Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5)

by Irish Winters

  “You look like you’ve been in one hell of a fight, Mama.”

  She gave him a weak snort. “You should see the other guy.”

  On most days Connor would’ve laughed, but he had seen the other guys and they were dead. Her rescue had been too close of a call. He couldn’t stand there another minute. Connor pulled her carefully into his arms, tubing and all. “God, Izza. I’m so sorry.”

  She winced at the movement but burrowed into his shirt anyway, her trembling face pressed against his neck. He held her gently; once again that familiar wave of protectiveness was out of control in his gut. Choking with emotion, he whispered his failure into her hair. “I’m so damned sorry.”

  “For what?” She snuggled closer.

  He held her tight, ashamed of always crying in front of this woman. “Because I left you. Because they hurt you. Because I—”

  “Oh, stop.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “You didn’t hurt me, and I just need a couple days to rest up. Then I’ll be ready to kick their butts for sure.” She smoothed her hand down his now clean-shaven cheek, the look in her puffy eyes intent as she wiped the tears off his face. “I love you, Connor.”

  He gulped. “I thought I’d lost you. God, Izza, I came back as fast as I could, but you were gone.”

  “I’m here, baby.” Her hand wrapped around his neck as she pulled him to her mouth. Gently he kissed her poor swollen lips. But Izza was not one for gentleness. She held him tightly, her mouth asking for more than just the chaste kiss he’d intended to give her. He maintained the careful contact as long as he could, but she was contagious and determined. Connor obliged, his tongue softly melting with hers as she pushed into his arms. He smothered her to him, for a split second willing to give her all she seemed to need. But caution overruled. This woman had narrowly escaped death and delivered a baby within the past few hours. He came back to his senses and pulled away.

  “Izza,” he breathed hotly in her neck. “You’re the most gorgeous, wonderful, crazy woman in the world, do you know that?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed and relaxed, her eyes glowing softly up at him. Even back and blue and stitched, she was irresistible. “I am, huh? So, did you get ’em or do I need to go back to that hangar and clean house?”

  “I got ’em,” he answered without one iota of remorse.

  Her eyes lit up. “All four of them?”

  He nodded. The image of her bound and beaten flashed to his mind again. Killing was not something he was proud of, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat. “All I could see was you. They had to die.”

  “I was going to do that, you know,” she declared darkly. Burying her face into his shirt again, Izza was suddenly hanging on for dear life. “You saved me.”

  She felt so small in his arms, so fragile. He made himself comfortable alongside her on the bed, still holding her carefully so as not to squeeze her ribs or hurt her incision. “So how are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Some rotisserie rabbit, maybe? Boiled tortoise? Rattlesnake steak?”

  She sniffled. “A tissue would be nice.”

  “I can do that.” He set the box of tissues next to her. Izza blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She looked exhausted and all he wanted to do was hold her for the rest of his life. When she looked up, she touched the side of his nose carefully.

  “You have a bandage and you shaved.” She traced his jaw with her fingertips.

  “Yeah, some nurse in the ER took pity on me. And look at this.” He lifted his shirt and twisted sideways to show off his bandaged gut and back. “I’m all stitched up, and these guys don’t use whiskey to sterilize a gunshot wound, either. I didn’t feel a thing.”

  She lifted her hospital gown to show him her taped midriff. “My scar’s bigger.”

  “Does it hurt much?” He traced the C-section tape extra gently. His little girl had made her entrance through that incision. He wished he’d been there to see the birth, but Izza had been so badly beaten. No wonder the doctors made him stay in the waiting room. They must have been scared, too.

  “Does yours?” Izza countered.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Connor gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead as he played to her competitive nature. “I’ll bet yours doesn’t hurt at all, does it?”

  Dark eyes flickered over his face, searching for what he didn’t know. She must have found it, though. A gentle light replaced the dark. Izza smiled as she admitted, “It hurts like hell. I don’t want to take anything for pain so I can nurse my – I mean, our baby.”

  He caught the course correction. “We have a beautiful little girl. Have you seen her yet?”

