Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4

by Jayne Rylon

  Dedication

  For my good friend Jambrea Jo Jones who has waited very patiently (ahem) for this story. You truly are one of the kindest and most deserving people I know.

  May reality be better than fiction.

  Also for one of my favorite Canadians, Shari David. Thank you for always supporting my work, but more for being a friend. I’ll never forget our trolley ride around San Antonio and all the ensuing hijinks of that weekend. I knew from the first time we met—when you gave me your marshmallows in exchange for my chocolate around a campfire at Lora Leigh’s Reader Appreciation Weekend—that it was the start of something golden.

  In memory of fan Marion Tito’s lost coworker at the Federal Bureau of Prisons, real life man in blue Eric Williams, who was killed in the line of duty on February 25, 2013.

  Prologue

  Nine Years Ago

  Jambrea Jones didn’t flinch when sparks rained around her from a busted out light. A long time ago, she’d given up ducking at the report of rifles in favor of hauling ass. Hiding in the facility under attack wouldn’t save her or her patients, but running might.

  It seemed to be working so far, considering that she’d already crossed the scrubby yard behind the field hospital three times, transporting those who were at least somewhat mobile to the buried storm shelter. She’d discovered the quiet nook a few weeks ago and kept it her secret for reading on her lunch break.

  The dirt enclosure rumbled but held around her stowaways in the face of the nearby detonations that seemed to multiply by the minute. So she’d left them to make another voyage through chaos. The racket of war had never encroached on the walls of the hospital before—that part was new and less than exciting. International boundaries, including respect for the wounded, didn’t seem to matter to the bad guys swarming around them.

  After all, they were enemies.

  She tore down the hallway, stopping to take the pulse of a man slumped against a flipped gurney. No helping him. Recalling the crayon-embellished construction paper card he’d received just yesterday wouldn’t make the rest of her day any easier, so she put it out of her mind. Just like the endless gore and cries of pain she’d endured, a vile part of the process of healing soldiers.

  Most of this wing had either been cleared out or left to the dead. Maybe she’d join her stowed patients sooner than she’d planned. The sheer number of casualties began to numb her insides. She’d fought to return these people—as whole as could be—to their families.

  All that suffering for nothing.

  Damn it! She’d never imagined herself a hero. More like a broke kid wanting to go to nursing school, who had no other choice but to rely on the military for training and future tuition. Today didn’t make her any more likely to reenlist when her time was up. Still, she was here and she’d do what she could.

  Finishing the circuit of what would have been her rounds, she heard a bang that had more in common with a pissed off man than yet another wave of assault from outside. Sure enough, a muffled curse followed.

  Him. It had to be the special patient. The one only Dr. Riley was allowed to see.

  Had no one let him loose?

  Jambrea paused, staring down the dark corridor toward the isolated chamber at the end. In truth, it was more like a cell. Wires in the glass reinforced even the itty-bitty peep pane. How dangerous was he really? Could she doom him to certain death, trapped for the invaders to collect? What if he spilled more secrets to them? Which was worse for warriors on the front lines?

  Hell, for all she knew, collecting the guy could be the plan. What else could have triggered today’s violence after several years of manning the outpost in the mountains of Afghanistan had passed with only minor incidents?

  Whispered rumors had reached everyone at St. Joseph’s hospital. Their visitor—a super spy double agent—had crossed leaders in every nation on the planet at least once. A compound fracture of his femur caused by a bullet had kept him bedridden, under constant guard, for months.

  Supposedly.

  “This is what I call a bad fucking day on the job.” No sense in being scared. Jambrea scrunched her eyes closed as she weighed her options.

  Another crash radiated along the length of the hallway. Sounded like a bed being upended. Even that didn’t dent the steel door of his prison. From the other direction, shouts rang in a guttural language she didn’t understand.

  Swallowing hard didn’t dislodge the lump in her throat.

  Jambrea unballed her fists and charged. Straight toward the lone remaining occupant of her ward. Court-marshaling threats wouldn’t persuade her conscience. She couldn’t leave someone in there after witnessing firsthand the atrocities their enemies were capable of inflicting on human flesh. A kill shot would be too quick and painless for someone like their guest.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” She flew along the hall to the end, hurdling the remains of the pair of guards, who’d apparently paced too close to the shattered windows. When she reached the door to the restricted area, she framed her eyes with her hands and peered into the patient’s dim room, which had no exterior windows.

  A brilliant blue flash filled her world when the prisoner popped into view, standing directly on the other side of the portal, staring right back at her.

  A heart attack seemed imminent when the full force of his gaze lasered into her brain.

  “Fuck!” She stumbled away, clutching her chest.

  “The keys are on his belt.” Mystery patient pointed toward one of the corpses.

  Jambrea didn’t hesitate. She slid on her knees to avoid crossing in front of the obliterated windows again, in case someone had spotted her during her reckless dash. The blood on the ground facilitated her progress. She’d seen worse.

  Unclipping the key ring from the guard’s belt, she flipped through two before finding the scrap of metal that fit into the lock. Her fingers shook as she considered what she was about to unleash.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he promised, though his yell—necessary to penetrate the thick door—didn’t do much to calm her nerves. “We don’t have a lot of time here. Do it or we’ll both be toast.”

