Lee (In the Company of Snipers Book 12)

by Irish Winters

  Tess looked closer. Agent Hart was red-faced, rigid veins visible on his forehead, his lips tight and his brow furrowed in—pain? This was some serious nightmare.

  “Corporal Lee Hart,” she whispered louder. “Wake up. You’re dreaming, and you’re making a lot of noise. I can’t sleep. Stop it.”

  He bared his teeth to her, hissing as he jerked to a sitting position and shook his head, his eyes still closed. One hand raked viciously over his head, his fingernails scraping his short mahogany hair all the way to his neckline and back again. His other hand went to his stomach, clutching his shirt, pulling it away from his body, stretching it until the seams creaked in protest.

  “Can’t. Won’t do it,” he declared between sharp panting breaths, his eyes still closed, his voice more rumbling growl than tone. “Never. No. Won’t... do... it!”

  “You’re ripping your shirt. Will you lay down and just relax?” she muttered, coaxing him awake.

  Even annoying, he was a rare sight to behold. His biceps were sheer muscle, thickly veined and coated in a sweaty sheen. Those broad shoulders were ropes of solid musculature, and a definite rift defined his pecs, the left from the right, even through his T-shirt.

  When her nose twitched, she turned completely on her side just to watch his antics, her head pillowed on her bicep. He must’ve splashed aftershave on after his shower. She hadn’t noticed it once the food showed up, but she noticed it now. Cinnamon and orange, her new favorite men’s fragrance.

  He groaned with whatever internal torment visited a man his size, but honestly. What could a big guy like him be afraid of? She scoffed at the tough image he’d projected. Maybe he was scared of spiders. The desert was known to produce some big ones, like camel spiders. Ha. Wouldn’t that be funny?

  The sight of that clean-shaven chin made her smile, though. A cleft divided it neatly, or was it a scar? A dimple? She’d need a closer look, but for now, she drew in a long, slow breath of that delightful, clean man-smell and let it fill her lungs. Let him growl all he wanted. He wasn’t hurting anybody, and a man who obviously took care of himself was easier on the eye than what she usually woke up to.

  Agent Hart groaned again, a whine crawling up from deep inside his chest. “Never betray my... country. Stop it.”

  Tess bolted upright. Despite his words, a hurt little boy had just spoken. Betray his country? This was no normal nightmare. This was deeply rooted terror speaking, a nightmare he’d lived. She would know because too many nights she’d screamed herself awake. He was—her.

  “Agent Hart.” She reached for him, her bare feet flat to the floor between their beds, but her fingers couldn’t even touch his knee. “You’re having a nightmare, Lee. That’s all. Wake up, honey.”

  His eyes popped open, and for a moment, it seemed he’d obeyed, until tremors rattled from his head to his gray socks. It looked as if he’d had a seizure. He stared at nothing, those once kind greens gone zombie dark with barely any light in them and no whites either. His mouth worked like he was a fish gasping for air, but he wasn’t choking. His fists knotted inside the bottom of his shirt, still pulling it taut away from his stomach.

  “What’s going on? You’re scaring me. Come on. Snap out of it,” she said more kindly, reaching as far as she could for him. “I’m right here. Take my hand. Grab hold. Come on, you can do it. I know you can.”

  “Don’t... touch me, Nizari!” he growled. “It hurts.”

  The name reached out and punched her straight in her heart. She couldn’t draw a breath. Nizari? He did this? Too?

  The little boy in Lee was gone. Coal black eyes glared at her, full of shadow and loathing. With one fist, he reached behind him and jerked the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor like a challenge. He commenced scrubbing his chest and abdomen frantically, tearing long thin gouges and bellowing, “Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!”

  Tess panicked. He was hurting himself, but she couldn’t get to him. He’d already marked his handsome body with ugly scratches that—

  God, no. Her stomach lurched up her throat. She stifled a cry. He wasn’t hurting himself. Those scratches weren’t fresh. They weren’t bleeding. They were—scars. Deep. Red. Ugly scars. Some longer than others. Some that outlined the curve of each rib he’d exposed. Small black, circular pockmarks marred his perfect stomach muscles, but they didn’t stop there.

