Deathwatch

by Dana Marton

  He could understand it, but it still wasn’t going to happen to him.

  He was going to make sure nothing happened to Kate while she lived under his roof, then see her safely on her way.

  Chapter Six

  The Middle Eastern sun was beating down on the eight-man team so hard, Murph felt like his liver was about to bake. But he didn’t have to wipe his brow. They didn’t sweat, not in this heat. Moisture evaporated as soon as it formed on their skin. Their military T-shirts had white rings around the neck and underarms from the salt their dry sweating left behind.

  His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. They’d gone out on morning patrol and had brought four hours’ worth of water. Ten hours later, every drop was finished. The routine patrol turned into a lot more, his team pinned down behind a vineyard’s crumbling wall.

  Curious lizards darted over the cracked mud bricks. They tilted their small heads, stared for a second or two at the American soldiers surrounded by insurgents, then skittered away.

  The team had taken a couple of bad hits. One man had been killed and two were wounded. There was heavier fighting to the south, holding up the reinforcements. The rescue team might not reach them for hours yet.

  A volley of bullets ripped into the wall, sending dust flying over their heads. The insurgents were getting closer. Soon they’d have cover and the angle to make every shot count. Then the Americans could be picked off one by one.

  Since Murph was the team leader, he had to make the call, no matter how much he hated his choices. Going was as dangerous as staying. He had to pick the lesser of two evils, decide which option was less likely to get them all killed. “We’re pulling back.”

  Mick looked at him wide-eyed. “Where?”

  “To the wadi.” He glanced toward the dry creek-bed maybe four hundred feet from their position. It led around a small hill. “We’ll keep low and find a better spot to make a stand. Maybe we can reach a cave on the other side of the hill.” They’d seen several coming in.

  He sent his men first, Mick, Greg, Dave, Rob, Shorty, Antwan and Rasheem. He stayed back to provide them with cover, ran backwards after them and lay down heavy fire to keep the insurgents pinned down and give his team a chance. The first of his men were lurching into the wadi when a disturbed patch of dirt caught Murph's eye, and he realized that they’d been set up, had been purposefully herded that way.

  The two IEDs exploded one after the other. Mick was blown to pieces instantly. Greg was nearly cut in half. Antwan lost a leg, Shorty an arm.

  Murph felt shrapnel bite into his chest, his shoulder. “Don’t move! Nobody move!”

  But Dave, half-dead, fell forward.

  And the world disintegrated around them when the third IED activated.

  * * *

  “Murph. Wake up.” Kate shook his shoulders, then stepped back in case when he woke he didn’t remember where he was or who she was. “Murph!”

  His eyes popped open, his entire body tense as if under attack, his gaze snapping to her.

  Moonlight illuminated the room enough so she didn't reach for the lamp on the side table. No need for that harsh glare in his face.

  “You’re home. It’s okay. You had a bad dream.”

  He closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said in a rusty voice.

  Since he wore nothing on top, just sweatpants, she could see his muscles relax degree by slow degree. She knelt next to the sofa, onto the blanket that he'd kicked off. She was glad she’d set aside her skimpy nightgown and slept in her yoga pants and shirt. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “You have nightmares like this a lot?”

  “Only when I sleep.”

  “It might help if you tell someone. I mean with the whole PTSD thing.”

  He shot her a cold glare. “What do you know about PTSD?”

  She held his gaze. “Some abused children go through something like that.”

  “Sorry.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t have it. I lost some friends I shouldn’t have lost. I can be pissed about that all I want without people hanging some bullshit diagnoses on me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I was the team leader.”

  “You didn’t kill them.”

  “No.” He gave a hard, cold laugh. “But I sure as hell didn’t protect them either.”

  “You were hurt, too.”

  “I lived to come home.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad you did. What happened?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, dark storms swirling in his bottomless gaze. “We were pinned down in a vineyard,” he began, and little by little, he told her the rest, although she had a feeling he edited out the gory parts. The story still left her horrified and breathless.

  He rubbed his bad shoulder as he finished, his muscles shifting, rippling under his tan skin as his powerful body moved. He had a smattering of chest hair that looked natural on him, masculine and attractive.

  The sudden lust that hit her hard and fast threw her for a loop. As she scrambled to regain her mental balance, she somehow ended up blurting out a completely inappropriate question she’d been thinking about before she’d gone to sleep.

  “Why isn’t your family here, welcoming you home and rallying around you?” That was what normal families were supposed to do, wasn’t it? Not that she was an expert on that subject.

  “That’s another long and less than cheerful story.”

  She could have left him and went back to bed, but something in his shadowed gaze kept her there. “I told you my less than cheerful family story. You can tell me yours.”

  His eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam coming into them. “I’d rather play the I-show-you-mine-you-show-me-yours game.”

  Heat crackled in the air between them. Something inside her responded. She blushed, even as she told herself he only said what he said to regain the upper hand. He was the quintessential alpha male and she’d just seen him vulnerable. He wouldn’t like that.

  She drew up an eyebrow. “Keep dreaming buddy.”

