Butterfly Ops

by Jen Doyle

  21

  Before he even had a chance to register Lyndsey’s eyes flying open, Ian felt her fingers close around his throat. With one hand clutching the pills, his other instinctively grabbed onto hers, trying to loosen her grip as he gasped for breath.

  Well, that was gonna leave a mark.

  “Told you,” Ian heard Zachary say.

  Like hell Zachary’s would be the last voice he ever heard.

  Not that he had much control over anything at the moment, given that despite her injuries Lyndsey had somehow pushed him onto his back and was on top of him, straddling his waist. She showed no sign of recognition, whatsoever. Or weakness, for that matter, despite the blood running down her arms.

  Great. He tried to suck in some air, painfully aware of how little time he had to do this. And, of course, that she could snap his neck at any minute. “Lyndsey…” he croaked.

  Okay. Good sign. He was pretty sure she had registered that. At the very least, air was coming in again. Well, either that or he’d already reached the delusional stage of oxygen deprivation. “Lyn.”

  Yes. There was definitely some air coming in because he was able to speak again. What the hell was he supposed to say exactly? He hadn’t really considered that part. “Lyndsey. It’s me. You know—the guy you moved across the country for. The reason you left all that riffraff behind in San Francisco.” Not really true, but what the hell. And he couldn’t help but grin at Zachary’s snort.

  There was a hint of a smile lurking behind the hostility radiating from her eyes as well. Her grip relaxed a bit more. “There was this thing with a bear. You lost a lot of bl—”

  So much for the air. She apparently preferred the other topic of conversation. “Boston,” he gasped. “I can talk…about Boston…” He gulped in some air as she let up again.

  “Yeah. So, Boston.” As it turned out, however, it was surprisingly hard to come up with innocuous things to say. Usually he was pretty good with that kind of thing, but looking at her face—at her almost unrecognizable face—it was hard to think of anything other than the miracle that she was still alive. Or about her being a few seconds away from killing him.

  “Ian,” Zachary said sharply.

  Right. Because there’s no miracle if she ends up dying. Think.

  Think Boston. Nice things to say about Boston. Anything other than rainy days on Beacon Hill or the Charles at sunrise. He couldn’t actually speak of them—think about them—without a voice in his head saying, It was all just a dream. Gone before you knew it was there. Too bad you didn’t hold it close because you’ll never be able to catch it again.

  No. Not Boston.

  How about: “Have you ever been to Cape Cod?” That would work. “There’s this town called Orleans, halfway up. You hit Skaket Beach at sunset? Absolutely beautiful. More colors in the sky than you can count. I’ll take you there when we get back home.”

  Her fingers were still around his throat, but they were resting there lightly now. He could actually breathe again. He laced his fingers through hers carefully, allowing for the possibility that at any time she might resist.

  May as well continue with the tour of his favorite places in New England. It was going well so far. “And there’s this farmhouse in Vermont…”

  He lifted his other hand slowly, as unthreateningly as possible as he raised it to her head. With his thumb he pushed back a strand of her hair, trying not to pay attention to the dried blood that matted it down, or the fact that her earlobe was torn in two.

  Look into her eyes. Just focus on her eyes. “…At the base of Mount Mansfield; right there in the shadow of the mountain. I’ve had my eye on it for a while now.”

  He could feel her tension slowly abate; could see her eyes begin to soften. Her icy cold hand drifted from his throat to his shoulder. He gently squeezed her fingers. “The guy who owns it now lives in New York. He wanted to tear the house down and build something crazy. Annie turned on the charm and convinced him to think it over. It’ll cost a small fortune, but it’s worth it—just the fireplace alone. I think you’d like it.”

  She closed her eyes and then opened them again slowly, the Lyndsey he knew fully present. Fully present and feeling every agonizing shred of ripped open skin, every excruciating thread of torn apart muscle.

  “Lyndsey,” he breathed as she clasped his hand and leaned forward.

  “It hurts,” she whispered, her face inches from his.

