Shadow Hawk

by Jill Shalvis

  He could be, as Hawk liked to say, a real prick.

  But Logan preferred to think of it like this: it took little to no effort at all to compliment a woman, to touch her the way she wanted to be touched, to listen when she spoke. They loved it.

  And he loved being loved.

  Normally, by the time he backed out of whatever budding relationship he had going, moving into different waters, the woman he’d been with felt great about themselves.

  Both parties happy.

  But staring into his angel’s eyes, he suddenly had no fancy words, no moves. He had nothing, and as the silence grew, her smile faded. She stood.

  “No, wait. I’m—”

  “Sorry? Don’t be. It’s okay.” She shook her head. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed. You just rest now, and—”

  “Your name,” he said hoarsely. Christ, his chest hurt.

  “What?”

  She tried to pull free but he didn’t let go of her, couldn’t, because suddenly, seriously, his chest hurt like hell. And it wasn’t from his fall. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “I’ve got to go.” Gently but firmly she broke loose and turned to the door, and Logan closed his eyes. The irony didn’t escape him. When it came to women, he did the leaving, he always had. A shrink would have a field day with the reasons for his behavior, but he didn’t care about any of that now, except that for the first time in his life, the roles were reversed.

  She was leaving him.

  It didn’t matter that he’d known her for all of a handful of minutes. That he didn’t even know her fucking name. That he was injured, and he had no idea where or how Hawk was, or how the take-down had turned out.

  Nothing mattered but this, crazy as it was. “Please, wait.”

  Hand on the door, she went still but didn’t look at him.

  More pain in his chest. Ah, now he got it. Not his chest, but his heart. He stared at her slim spine, at the lush red hair that he wanted to bury his face in. Turn around, he silently willed.

  She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

  Because for once, he wasn’t in charge, and he had no choice but to reveal himself. “I felt it.”

  Pivoting around, she locked her eyes on his. “What?”

  “The connection. If you meant this thing zinging between us at the approximate speed of sound, possibly even the speed of light, then, yeah.” He cleared his throat, and did something utterly new.

  Bared his soul. “I felt it.”

  She looked down at her feet, then back into his eyes. “Callen. My name is Callen O’Malley.”

  “Well, Callen O’Malley…” He held out his hand. “Now that I’ve puked in front of you, not to mention been delirious and probably an all around class A asshole to boot, maybe I could show you a different side of me. A better side.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “And what side would that be? I’ve already seen every inch.”

  One glance at the hospital gown he wore instead of his ATF gear was all the explanation of that statement he needed. “I hope they were the good inches.”

  She smiled, and he felt like he’d won the jackpot. And when she stepped back toward him, he thought he could just die right now, because for the first time in hours, hell years, he felt like everything was going to be okay.

  “YOU GOING TO tell me the plan?”

  Hawk glanced at Abby in surprise. She hadn’t spoken to him in thirty-three minutes. He knew because he was still holding her phone and he’d glanced at the readout at least a thousand times.

  By some miracle, they hadn’t been followed, but they were on borrowed time. He had only until their pursuers caught up to them to figure out a concrete plan for getting Abby somewhere safe, and then to her computer. “She speaks.”

  “Hostages don’t speak. We suffer.”

  He glanced over at her, but she was already shaking her head. “Forget I said that.”

  Yeah, okay. Except he never forgot a thing. Not how she’d gone running out into the night from the relative safety of the van into the woods because she’d been worried about him, or how she’d sounded when she’d found him slumped on the ground. Or the feel of her arching against him as he’d kissed her.

  At the time he hadn’t been sure if she’d meant to pull him closer or push him away, but he knew better now.

  She’d meant to shoot him.

  Only she hadn’t.

  “I need to make a stop,” she said.

  “Hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Thirsty?”

  She shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “No.”

  “Then no stop.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Damn it. The one excuse he had no defense against. Pulling off the highway at the next exit, he drove into the only thing around, a campground with a sign that read Lost Hills. The sign didn’t lie, the place was rugged, remote. Indeed, someone could easily get lost here. The guard station was empty, and Hawk chose to take that as the first good sign in an otherwise entirely shitty evening.

  Maybe his luck was changing.

  He drove down the bumpy one-lane road, eyeing all the campsites, which were empty. Normal people didn’t camp in northern Wyoming in the late fall, because it would freeze your body parts off cold. The road had plenty of turnoffs, and he picked an out-of-the-way spot. Pleased, he turned to Abby.

  Who was distinctly not pleased. “I don’t see a bathroom,” she said.

  “Well—”

  “And don’t you dare point to a tree.”

  Which was exactly what he’d been about to do. “I’ll close my eyes.”

  “How do you know that I won’t gut you when you do?”

  He sighed, the exhaustion creeping up on him like a sledgehammer to the side of the head. “Because you’re not crazy about blood.”

  She let out a disbelieving laugh.

  “Look, kill me if you have to, I’m feeling halfway dead anyway.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And if you don’t, we’ll take off again when you’re ready.

  “To go to my place for my computer, and then we flush out Gaines. Right?”