  “Agent Hart,” Tess called to him, desperate to help. She stretched closer. The black marks rounded his sides and descended below the elastic of his pants. Cringing awareness tightened her breath at the pain he’d endured. She looked to his feet, wondering what lay beneath the gray ribbed cotton socks. Suddenly his clothes weren’t so much an attempt at propriety as they were camouflage. Agent Hart wasn’t dressing properly. He was hiding.

  “Lee, honey, I’m here.” Her panic turned to tears. “Please. Grab my hand. Let me help you. It’s only a nightmare, honest. Nizari’s not here, only me. He’s not real, but I am. You’re safe now, I promise.”

  “No! No! No!” He shook his head. “He... won’t stop! Every day! Every night! The dark man comes!”

  The dark man, what locals called Nizari because they were afraid to speak his name.

  Panic lifted up Tess’s dry throat. She had to do something. “Lee, listen. I’m right here, baby. Open your eyes and see me. There’s no one else in this room but you and me. It’s just a bad dream. Reach for me, Lee. Let me help you, for a change. Take my hand. Please.”

  He hissed even as a whine travelled up from his gut. “I can’t,” he choked. “The stars... don’t... work. Don’t you get it? I throw them up, but they keep falling down!”

  His anguish overwhelmed her. This was a man deeply tormented, fighting demons every time he closed his eyes. Tess choked, her hand to her mouth. “Lee,” she sobbed, blinking tears out of her eyes, her body stretched to him as far as she could make it reach. “Please. Take my hand. I’m real, honey, and I know just what you’re talking about. Please, baby. Let me help. Come to me. Please, Lee, come to me. Look at me. See me.”

  His chin dropped to his chest, his lashes lowered, and his body covered in sweat. “Hoo-rah,” he growled savagely, saliva dripping off his lip to dribble onto his bare chest. “I... win again... not... you...” Breathing heavily, he patted his belly with his palm instead of gouging at it with his fingernails. “Boss is right. Living’s... best revenge...” he mumbled incoherently. The blatant hatred in his eyes faded. His cheeks filled and hollowed with every deep breath he sucked in and blew out. His chest heaved. Sweat glistened over his exposed body, so much that his waistband was dark with it.

  A desperate plea lifted up from the depth of her heart. “God, oh God, Lee. Please, please take my hand. Let me help.”

  He seemed oblivious. Gradually, his head lolled to the side and Lee went limp. His eyes closed, and ever so slowly, the poor guy pitched forward. Tess hit the carpet between their beds before he could, offering her body as a cushion. He never woke up—just dropped onto her thighs and circled her waist with one strong arm, his fingers clutching her hip. He pushed his face into her stomach and growled as he succumbed to sleep again. Tremors still jerked at his fingertips and feet, but the worst seemed over. Only the deep pulls for more oxygen remained. Only her tears.

  “My poor sweet baby, what did Nizari do to you?” she sobbed quietly, her fingers in the deep, lush thickness of Lee’s sweaty hair, needing to comfort him. She knew exactly what Nizari had done, the evidence stark and clear. Tess was shaken to her core, the damage inflicted upon this strong man now laid bare to her. The tables had turned. Suddenly, she was glad he’d caught her at the palace. She was glad he’d chained her to the bed and made her stay with him, if only because she of all people knew what he’d lived through. He needed never to wake up alone to that kind of a nightmare again, at least not while she was with him.

  Gently, she smoothed her free hand over Lee’s head and down his neck to his muscular shoulder and bicep, thankful she could reach any part of him at all
. With her one arm stretched as far as she could make it reach, she cradled the battered warrior against her. “How could he do this to you?” she cried quietly, eternally aghast at the depths of man’s depravity against his brothers and sisters.

  While Lee lay panting in her arms, his face and body drenched with sweat, her heart hurt. She looked at this handsome body differently, trembling at the knowledge she possessed that he would surely not want her to know. How could an American man as big and strong as Agent Hart have met this kind of fate? The Taliban must’ve captured him when he was a soldier. They’d turned him over to Nizari who’d tortured him.

