J. reached them. T.J. nodded once in greeting, kissed Kaylee's temple, then left.

  When she leaned into Max's side and looked over at him, Carter smiled.

  "Max says you're going to make a full recovery, Ms. Masterson,” he said quietly.

  She glanced up at Max, then smiled at Baldwin.

  "Yes,” she whispered. “Max told me what you did, Mr. Baldwin. Thank you."

  He looked more intently at her, sorrow and gratitude both etched into his lean features. Without thought, his hand rose to the small bandage on her cheek, the mark that would forever be a reminder of this harrowing ordeal.

  His touch was a breath of air and tears formed in Kaylee's eyes, then spilled over to trail tiny streaks across her face. He wiped away the warm wetness, and looked at Max when she stepped away from the Commander and into his arms. Max's smile held only a hint of surprise, and Baldwin accepted her hug gratefully for several minutes.

  When she drew away, Max nodded at Baldwin and they began a slow walk back to where T.J. was waiting and watching.

  Baldwin lingered where he was, staring out at the thundering surf. The moisture that clung to his fingers drew his gaze and he lifted his hand, tasted the faint tang of salt. Innocent tears, he mused; it had been a long time since he'd tasted that bittersweet elixir.

  Chapter 8

  Max had left an hour earlier to go to Roger Gilmore's beach house and pick up her things. She'd asked him to find a nearby house she could rent, and he had. But, he'd also asked her to stay with him for another week. He hadn't been forthcoming about his reasons for wanting her to do so. Since she didn't really want to leave the security of his arms, staying hadn't been a difficult decision to make. Now, in his absence, she was drawing in courage for something she hadn't as yet felt able to confront.

  The lighting in the bathroom was stark and unforgiving, exactly what was required for this particular undertaking. Kaylee stood in front of the mirror and slowly removed the bandage from her face. Her hands shook, and she had to still the quaking inside her several times before the task was finally accomplished. When she saw the angry gouge that furrowed the upper curve of her cheekbone and vanished into her hair, she winced.

  Kaylee had never been a woman preoccupied with beauty, her interests had always extended to things beyond the surface of her physical existence. She had taken her face for granted, and now it had changed, radically.

  It's horrible and ugly, some internal demon taunted derisively.

  Max would certainly find it repugnant, she decided, her eyes brimming with tears. She wasn't naive enough to think their relationship was based on anything as noble as their being kindred spirits. They'd spoken words of love, but nothing had put those tentative emotions to any real test. They were slowly finding the emotional bonds that made people close, but the truth remained—the powerful physical attraction they'd shared was their strongest bond. Max Richmonte was drop-dead-gorgeous, and to Kaylee's mind, the most physically perfect man she'd ever known. Why would he want her now; scarred internally and externally? T.J. had told her what they'd witnessed when she was suffering from the effects of Stadler's poison; the madness and the endless screams that had all but taken her voice. How could Max want a crazy woman, even if she had regained her sanity?

  A noise in the doorway made her spin and she tried to cover her face when she spotted Max watching her. As always, his sheer presence swept over her, woke every nerve ending in her body. She trembled, forcibly subdued the surge of awareness and longing for him.

  Max came into the bathroom and took her hands away from her face, staring intently at her.

  "How much do you hate me for that, I wonder?” he whispered, not looking at the scar they were discussing, but the misery that had filled her eyes again.

  "Hate you?” She was shocked. “I couldn't hate you for anything, Max,” she assured him, and swallowed hard as the watery haze in her eyes finally spilled over onto her cheeks.

  "How can you stand to look at me like this?” She voiced the haunting fear without conscious control of it, then tried to back away from him. He wouldn't permit a retreat.

  Max touched her chin, forced her to look up at him when she would have chosen to see anything else.

  "You're beautiful, Kaylee,” he murmured, with utter honesty. She took his breath away, as she had from the moment he'd first looked up to find her in his office. Max wanted her as intensely as he had the first night he'd made love to her; his entire body was preoccupied with that compelling need. He'd slept beside her for several nights, afraid to leave her alone with her nightmares—she'd awakened more than once, sobbing and shivering with fright. He'd reassured and calmed her, all the while denying his desire to blot everything with the lust they shared so completely.

  His hands moved of their own volition, stroking evocatively from the curve of her waist upward, then smoothing over her beautiful, full breasts. She was still wearing nothing beneath his t-shirts, and with his thumbs he teased her nipples, hardened them into tight buds as she shuddered with pleasure in response to his touch. Her eyes closed, a tiny gasp escaping her before he closed his mouth over hers, the kiss a flagrant demand for the sensuality and passion that had burned so fiercely between them a week ago. It was a long time befor
e he drew back and met the dazed smolder in her grey gaze.

  "You still want me..."

  It wasn't quite a question, more an observation of wonder. Max laughed gently and nodded. “I'm surprised you have any doubts, Kaylee. Have you forgotten how many times we've made love in the short time we've been together? Baby, I want you. I want to hear you telling me to fuck you again. It's what I dream about."

  She tried to smile, to find that wonderful sense of freedom to say anything to him, but it eluded her. She was still too fragile.

  "What if I can't?"

  "Can't what? Talk to me, or make love with me?"

  "Max...” She paused, swallowed hard. “The way things were with us. It took everything I had to feel comfortable with that. Now I feel like the words would choke me.” She was uncomfortably aware of the rasp that was her voice now, and the swirl of pain and emotion was making it rougher still.

  "Then let me talk, Kaylee,” he murmured. “Let me tell you how much I want to kiss you, and touch you. How I want to suck these beautiful tits of yours until you can't think about anything but how much you want my cock in your pussy.” He was squeezing her breasts, kneading the firm swells with gentle pressure, his thumbs circling her rigid nipples, flicking at the pebbled points.

  "You want me to put my dick in your pussy again, don't you, baby?"

  She trembled, and with his eyes blazing hunger into her, she forgot everything but Max, and the undeniable need in his words and his tense body. His erection was pressing into her when he drew her fully into his arms, fitted her voluptuous curves to his body, and kissed her again with ruthless seductiveness. When her arms wound around his neck, his hands slid around to cup her bottom. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her back into the bedroom that had been hers since she'd been brought to the Silver Dollar's command center.

  Max put her on her feet and stripped off the t-shirt she wore, his hands gliding over her curves eagerly. He slipped one hand between her thighs and probed into her.