  “I know.” He fought to keep his voice from breaking as he heard the pain in her voice and saw it in her eyes. It should have made it easier to put her back to sleep. Should have, but didn’t.

  Maybe two pills was too much. Maybe—since she hadn’t gone on any rampage—it wasn’t even necessary.

  No. That may have bought a little time, but Zachary was right; her heart was too strong. Its whole purpose was to keep the warrior inside of her going, to keep her blood coursing through her body when there was no conceivable reason it should still be flowing.

  God, were two pills even enough?

  It was Brooks this time whose voice came to Ian, courtesy of the comm, sounding much more confident than Ian knew he felt. “Just do it, Ian. Get it done. We’ll figure it out.”

  Ian lifted his head just enough to brush her mouth with his lips, all the while forcing the words ‘just in case’ out of his brain. He held out the pills. “Under your tongue.”

  “What’ll they do?” she asked.

  Do not lose it, Fox. “Put you to sleep,” he said, not at all happy with his choice of words.

  She took them from him, her gaze full of a trust he wasn’t sure he deserved. “Will you be there when I wake up?”

  He nodded.

  A tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek, forging a trail through the blood. She put the pills in her mouth and grimaced at the bitter taste, waiting until they dissolved to swallow. When they were down, she leaned in close to Ian’s face. “If I’m going to…” She stopped herself from saying whatever it was she’d originally intended. Despite her obvious discomfort, she smiled. “I want this to be what I dream about.”

  Her kiss was different than the ones from earlier that day—not as deep, not as passionate; the end rather than the means when you came right down to it. But sweet all the same. Sweeter, in fact, in a pure and innocent kind of way. Ian resisted the instinct to put his arms around her, knowing it would only make things worse. Instead, he held her hands and focused on the way she felt against him, praying to as many gods as he could think of that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d ever hold her.

  Please make two be the right answer. Please just let it be two.

  He felt her collapse against him. Brooks and Malek were there almost instantaneously, gently rolling her onto another mat. Ian sat up slowly, only reluctantly releasing her hand.

  Brooks felt for her pulse. He looked at Ian, fully understanding how important Lyndsey was, probably feeling the same Abby vibes Ian had been getting. “So far so good.”

  Ian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew there were no guarantees; the next few hours would be crucial. He stood up—jumped up, practically, his body unleashing some of the pent-up tension; his voice doing the same, albeit directed at Zachary.

  “Messing with her blood tends to energize her?” Ian looked down as he spoke, or yelled, rather, suddenly realizing he was drenched in Lyndsey’s blood—his clothes, his skin, his hair. He smelled it everywhere, tasted it. Gratefully finding a relatively dry spot of sleeve, he used it to wipe off his face, at the same time snapping, “Maybe you could have mentioned that sooner?”

  Zachary, probably needing his own release, threw it right back at Ian. “She’s been with you all of three weeks. I thought you’d take better. . .” He stopped before finishing the sentence.

  Well, what do you know? Even Zachary wasn’t perfect.

  I thought you’d take better care of her, he’d been about to say. As though either of them ever could.

  As though she’d ever le
t them.

  In a quieter, although no less angry tone, Zachary continued, “I didn’t expect it to be a problem quite so soon.”

  Bastard. Zachary knew the thought had been lurking in the back of Ian’s mind since Joe emerged from the woods. Knew it and capitalized. And he knew there’d be no clever comeback because Ian basically agreed. Ian was almost glad when Tom cut in with, “Guys, you’ve got company.”

  With an inward sigh, Ian turned. Wonderful, he thought as he saw the rangers step out of their canoe. Absolutely fucking wonderful. Chalk one up to the it-never-rains-it-pours theory.

  Mentally switching gears back to CO, he let the names and details click into place as the men walked toward him. Frank, he could hardly forget; the man with him was named Derek. That was all Ian needed to know at the moment. Oh, right—and that he really didn’t like them.

  As Frank neared Ian, his glance took in the blood on Ian’s clothes. “Do you need any assistance?”

  Ian shook his head. Despite all appearances, “We’re good.”