  “They wouldn’t bring her to me.” The pout on her face made him smile again.

  “She’s beautiful. She looks just like you. I’ll get the wheelchair. Are you ready?”

  Izza smirked. “What do you think?”

  He left the room to check with the nursing station to make sure he could fulfill his promise. The nurse gave him a warm smile. “I’ll call the NICU and tell them you’re coming. They’re always happy to work with preemie parents.”

  Izza winced and groaned a little as he settled her into the wheelchair.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yes,” she answered promptly. “Let’s go.”

  Within minutes, they were at the NICU window, their fragile daughter only inches away in an incubator, attached to so many monitors and lines for such a little girl. Dark hair drizzled around the edges of the pink knit cap on her head. Connor held Izza steady as she leaned against the wall.

  Her clenched fist went to her lips. “Oh, Connor. You named her.”

  He rested his chin in the corner of her neck. “You can change it if you want.”

  The baby’s hospital information card proudly declared her mother to be Isabella Ramos and her father, Connor Maher. But the best surprise was written on the next line. Baby’s name: Jamie Maher.

  Izza leaned heavily into Connor and wept.

  “I thought I’d let you pick her middle name.” He kissed the top of her head and handed her another box of tissues.

  She wiped her face and at last composed herself. “Bridgette. Her middle name is Bridgette.”

  That surprised Connor. He wanted to cry himself. His mother would be so pleased. Heck. His mother would be pleased no matter what they named her first granddaughter, but Jamie Bridgette Maher had an especially nice ring to it.

  “I love you so much.” Izza clutched his arms, pulling them tighter around her.

  “I love you more than you know,” he murmured. “I was hoping you and Jamie would move out to Alexandria with me when you’re both able to.”

  “You were, huh?” She nestled against him, not taking her eyes off their perfect child.

  “But if you don’t want to, I’ll move to Seattle.”

  “Alexandria. I want to live with you in Alexandria.” The decision was made. “Look, Connor. Jamie’s crying. Oh, I want to hold her.”

  “Let’s see what we can do about that. Come on. Sit back down.” He got her situated in the wheelchair again and rapped on the NICU door. Before long, they were both inside the neo-natal unit, but they couldn’t hold their little girl just yet. They had to content themselves with only touching her while she lay in the heated isolette. The fragile infant squirmed when Connor covered her entire body with his hand. She was perfect in every way, but so very small. The enormity of fatherhood hit him.

  “My God, Izza. What have we done?”

  She smiled, her battered brown eyes glistening with the tender moment. And that’s all he needed to check his temporary anxiety. Judging by the look of love on her face, he knew exactly what they’d done. They’d done damned good.

  Jamie fussed. She made little coughing sounds and cried in her scratchy baby voice. They stared in wonder at every perfect thing she did.

  “See. I told you she was just like you,” Connor whispered.

  Their perfect little girl had two black eyes. She was a fighter—j
ust like her mother.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Hey, babe.”

  Bleary and medicated, Mark thought he’d died and gone to heaven at the sound of that sweet voice. A golden angel leaned over him, and she had the bluest eyes. He’d never seen such beautiful eyes. Never. Ever. Even full of drugs like he was, he was sure of it.

  “How are you feeling, honey?”

  A cool touch caressed his forehead. Was this a dream? He tried to focus, but exhaustion tugged him under and away from her. A sweetly persistent kiss brushed his cheek. He couldn’t help but smile. Ahh. Her lips felt good. Wherever he was, he was never leaving this place. It had to be heaven because she was there. Again cool fingers soothed over his whiskered cheek. A sigh. A kiss. He fought the dark lure of sleep so he could stay with this angel. So she’d never leave.

  “JayJay misses her daddy,” the angel whispered against his ear, tickling him into a lighter level of sleep.

  Hmm. JayJay. His baby girl had been named after his angel mother. She would’ve loved meeting her precocious granddaughter, both named after a bird. Hmm. It was hard to think which bird that might have been. His mother loved them all. Gray fog still roiled around him, enticing him to sleep. Yeah, okay, but what’s JayJay doing here?