  There was going to be an “and then.” His head swam for a moment, probably from sheer exhaustion. That, and an odd need to ask her to repeat the “we.”

  There hadn’t been many “we’s” in his life. Not once a woman realized his long hours and dangerous work would keep him just a little too gone, and way too distant. Few had hung in there, seeing past the job to the man beneath.

  “Right. We’ll stick to the plan.” Well, mostly. Except for the part where she was with him when he flushed out Gaines.

  “And if the numbers don’t match…?” she pressed.

  It was a good question. A fair question. “The numbers will match.”

  “Right. And you know this because your instincts tell you so.” Abby laughed, completely mirthlessly, and covered her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest.

  “You never explained. What’s your attachment to Gaines, anyway?”

  She shot him a look that said none of your business. Well that, and go to hell. Preferably yesterday.

  “Look,” he told her. “I can promise you, I am not the bad guy here.” Hawk felt that bore repeating. Over and over. But when he took in her ashen face and the bruises forming around her wrist, he grimaced. “Okay, I didn’t mean to be the bad guy.”

  She turned away and made him feel like shit. “Abby, please. Look at me.”

  After a hesitation, she leveled him with those wide baby blues.

  “I woke up this morning and I was the good guy. I was on the verge of bringing down the Kiddie Bombers. Then I went to the raid and ended up fighting off our boss.”

  “It’s just all so hard to swallow—”

  He thrust her cell at her. “Call him. I guarantee you, you’re never going to hear from him again.”

  Taking the phone, she flipped it open and stared down at the keypad. “What am I supposed to
say? Excuse me, but are you the bad guy? Because Hawk says you are.”

  “And because you know it, too.”

  Her eyes met his for one long beat.

  “Call,” he whispered.

  She hit a number and he realized she had Elliot on her speed dial, which gave him a ridiculous twist in the gut as the green-eyed monster took over for a moment.

  “Elliot,” she said softly, her gaze locked on Hawk’s. “Can you call me?” Slowly Abby shut the phone, staring down at it as if she expected it to vibrate any second.

  “So,” he said, much lighter than he felt. “How long ago did the two of you…?” He waggled an eyebrow.

  She sighed. “I’m not doing the boss, Hawk.”

  “You’ve dated.”

  “A few times,” she agreed. “A very long time ago. A lifetime ago.” She gazed out the window into the dark night, looking so sad it made him hurt.

  “Look, obviously I’m missing a big piece of this puzzle. If we’re going to figure this all out, I should know everything.” Bullshit. He wanted to know for other reasons. Personal reasons. “Talk to me, Ab.”

  Letting out an uneven breath, she dipped her head down so that she was staring at her lap. “We need to sleep.”

  “Soon. Talk to me.”

  “Do you remember the Seattle raid last year that went bad?”

  He remembered because it was the first time in several years that an agent had been injured on the job. A female agent, if he remembered correctly, who’d been caught and held captive, tortured for information—

  Ah, Christ. “No—”

  “It was me.” She slanted him a quick glance to make sure she had his attention. As if he could do anything but look at her, sick to his very soul. “Gaines rescued me.”

  Stunned, he just sat there. She was telling the truth, at least as she knew it. No one could fake that look on her face, or the tinge of hero worship that the rescue had no doubt created. Shit, he thought, realizing how much he was asking of her to believe Gaines had done all he’d done.

  “I didn’t know,” he said very quietly, staring at the raw skin on her wrist. In all likelihood it was nothing compared to what she’d suffered last year.

  “Afterward, I took some time off,” she whispered. “Gaines encouraged that. And then when I was ready to get back to work, he put me here because I could be in communications, out of the action.”

  “I’m surprised you came back to work at all.”

  “I know. Me, too. But I didn’t want to let them take this from me. I had to prove something to myself.”

  And he’d put her right back into the nightmare. Knowing it, he hated himself. “Abby—”

  “Funny thing is, I felt safe, too.” She closed her eyes. “Until I left the van.”

  He wanted to kick his own ass. “Abby, God. I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t.” She shook her head, still very carefully not looking at him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m fine.”

  She didn’t want his pity. He wouldn’t have wanted any either. But that didn’t change the basic facts. She’d overcome one nightmare, and now was living a new one.

  “I need to talk to Logan,” he said. “And to Watkins and Thomas. To see exactly what we’re up against.”

  She said nothing but fed him a long stare. Right. She didn’t do “we,” she didn’t do trust either, at least not for him. “We’re in this now, for better or worse.”

  “Through sickness and health?” Her eyes flashed in brief good humor. “Just don’t even think about asking me to obey. Or to sleep in this truck with you.”

  If nothing else, he had to admire her sheer will and the inner strength he’d only suspected existed before. He couldn’t imagine all she’d gone through—or maybe the problem was he could, in great detail, and it made him want to personally hunt down each and every single one of her demons and kill them for her. “No, we’re not going to sleep in the truck. I have a friend with a B&B. We can grab some shut-eye there, and get to your place in the morning, okay?”