  The ranger looked past Ian to where Brooks and Malek were attending to Lyndsey. “We generally prefer that you call in a professional medical team.”

  Matt let out a string of curses over the comm, ending with, “Let me talk to him.”

  Actually, Ian wanted to hear the explanation on this one, too. “Malek—your comm.”

  “Yes, sir.” Malek sprang up and handed his earpiece over to Frank before hurrying back to help Brooks.

  Frank put the comm on. “Who am I talking to?”

  “Frank,” Matt said, “this is Matt Lee.”

  “Colonel. I remember.” Frank looked at Ian as he spoke. “What happened?”

  “I’d like to know myself,” Matt answered. “I put out an SOS call for a medical transport half an hour ago.”

  Frank’s voice dripped with skepticism. “On the emergency channel? I didn’t hear it.” For emphasis, he tapped the radio hooked into his belt.

  “I’ve got two men here who heard it and a man in San Francisco who can back me up,” Matt replied, “but your Dispatch says they have no record of my call; that they never talked to me. They say they never would have promised support in anything under—”

  “Four hours,” Frank finished for him. “They’re all down in the Cities for some training thing. We’re backing them up today.”

  “Right,” Matt replied. “That’s what they said.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Frank said, his glance going back to Lyndsey. “We can get an ambulance to meet us at one of the Ranger stations.”

  Ian looked over at Brooks to see if he’d heard.

  Brooks perked up. “How long to the closest station?”

  “Three hours,” Frank answered.

  “By canoe?” Brooks shook his head. “Not a chance. I say we set up a tent right here. Do it our way.”

  Ian caught Brooks’s eye. Are you sure? The question was clear enough; there was no reason to actually say it.

  Brooks nodded. “I can do this.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in his voice. Without waiting for Ian’s consent, he directed Malek to set up a tent to shelter Lyndsey.

  Turning back to Frank, it was clear the ranger wasn’t happy with that response. Not giving one iota of a shit, Ian tried to keep his voice neutral as he said, “Is this just a courtesy call, or is there something we can do for you?”

  Frank’s eyes were still on Lyndsey as he asked, “What happened?”

  The only thing that surprised Ian about the question was that it hadn’t been asked earlier. “A bear.”

  “A bear?” Frank’s hand went to the tranquilizer gun at his hip as his eyes swept the area.

  “It’s dead,” Ian said, noticing as Frank’s grip visibly relaxed. “I’m guessing you’d probably like to see for yourself. Me, too.” A look passed between Frank and his partner, probably because they wanted to see it alone. Too freaking bad. “You guys coming?” He took the comm from Frank and gave it back to Malek. As an afterthought, he said, “Joe?”

  Nice, Fox. Ian realized he hadn’t paid a bit of attention to Joe since Lyndsey, well…in at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes. He was almost surprised to see the guide still sitting there. Still looking a bit dazed, come to think of it. “Joe.”

  Joe reluctantly tore his gaze away from Lyndsey and stood up slowly. He nodded at the two rangers.

  The two men nodded back. Frank asked Joe, “Where do you fit in?”

  The man had a point. Not that Ian was too keen on agreeing with anything the ranger had to say. Still… “Joe found her.”

  Another look passed between Frank and Derek. For the first time, Derek spoke. “Show us.”

  With one last glance back at Lyndsey, Ian followed the other men through the trees, coming out onto the rocks surrounding the cove where he’d spent what, up until not very long ago, had been one of the better mornings in recent memory.

  “Holy shit,” Derek muttered, expressing Ian’s thoughts exactly.

  It looked like a massacre had taken place. There was blood on the rocks trailing down into the water; blood on the trees seeping into the bark. Lyndsey’s toiletries bag was turned upside down, its contents spilling out onto the ground. It, too, was covered, spattered with dark brown spots. More blood. Mostly dried by this point.

  And then there was the bear. Granted—logically Ian knew she could handle herself under the worst of circumstances. Still, all crumpled up it was almost the size of a VW Bug. Christ…

  “Unbelievable,” Frank muttered.

  Right there with you, Ian thought.