  He twitched his eyelids. Blinked without opening his eyes. Tried again to focus so he could see that golden angel. Tried to think. Where am I? What day is this? One eye finally creaked open.

  The angel leaned directly over him like a sentinel, those blue eyes piercing and loving. Ahh. Libby. He smiled to see his wife’s face. She was the angel in his life, her blond hair a halo. Only she looked sad.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” He croaked like an old man, cleared his throat and croaked again. Mark vaguely remembered the clean white room of a Mexican hospital and a bumpy flight. “Where am I?”

  Libby brought the straw of a water bottle to his lips. “You’re at Saint Mark’s hospital in Utah, but don’t talk. You’ve had a tube down your windpipe, so it’s probably very sore.” She smoothed her hand across his forehead. He nodded as he sucked down some water. Relief was instant. He wanted to sit, but she pressed him easily back to the sheets. It didn’t take much. Libby sat at the edge of his bed, his hand grasped firmly in hers. “It’s good to see your eyes again.”

  Mark pulled her weakly to his side. His right hand had been transformed into a pincushion with a lot of gauze, tape, and metal rods and pins sticking out of it. A monitor beeped quietly at his bedside, somehow in sync with the dull pain in his shoulder.

  “Where am I?” he asked again, the fog lifting a little more.

  “I already told you,” she whispered. “You’re in a Salt Lake City hospital. Saint Mark’s of all places.”

  He stilled to absorb that piece of familiar information. It made sense. Alex would want all his men together after a difficult op. A frission of fear cruised through his body. He grimaced, anticipating the worst possible news. “Rory?”

  Her fingers patting his collarbone diffused the gloom. “Calm down, honey. Rory’s three rooms down the hall from you. He’s a little worse for wear, but he’ll be fine.”

  Gulping the spike of fear, Mark relaxed again. “So how many?”

  “Three. One shattered your hand. One hit your collarbone, but it glanced off and didn’t do much damage. The last one grazed the side of your head.” She touched the tape on his head, her voice tight in her throat. “It’s going to take you a while to recuperate this time, but I’m thankful for your hard head.”

  He gulped, grateful for the patience of this particular woman. Libby was a nurse. She knew exactly how hard his head was.

  “I’ll be fine.” He smiled his best smile, hoping he could lift the gloom shadowing her pretty face. “Who’s taking care of JayJay?”

  “Kelsey.”

  Mark sighed. Alex’s wife did have a way with children. “That means JayJay will be spoiled rotten by the time we get home, huh?”

  “I guess.” Libby looked away, but not before he saw the quivering lip. Changing the subject wasn’t going to work this time. Plain and simple, he was lucky to be alive.

  Someone knocked on the open door. “Is everyone decent in here?” Alex asked as he entered.

  Libby stood to shake his hand. Mark watched her put on a brave front, but he knew her too well. She knew exactly how close he’d come to dying. He pushed the thought from his mind. He knew it, too.

  “Are you still talking to me?” Alex gave Libby an instant hug despite Mark’s look of warning.

  “No.” Her voice cracked. She tried to pull away, but Alex wasn’t letting her go. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “Well, I deserve that after I got your husband shot.” He said tenderly. “That’s why I’m here, Libby. I know it’s too soon, but I’d like to offer Mark another job if you’d let me.”

  “That’s up to him,” she said quietly.

  Mark studied his wife. She wasn’t looking at him or Alex, and it was easy to see how heartsick she was.

  “The State Department needs a couple observers needed over in Afghanistan. I’d like Mark and Harley to take that on as their permanent assignment, but it depends on what their wives say. Your husband would be travelling back and forth to Afghanistan a couple times a year, but only to observe and not for months at a time. No weapons involved. No high risk operations, either.”

  Libby didn’t answer, and she wasn’t looking at Alex yet. Mark knew why. She didn’t want to cry in front of his boss.

  “We’ll get back to you,” Mark said. He just wanted her to look at him again.