  That explained both Alex and Lee, why they dressed the way they did and spoke to each other like they did. They were ex-military, U.S. soldiers come to right a country full of unspeakable wrongs. They knew the cost if they got caught, yet there they were again. Taking chances and all because of—her.

  She’d seen plenty of their kind before on the streets of Kabul—US Marines, Army, SEALs, and Air Force. They’d all seemed astoundingly respectful, handsome, and professional, in such sharp contrast with the Taliban who had no problem beheading mothers and fathers in soccer fields, hanging mutilated bodies from bridges and buildings, or maiming innocent children on their way to school.

  No wonder he’d told her he was sorry when he’d cuffed her. He was stronger than her, yes, and maybe more determined, but he might have unwittingly recognized a kindred spirit. He’d never been cruel, not even when he’d held her under the cold shower. All of his actions were only reactions to her bullying.

  Tess shuddered as his breathing steadied. He relaxed and nuzzled, his nose moved to the corner of her hip, and she very much wanted him to stay. “You poor baby,” she muttered, wiping her tears on her shoulder. “How can I ever help you?”

  Of course he didn’t answer, but her heart did. You’re helping him now. Just. Don’t. Stop.

  Chapter Ten

  Damn.

  The last way a man wanted to wake up was with his face in a strange woman’s lap and her fingers playing with his hair, tracing his ear, and sliding down his neck to his collarbone. Lee opened one eye and fell into a pool of deep blue with a tinge of violet. Instantly, he knew what had happened. Freaking nightmares.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, his shirt was gone, no doubt ripped to shreds and hanging off the chandelier. Lee gritted his teeth. The damned Green Hulk had emerged again, and now Tess Culver knew what a monster he was. He clenched his jaw and steeled himself for another round of hurt. Why did it have to be Tess?

  “Good afternoon, Agent Hart,” she said softly, her fingertips tracing the edge of his ear all the way down to his jaw again. He shivered at the very intimate touch that somehow registered in his groin. Man, she smelled good, but why was she being nice? Oh, yeah. She’d seen. Now the pity party would commence. Then she’d have to leave. Then he’d get mad. Goodbye and good riddance.

  It had to be late afternoon judging by the lack of direct sunlight in the room. Maybe early evening. Still light outside though. The stars in the twilight sky back home had never been so pretty as the ones in her violet-blue eyes. This was definitely a first, but the last thing he wanted to share with this cantankerous woman. That they were both flat on the floor didn’t bode well. That she was sitting against her bed and cradling his head in one arm the way she was felt awful damned odd, too. This was new, a very different experience with this particular half-naked woman.

  Maybe she didn’t know it, but her cleavage was plenty visible through the loose collar of that robe. So was her crucifix. Poor Jesus. He looked smothered between those pillows of soft, silky skin that Lee shouldn’t have been ogling. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, so he didn’t do anything, just closed his eyes, played like an ostrich, and wished the floor would open up and suck him and Jesus back to the States.

  “I thought I recognized you,” she said quietly, her finger tracing his ear again.

  Huh? He shivered under the gentle touch and blinked that same eye open, not sure what she was talking about. Of course she recognized him. They’d just spent most of the night and half the morning wrestling, arguing, and eating together. Another shot of fire raced from his ear to his groin. He wished she’d stopped teasing.

  “We have a lot in common, Agent Hart. When the Taliban came to the orphanage,” she said quietly, “I thought they’d kill me for sure.”

  He rolled to his side so he could see her better, but he didn’t his head move out of her lap. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a sexy woman, and Tess was definitely sexy. She smelled of soap, shampoo, and that intrinsically feminine scent that had the same effect on him as her tantalizing fingertips did. Why, when a man had been on the starvation diet from hell, did this woman smell so—damned—edible?

  “They made Omar go with them,” she whispered, “but they had to make an example of me before they left. I made them mad when I stood up to them, so they beat me with sticks and rods, with rifle butts. Thank heavens they left the children alone.”

  He held his breath. He knew all about Taliban discipline. It never ended well.