  “I’d rather dream about you than the usual.” A wry smile twisted his lips.

  Since his words flustered her, she pushed on with the family thing. “Any other siblings besides Doug?”

  He shook his head.

  “Parents?”

  “Father was a deadbeat who took off shortly after Doug was born. My mother passed on three years ago. We were never close.”

  “I miss my family,” she admitted. “Emma will be twenty-one this year. I can’t believe I’m going to miss that party. I’m the older sister. I’m supposed to be making a big fuss over her.”

  Suddenly his left arm shuddered against the white cotton sheet that covered the couch—just the arm, but not the rest of his body. He held it down with his other hand.

  “I've got shrapnel in there.” He did a one-shouldered shrug. “Probably some nerve damage.”

  “What’s your treatment plan?”

  “I’ll get that once the VA processes my claim. They’re backed up.”

  “How much pain are you in?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Right. Now that she thought of it, she couldn’t remember seeing him use his left arm.

  “Let me see.” She pulled the pillow from behind him. “Lay back on your stomach.”

  His eyes narrowed, but after a moment of hesitation, he did as she asked.

  Heat radiated off his body as she placed her hands on him. She started gently, feeling her way around, warming up his muscles, looking for the hard knots and tangles. She was especially careful, she didn't want to move or dislodge the shrapnel. But if she could relax his muscles, his entire back and neck wouldn’t be a tightly-wound, painful mess. She started with his trapezius muscles then moved on to the deltoids, careful with his injury site.

  He was stiff all over, long minutes passing before he relaxed little by little and gave himself over to her kneading fingers. “How do you know how to do this?”

&nbs
p; “I used to be a massage therapist for traumatized children. There are kids who’ve never been touched in a way that didn’t hurt. We tried to rehabilitate them so they'd be able to accept affection and physical contact. Turns out, we humans really need that to be healthy individuals.”

  “Is this what you did for a living?”

  “Yes. First the kids get talk therapy. Then, when they’re ready, they might get sent to us as part of their physical therapy needs.”

  “Children who were hit or sexually abused?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited longer before asking the next question. “Is that what happened to you?”

  She normally avoided all discussion of her pre-adoption life. Her hands stopped on his back.

  “Sorry. I have no businesses asking.”

  “My birth mother didn’t let it happen. I owe her for that. She used to get jealous if her boyfriends so much as looked at me. When I was nine, one of them got me alone and pushed me up against the dresser. She walked in. She was furious at me. She told me I better not spread my legs for a man. It’d burn like hell, and he’d tear me apart and leave me with a bastard. I suppose that was her birds and bees talk.” Her fingers clenched.

  “I didn’t want to burn. I knew what that meant. She pressed her hot curling iron between my thighs as punishment the week before for stealing bread from the cupboard.”

  “Jesus.”

  The hoarseness of his voice snapped her out of whatever rare sharing mode she’d slipped into. She went back to the business at hand, untangling his trapezius. “Let me know if anything I do hurts.”

  But all he said was, “Please don’t stop,” in a voice filled with gratitude.

  She worked over his entire back, down to the lower back then up again and down the arms, up to the neck. When his muscles were all warmed up and fully relaxed, she returned to the trouble spots.

  She visualized the aching knots under his skin, then she visualized them dissolving. “Try to think of something relaxing and happy.”

  She always thought healing thoughts as she worked. She believed in bringing positive, healing energy to what she did. She’d had plenty of practice so it came fairly easily, a calm enveloping her as she kneaded his muscles. She’d missed that calm. She’d been on the run for too long, fear becoming her norm.

  But for this moment she wasn’t alone. And focusing on Murph helped her forget her own troubles a little. Then as minutes ticked by, her fingers gliding along his skin, over hills and valleys of muscles, something strange happened.

  Her fingertips tingled. His heat somehow spread up her arm and spread through her. So completely unprofessional. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was better than this. He might not have been her patient officially, but she was doing this to help him.

  She lightened the pressure to wind down the massage, and cleared her throat. “That should help a little. Does your back feel better?”

  He stayed face down for another second or two, then turned his head to look at her. The heat in his gaze stole her breath away. She felt singed.

  “Thank you.” His voice, raspy with desire skittered along her skin. “It’s much better.”

  She sat back on her heels and folded her fingers in her lap so she wouldn’t reach out to touch him again. She was fairly sure he would respond. Then they would…. Even as need zapped through her, she knew what a terrible idea that would be. The smartest thing was to walk away.

  But before she could rise, he sat up, legs apart, and she suddenly found herself kneeling between his powerful thighs, their eyes on the same level, his gaze—boiling with heat—holding hers.

  He shifted forward while reaching for her at the same time, his large hands warm on her arms, tilting her closer to him. She had zero will to resist. Every cell in her body screamed for him.

  He held her a hairsbreadth from his lips. Then his eyes darkened and he closed that minuscule distance, their lips meeting at last in the lightest of touches. Even so, an electric charge shot through her, short-circuiting her brain.