  Eerie echoes chased the ghosts of patients along the hallways now that anyone sane and able had fled. Maybe the ghastly sounds were really the whines and yelps of search dogs. Jambrea shuddered. She’d never been a huge fan of canines. Especially not those monsters, bred to attack.

  “Come on, kid.” The man before her held perfectly still, as if she might bolt if he so much as sighed.

  Quickly reviewing her options left her with no other alternative she could live with. A flick of her wrist disengaged the lock. She barely had time to jump aside to prevent the steel from imprinting on her face.

  “Sorry. Afraid you’d change your mind.” For a detainee, he seemed nice enough. The guy held out his hand and helped her steady herself. Warm and strong, he immediately took charge. She didn’t mind, more of a follower by nature. The go with the flow mentality had helped her survive her stint in the Air Force.

  “Let’s vanish.” He ushered her toward the windows. “Stay low this time. I can’t believe your kooky ass ran right in front of those openings.”

  “Excuse me,” Jambrea huffed. “I did it to rescue your rude ass. And I did run, not stroll.”

  He considered her, pausing long enough to make her sure of his sincerity. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She glanced away from the intensity of his stare.

  “Hang on, not that way.” The pressure on her arm, still linked to his, drew her up short. “We’ll never make it.”

  Her guide peeked over the mangled sill. “It’s not that far of a drop. I’ll go first then help you. Just
do it quick so you get the bricks between you and anyone watching over there.”

  Jambrea nodded. The blast pattern of the shards did seem to have come from the opposite direction. Some of the combat skills she’d practiced in training returned though she’d had little use for them in the hospital until now.

  “Move,” her unlikely comrade hissed from outside the building. He’d slunk as quietly as a shadow, slipping from his prison before she even noticed.

  The jagged remnants of the pane made it difficult to choose her angle of approach. With a grunt and a few mumbled curses, she hoisted herself up and swung over the edge. Dangling by her hands would have likely resulted in her dropping to the ground a few seconds later, upper body strength not her forte.

  Except a deceptively well-muscled arm snaked around her waist, supporting her and drawing her onto a tiny ledge in the brickwork that made it possible to cling like some misfit superhero. Not bad.

  “That’s it.” He coached her to another handhold then a third, each one lower than the last by a foot or two. “We’re only about five feet up now. Hang on a minute and I’ll help you down.”

  With that, he leapt nimbly the rest of the way to the ground, stirring up a puff of red dust. Silence ensued. “Um…”

  “Shh.” He quieted her. “Someone’s coming. Let’s make this quick.”

  Jambrea peeked between her feet. She prepared to jump, but she didn’t have to. The spy reached toward her and she allowed herself to sink into his steady grasp.

  “There we go.” His reassurance came soft in her ear as he set her delicately on the ground beside him despite her decidedly non-petite frame. Just then, barks shattered the relative calm. They came from the ward, exactly where she would have been if he hadn’t rerouted their exit.

  Jambrea shivered. When she turned and looked into his calculating eyes, he didn’t need her to explain her sudden chill.

  “You saved my ass, I saved yours. Least I could do.” He shrugged, raining bits of glass from his shirt to his sweatpants. No braces made lumps under the thin fabric.

  “I thought you had a bum leg.” She watched as he shook his limbs out, shedding glittery giveaways before they crossed the open area. No need to hand a sniper any advantages like the beacons those would become in the sunlight that poked between the stunted evergreens around them. Again she adopted his survival tactics.

  “Don’t believe everything Uncle Sam tells you, kid.” His voice might have been gruff, but his hands were efficient yet tender as he dusted off her backside. “Now zip it while I figure out how we’re going to sneak through the perimeter they’ll have set.”

  “I have a place to hide.” She pointed. “Over there. Some other patients are waiting too. In a storm shelter.”

  “Right. Okay.” He didn’t waste any time in arguing. Instead, he gestured for her to guide them. They kept low to the ground, snaking through the brush, pausing when boots clomped too near or shouts seemed to increase in frequency.

  It seemed like days, but was only minutes, before they reached Jambrea’s haven.

  “In you go.” The spy waved his free hand, crisscrossed with scars that caught her attention. The other held the heavy trapdoor as if it weighed nothing. For her to lever the partially rotted wood open, it usually involved a bunch of grunting and a bruise or two. All worth it for a couple stolen moments of precious solitude.

  “What about you?” She hesitated when she realized he didn’t intend to join them. Descending the ladder, he followed her only enough to say goodbye without giving them away.

  “Trust me. You’re all safer without me.” He smiled at her softly.

  She tipped her head and opened her mouth, then closed it again. Arguing about her own protection was one thing, but she couldn’t justify putting the rest of the refugees at risk for one man. No matter how much he intrigued her. She scanned him from his slightly crooked nose to the creases around his eyes and mouth. The grooves were too deep for someone not all that much older than her in age, though light years ahead in experience.

  “I’ll never be out of harm's way again after the things I’ve seen. And done. Don’t worry about me.” He ruffled her hair—not much longer than his mop—as if she really were a kid, pissing her off.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” Her ire flared then snuffed in an instant, short-lived. “But be careful, okay?”