  “Well, of course. I have a Learjet on standby to take you home as soon as you’re ready to travel, Mark. An ambulance will meet you at the airport and transport you to the hospital in D.C. unless Libby would rather take you home with her.”

  Mark shrugged, his eyes still on his unhappy wife.

  “Thanks,” Libby said quietly. “I’m taking him home.”

  Alex cupped her chin, his voice low and gentle as he tipped her head up to see into her eyes. “This is all my fault, Libby. Not Mark’s. He’s a hero. He could’ve told me to go to hell when I gave him this insane mission, but he didn’t. Instead he saved two little girls and their nanny. I’m damned proud of him.”

  “Me, too.” Her voice was so small and shaky. She bit her bottom lip. Mark ached to hold her. Any second now she’d fall apart, and he wanted her in his arms when she did.

  Alex gave her a peck on the cheek and let her go. “Kelsey is going to kick my ass for hurting you. Take your man home, Libby. I don’t want to see his face in the office until you can forgive me.”

  That did it. Tears breached the damn. Alex gave Libby a quick farewell squeeze before he nodded to Mark and left them alone.

  Mark reached for his wife. “Come here, Libby. Please?”

  When she came to the bedside, he pushed his blanket aside and pulled her close. Libby snuggled in carefully as the torrent continued. He was desperately tired, but this was the perfect medicine, his sweet wife in his arms, even if she was mad and crying her heart out.

  “Mother called. She was crying and I—” Libby couldn’t go on.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to be okay,” he crooned, his good hand firmly around her waist and his nose in her hair. “Ember should’ve called. Mother’s a drama queen. You know that. Yes, I’m a little shot up. It did get ugly, but I’m going to be okay.”

  “She said I had to come to Utah. She said that you were—” Again she choked. More tears soaked the front of Mark’s hospital gown. “All I could think of was that this time you might die, and I wasn’t there and—”

  He kissed the side of her head. “I’m here.”

  It was still plenty hard to focus on the hospital room spinning around him. Alex’s job offer was unexpected, but that was the last thing on Mark’s mind. All he wanted to do was comfort his wife. Her body alongside his was doing a good job of comforting him. Between the exhaustion and the hypnotic pull
of the meds in his system, he fluctuated, one foot in dreamland and the other in heaven on earth.

  “So you saved two little girls?” Libby asked, sniffing back some of her emotions. Her warm hand on his chest felt good. Absentmindedly, she twirled her finger through the chest hair that showed above his hospital gown collar. She did that simple intimate gesture often after they’d made love, and that’s when he knew they were going to be okay. And she was asking questions. She cared. He buried his face in her hair and just breathed.

  “Yeah. We did. Christina and Sophia. We got them out of there just in time,” he said dreamily. “It was close.”

  She snuggled under his arm. “How old are they?”

  “Christina’s five. Sophia’s nearly three, just a year older than JayJay. You’d have fallen in love with them. Dark black hair and eyes, they looked like two little china dolls. Little Christina kept trying to take care of her baby sister.” Mark tried to focus enough to satisfy Libby’s curiosity with intelligent answers. He kissed her forehead, wishing he could offer more than just a one-armed hug.

  She sniffed a couple more times. “Who tried to kill them?”

  “Their mother, Alejandra. She used them as human shields. It made me sick. She didn’t deserve them.” Either it was the drugs in his system or the miracle of what he and his team had accomplished, but it felt more like he’d saved JayJay instead of the children of a powerful drug lord. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye. Libby caught it with her fingertip.

  “Oh, Mark. I’m sorry. I am proud of you. You know that.” She eased her body up and laid her head on his chest. He sighed. This was all he’d wanted when he thought he was dying down there in Mexico, to be in the arms of his angel.

  “It’s hard to balance the good we accomplish when we have to live with the consequences, huh?” He smoothed his hand through her hair, hoping he made sense. The room swirled. Shadows of painkillers beckoned for him to let go and relax. He closed his eyes with, “I love you, Libby,” on his lips.

  She kissed him softly and he slipped back into a deep sleep.

  Yeah. They were going to be o-k-a-a-y-y-y-y....