  She wanted more, with a deep, aching need. She could have cried when he pulled back an inch.

  “I want you.” His voice had turned hoarse.

  She couldn't speak. The air disappeared from her lungs.

  After a tension-filled moment that lasted an eternity, he let his hands drop from her arms, pulling back all the way. “I'm not going to take advantage of you. You should go back to your room, Kate.”

  She already missed the warmth of his touch, of his lips, as she pushed to her feet, almost as relieved as she was disappointed. “Good night, Murph,” she said when she found her voice.

  He was right. They needed to keep cool heads. They were strangers, and she didn't like feeling this out of control. She was in no position to lose her head, lose her focus. Too much was at stake—her life. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

  He lay back down, on his good side, facing her. “Good night, Kate.”

  The look of open need on his face said he was thinking about coming after her. He didn't. Which was good, because she would have been lost if he did.

  Chapter Seven

  Murph woke reluctantly, from a dream where he was with Kate, playing naked wrestling.

  She was in the kitchen, quietly making coffee, getting ready for work. White top, short tan skirt, plain white sneakers on her feet.

  Those endless legs were going to do him in. His fingertips itched to stroke the length of them, to caress the soft spot behind her knee. His fingers would pave the way for his lips…. He looked away from her, up at the ceiling.

  “Hey,” she said softly from behind the counter. “How do you feel this morning?”

  “Fine,” he barked the single word, mad at himself for touching her in the middle of the night, for having dreamt of her then continuing that fantasy when he’d come awake. She deserved better than him gawking at her and being dragged into his dirty fantasies.

  “Any more bad dreams?”

  Jesus. He didn’t need to be checked up on. He didn’t need a nursemaid in the night either. There was nothing wrong with him some hard workout wouldn’t cure. He was going to hit the gym at the police station until he was fit enough to pass his physical. He was going to get his old life back if it was the last thing he did.

  He rolled off the couch and strode down the hall to the bathroom. By the time he came out, his breakfast was waiting for him on the table.

  When she smiled at him—a sincere, open smile—he suddenly felt embarrassed for his surly attitude. His problems weren’t her fault. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you up last night.”

  She paused by him on her way to the fridge. “I’m not. If the massage helped, I’d be happy to do it again.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm.

  He steeled himself, but the need for more of her washed over him in an overwhelming wave, anyway. He looked into her sparkling sky gaze, got lost a little. A long moment passed before she pulled away.

  “I’ll run into the station after I drop you off at work, then see what needs to be done around the house,” he said, so he wouldn’t say, I want you, again. What the hell was wrong with him? He went to sit at the table.

  “You’re injured. Give yourself time to heal. It's supposed to be a beautiful winter day.”

  All right, so maybe it was nice to wake up to a shot of positive energy in the morning. He nodded toward her coffee cup. “Is the cup half empty or half full?” He jokingly tested her.

  “It’s all the way full. Half of it is coffee, the other half is air. Technically.”

  He shook his head. “It's worse than I thought.”

  She smiled. “My mom taught me that. When I came to her, I was just as likely to hurl the cup across the kitchen in a fit. She’s a big believer in positive thinking.”

  “Ellie Bridges?” Her adoptive mother.

  She nodded with a wistful expression on her face. She must miss her family li
ke crazy. But she was soldiering on, doing what she had to do to keep them and herself away from danger.

  Of course, he was attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? She was smart, beautiful and compassionate. He wanted her, fine. But he was in no position to enter that kind of complication at the moment.

  He rolled his shoulders. The pain didn’t seem to be as bad this morning. “So how did you get into massage therapy?”

  “I wanted to be a vet when I was younger. I think just about every preteen girl does. It comes right after the princess phase.”

  She flashed a quick smile. “My mom set up a volunteering gig at a nearby farm for me where they were rehabilitating abused animals. One of the women there did these therapeutic rubdowns on traumatized horses. She was amazing. She’d start with a horse that wouldn’t even allow a human in the corral with him, and by the time she was done, she had a healthy animal that would let people on his back again.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled like the summer sky. This is how she should always be, he thought as he ate, not scared, with the sad angel eyes.

  She tucked an escaped lock of hair behind her ear. “By the time I went to college, I knew I wanted to work with abused children. And at one point it occurred to me that there might be something like therapeutic massage for people with psychological damage. Turned out there was. I never looked back.”

  “You miss it.” He wasn’t asking. He could see the truth on her face.

  She pressed her very kissable lips together. “I’m going to get back to it someday.”

  “I hope you will.”

  He finished off his bacon and eggs, put his empty plate into the dishwasher, showered quickly, drove her to work then headed to the police station. Everybody was out on calls, Leila busy with the switchboard. He left the weights alone since he didn’t want to mess with the shrapnel, but he spent an hour on the treadmill at the station’s small gym. He had to build back his stamina if he ever hoped to pass that physical.

  After his workout, he went up front and logged into his computer. He didn’t have full access to the FBI’s database, but a lot of that data was fed into the general law enforcement systems. He used those to learn a little more about Rauch Asael.