  “You got it, Jambi.”

  “How do you know my…?” She drifted off when he climbed enough to poke his head out of their nest.

  “It’s my job to find out shit people don’t tell me.” He winked as he glanced over his shoulder. “And I’m the best. No worries. It’ll all be good now. Thanks again.”

  She almost tried another time to get him to stay since the same instinct she’d used to administer hugs to the surliest patients at exactly the right moments tugged on her insides.

  But before she could, he’d vanished.

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Jambrea rode bitch on the bench seat of Matt Ludwig’s beastly black truck. As her date to Lily and Jeremy’s commitment ceremony, he’d insisted on picking her up. She supposed the vehicle fit the man himself, who was enormous enough to dwarf her, making her feel petite. Very different than the story Lily’s and Jeremy’s photos of the big day would tell. Next to the bride and her sister Izzy—especially in these heels they’d insisted she wear to match the rest of the wedding party—she was going to come off like an Amazon. Terrific.

  In the background, the radio droned about a missing presidential candidate. It’d been all over the news for weeks now. Annoyed with life and horrible things happening to good people, Jambrea flicked the volume all the way to zero, muting more bad news. Usually she could shake off misfortune, even living with it day by day in the hospital. Lately, that was becoming harder to do.

  Maybe because of her present company.

  On her right perched Clint Griggs. Her other date to today’s festivities. He looked deliciously handsome in the charcoal tailored suit his friends had dressed him in. It was odd seeing the pair of cops in street clothes. Despite their dashing good looks in their matching outfits, she missed their crisp navy uniforms—especially the pants that usually hugged their tight asses to perfection. Well, that and the bulge of their guns. Plus their handcuffs. Right.

  “What’s that sigh for?” Matt dropped one hand from the wheel to squeeze her knee. That didn’t resolve any of her issues. In fact, she thought she might overheat when she took in his relaxed posture as he handled the monstrous truck with ease. His walnut hair feathered over his forehead in the breeze from the air conditioning, which did nothing to cool her down. The rugged features of his face captivated her.

  How could one man be so damn big, strong and handsome? It didn’t seem fair.

  Clint must not have approved of Matt receiving all her attention since he combated his friend’s touch by drawing circles on her upper arm. Bare at the edge of the cap sleeve he toyed with, her skin nearly burst into flames at their direct contact.

  Dear God, when were they going to stop torturing her and either make a move—individually or collectively—or pass for good? In limbo, they were playing a constant game of red-light-green-light that confused the hell out of her. Frustrated her too. Or was it a round of monkey-in-the-middle, with her grasping for something they withheld? Either way, she kept losing.

  She’d burned through a crap ton of batteries lately. Pretty soon, she’d send them a bill.

  “I guess there’s just a lot to reflect on today.” She didn’t begrudge anyone happiness. That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to watch friend after friend find eternal bliss while she waited in the wings. Even a temporary fling would suffice at this point. Anything to get her back on the proverbial horse.

  Why did her heart have to be so stubborn? For most of her twenties, she’d had a crush on an unattainable man. Then, when she’d finally decided it could be time to move on, she’d fa
llen for not one of these sexy Men in Blue, but both of them.

  Fuck. Why can’t my life ever be simple? She glanced down at the tattoo on her right wrist and reminded herself to be strong. Moping wasn’t her style.

  “What does that mean?” Clint angled toward her and the man who’d been his bestie, the guy who still was his partner on the force. The complicated attraction braiding the three of them into a colossal knot had wedged some distance between the men. Awkwardness had snuck in ever since the night they’d both made out with her on her couch, during the case that had brought their mutual friends Lily and Jeremy together permanently.

  The brief taste of paradise had only resulted in weird vibes the next time she saw the pair, not any progress. They hadn’t mentioned the stolen kisses again. Neither had she.

  “Frankly, it means I’m annoyed I had to be stuck with the two of you today.” Nothing like rubbing her face in what she couldn’t have, for some reason she didn’t understand. They supported Lacey, Mason and Tyler—a pair of cops in their precinct and the mens’ shared wife—in their unconventional relationship. So that wasn’t it.

  What was the problem? She wanted to scream but would never risk ruining Lily and Jeremy’s celebration with lingering tension from an unfinished fight.

  Clint groaned and Matt snatched his hand back as he turned into the lot of Gunther’s Playground, where Lily and Jeremy both held positions of high esteem. The sex club was a blend of old and new. Black Lily’s respected clientele and a fresh start for all who’d rather leave the horrors of the sadistic chemical aphrodisiac Sex Offender and the elite drug-slash-sex-ring they’d survived behind them forever.

  In truth, Gunther’s was a place for people serious about the BDSM lifestyle to mingle. That included Mistress Lily and the only man to ever top her, Dom and cop, Master Jeremy. Jambrea understood now that the club was so much more than a means to score an easy fuck. Her eyes had been opened through her friendship with Lily. And while the midnight activities engaged in here might never be exactly her cup of tea, she found it hard not to be jealous of the community of likeminded individuals who had a safe place to express themselves.