  “Omar was just fourteen,” she said softly, a glimmer of moisture welled up in the corner of her eye. “I still don’t know what happened to him.”

  He reached a palm to her cheek, offering the only thing he had to give. Connection.

  She seemed unable to speak, so he said the hard words for her: “They hurt you.”

  “They might have hit me, but Nizari was the one who ordered it. He was there.” She squeezed her eyes tight, and his heart opened wide. It had been too long since he’d cried for anyone, but he wanted to now. Instead, he scrambled to his feet and scooped her into his arms, settling close to the headboard so her cuffed arm didn’t have far to stretch. Protecting another was always better than being protected. Or pitied.

  “Please don’t be lying to me,” he murmured. “Not about something like this. Not about that bastard, Nizari. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “It’s not,” she squeaked, her voice tiny and timid, not this cat burglar’s usual modus operandi. “That’s why I said I recognized you. I see the same pain in your eyes. He hurt you, too.” Sliding the robe off her shoulder, she covered her breasts with her palms while she revealed the ugly lash marks across her skin.

  Lee turned her in his arms, needing to see it all. The robe pooled at her hips, but the hash marks of a wicked beating covered her back, even her arms. He didn’t look farther. The marks continued low, no doubt to her backside, too. Damn it to hell. She’d been thoroughly thrashed. How could men do this to a woman as small as Tess? How could they do this to any woman? Anyone?

  He helped her slide back into the sleeves and tugged the robe to her neck, concealing the terrible secret of her lush body along with the lovely temptation. A groan escaped his gut at the pain she’d endured. Breathing hard, Tess turned back around and leaned her head under his chin. Lee fought the wave of tender emotions for this woman curled up against him.

  How could this have happened? What had God been thinking? This common thief, this crazy woman knew exactly what he felt. She not only knew, because many people knew what he’d gone through—she understood. She’d lived through the same kind of experience. She’d been there.

  “You were lucky,” he rasped, his arms circling her while he breathed deeply of her warm feminine scent, completely disarmed. “They usually kill foreign aid-workers they don’t like.”

  “You were lucky, too,” she said quietly, her fingers soft and tender on his scarred, bare chest, the place where no woman had touched him in a very long time. “They usually kill soldiers.”

  “I was lucky,” he agreed, half-afraid she’d stop the gentle massage over his heart and half-afraid she wouldn’t. Lucky I met you. The warmth of her palms and fingertips soothed with a power stronger than all the balms and ointments he’d used over the years to erase the scars and heal the memories. “Took ’em a few days, but my USMC squad hit back. Hit ’em hard. My guys
dragged me out. Medivacked me to Bagram. Their team of trauma surgeons saved my life.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Me too, but I’m good now.” Except for the nightmares.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. Sorry was such a small word. So was hate. It didn’t come close to the depth of ugly feelings he carried for his tormentors.

  The night of blessed noise came back to him, not the screams of other men being tortured for a change, not even his own screams, but instead, the hack-hack-hack rotor slap of Air Force choppers coming in low and deadly, laying down hellfire as they did. The God almighty vibration of heavy USMC APCs, Humvees, and MRAPs charging to the rescue. Nothing sounded better than the very welcome rapid-fire challenge of M16s and fifty-cals to AK-47s and bullshit Russian rifles.

  Light ’em up, he’d thought that night, and light me up with them. Please. Kill me now with friendly fire so that my time in Hell can end. Kill me with them if that’s what it takes to send these bastards back to the deepest depths of Dante’s fucking inferno.

  But the Corps’ aim was true. No Americans died that night, and the sweetest sound he’d ever heard came to him in the guise of a battle-hardened gunnery sergeant with a pinpoint laser on his rifle rack. He’d come straight for Lee after he’d shot the lock off the cell door. Lowering him from the ceiling hook, that tough old leatherneck had cradled Lee as gently as a father might his brand-new baby. Lee’s own mother had never sounded so tender or so sad. Lee still cried when he recalled the best words uttered that night. “I’ve got you, boy. Don’t cry. You’re going home.”