  “She survived that?” Derek asked. “How?”

  “She fought it,” Joe answered.

  Frank and Derek didn’t bother to mask their disbelief. “That tiny little thing?” Frank said. “You think you finally found your warrior princess?”

  Ian looked up sharply, completely not ready to go into the explanation of what Lyndsey was.

  The words hadn’t been directed at him, however, nor, clearly, had there been any expectation that Ian had an answer of any kind. Frank was clearly baiting Joe.

  Joe just smiled, not the least bit offended. “Believe what you want to. I know what I saw.”

  Not unkindly, Derek added, “Are you planning on playing the role of the trader? Paddling on down the river together, happily ever after?”

  “Not exactly ever after,” Joe responded.

  Ian adjusted his earpiece, only half listening to the banter between Joe and the rangers. The rest of his attention was focused on the comm.

  “I’ve got it,” Catalano’s voice came over the comm. “Princess and the Trader. It’s a local legend, goes back to the mid-1700s. The trader was a French guy named Didier Longère. … The princess was… I don’t know. Something about spending eons with the Creator; up in Heaven I guess.”

  The faint sound of tapping keys could be heard along with Catalano’s voice; he was clearly doing this on the fly. While still listening to Catalano, Ian watched Frank and Derek examine the scene, starting with the bag and moving around to the bear. They seemed to have forgotten Ian’s presence, which was absolutely fine. Being unobtrusive wasn’t a bad thing. It made it that much easier to hear Catalano talk about the princess.

  “She fell in love with the trader. The Creator let her go down and be with the Longère guy. … Lots of language about ‘flowers blooming in the dead of winter’ and ‘bears and wolves granting the does safe passage.’”

  “Christ,” Matt muttered. “Sarah would love this story.”

  Zachary’s voice chimed in. “Don’t knock true love. Gets me going every time.”

  Ian bit down on his lip, forcing himself not to respond to the comment and smug tone he knew was entirely for his benefit.

  “Really?” Matt asked. “You go for that?”

  “Sure,” Zachary replied, playing it up. “I’m a sucker for the once in a lifetime thing. Lyndsey, too. She gets all happy. She actually glows.”

  Oh, come on. Was thi
s really necessary? Fuck staying unobtrusive.

  Ian walked over to Frank and crouched down next to him. “You find anything?”

  The ranger smiled. “Nothing to speak of yet. You have any idea what she was doing out here by herself?”

  Nice move, Ian thought, chastising himself. Because—honestly?—it was almost better to listen to Zachary go on than for Ian to think about how he’d left her here to face that animal all by herself. Even knowing there wasn’t much he could have done didn’t make him feel any better. “She wanted to take a bath.”

  Frank let the statement hang there for a minute before saying, “This is pretty far from your camp. Farther than most people go for a bath.”

  “Lyndsey’s not ‘most people,’” was the best Ian could offer.

  “Right.” Derek smirked. “You’re telling me that’s the reason she was out here.”

  “You’re telling me the bear actually cared?” Right back at ‘ya, smirk and all. New subject. “Why would a bear attack like that? Don’t they generally stay away? We haven’t seen any in the week we’ve been here.”

  Frank took up where Derek left off. “Maybe it smelled something on her. You have any idea what it could be?”

  Geez. If they’d just come out and ask he wouldn’t have minded nearly as much. Ian felt like he was in some kind of standoff, staring down the other two men like little kids on a playground. All this innuendo was really pissing him off, though. Which, in turn, made him want to behave in an immature, stubborn kind of way.

  Frank reached down and picked up Lyndsey’s bag, rummaging through it to see if he could find anything.

  “And there goes the crime scene,” Matt muttered.

  “Did she have any food in this?” Frank asked, holding up the bag. “Gum, even?”

  “No,” Ian said curtly, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Lyndsey doesn’t chew gum. She certainly doesn’t carry it into the woods.” Not when every piece of information they’d gotten on the park explicitly told them not to, gum being a top ten item on the “Things Bears Prefer Most” list. “And all the food is back at the camp.”