  Abby stared at him so long he figured the gig was up, she was done with him. But finally she nodded. She wasn’t over her mistrust of him, not yet, but neither was she still fighting him. And after the night he’d had, he felt grateful for the small favor. But first…

  Hawk gestured to the nearest grove of trees with his hand. “Would you like me to escort you to the facilities?”

  11

  Outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming

  ABBY JERKED AWAKE. Sitting straight up, heart in her throat, she nearly leaped right out of her skin when Hawk set a hand on her arm.

  “Easy,” he said softly. “Just me.”

  She’d been deeply asleep, dreamless, which was a miracle in its own right, but that she’d actually for a moment forgotten where she was and who she was with and what they were doing…

  The truck was parked and turned off. That’s probably what had woken her. It was still dark but with the very hint of a lightening of the sky in the far east. Almost dawn. She probably looked like a disaster.

  Hawk stroked a finger over her temple, pushing a strand of hair off her face. “You all the way awake?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” The dash clash read 5:05 a.m. “What I can’t believe is that I slept.” She pulled free of his touch and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Given our situation.”

  “Remember, we’re the good guys. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Except flee the crime scene.”

  “The crime scene in which we were the victims.”

  “It’s still not okay that we just left—”

  “It was that or die,” he said flatly, and she took a good long look at him. His eyes were shadowed and so was his jaw. There was a weariness to the way he sat in the driver’s seat that told her he was still hurting, still exhausted, and on the very edge.

  “We’re only forty-five minutes out of Cheyenne.” He jutted his chin toward the outside of the truck, for the first time drawing her gaze to where he’d stopped.

  They were on a long, wide street lined by huge oak trees, wooden sidewalks and old-fashioned cabin-style houses all clean and neat and exuding charm and personality. It looked like the wild, wild West all cleaned up. “Where are we?”

  “B&B row, Old West style. They’ve done up this town like it was back then—for the tourists. I need to get a few hours sleep, Abby, or I’m going to do something stupid.”

  She slid him a long look. “Like?”

  “Like…” He slid his thumb over her jaw, his gaze filled with things that made her swallow hard.

  And there were other reactions as well, reactions that reminded her that he was a man, an exceedingly sensual, sexy, hot man, and that she was all woman.

  Yowza. She’d nearly forgotten what lust felt like. “If we could just get to my computer—”

  Hawk was shaking his head before she even finished her sentence.

  “If you’re too tired to keep driving,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Disbelief filled her. “Let me get this straight. I’m supposed to trust you, but you don’t have to trust me?” She couldn’t help but sound a little bitter at this one. “That’s ridiculous! I’m the innocent one here. I’m the one to be trusted!”

  “Because you promised to make this as difficult and painful as possible, remember?”

  Okay, he had her there.

  “And you haven’t yet decided to finally trust me.”

  And there.

  “What do you think I’m going to do, anyway?” she asked.

  He laughed and rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Oh, I don’t know. Turn me in to Tibbs before I can prove my innocence.” He shrugged out of his flak vest and outer shirt, leaving him in just the black T-shirt. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to go to sleep only to wake up to you driving me directly to the ATF. I left my Get Out of Jail Free card at home.”

  “If we just went to Regional and laid out all the events in the order that
they happened, I’m sure—”

  “Sure what? That I’ll get a fair trial before death row?”

  “If you’re innocent—”

  “If? Jesus, Abby.” Sending her a stare that was filled with just enough hurt to stab right at her heart, he got out of the truck and slammed the door.

  Abby shook her head at herself. Truth was, she believed him. Or she wanted to. How terrifying was that? With a sigh, she followed, the pre-dawn air slapping her face, stinging her skin. “Hawk, wait.”

  He tipped his head up at the still-dark sky, then turned to look at her, his expression pure resistance, frustration—and also reluctant affection.

  God.

  It was that, that got her. Because a murderer would not be looking at her as if he couldn’t decide between kissing her and wrapping his fingers around her neck, would he?

  “I didn’t mean…” She trailed off, and he looked as if he was resisting the urge to thunk his head on the trunk of the truck.

  Straightening, he drew in a deep breath and lifted his hands, stabbing them into his hair. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were tense, straining the sleeves of his T-shirt.

  She’d experienced his strength firsthand last night and did not want to go another round with him.

  Which did not in any way explain the little quiver that occurred low in her belly.

  “I called about Logan while you were asleep,” he said. “He’s still in intensive care.” Hawk shook his head. “He didn’t fall from that roof. No way in hell.” He dropped his arms to his side and let her see everything he was feeling, which was more of that rage, frustration, exhaustion and also an underlying need for her to believe in him. “He didn’t call you back.”

  Yeah. She’d noticed. If Gaines was on the up and up, and alive, he’d have called her back. Unless, of course, he really was dead. “Maybe the fire did get him—”

  “It didn’t.”

  “How do you know he didn’t die from his gunshot?”

  “It was a flesh wound. Nothing more. And now he has the ultimate freedom.”

  Abby shut her door and came around to the front of the truck to face him. “You’re certain he’s not dead.”