by Cassie Miles
Dylan estimated that the population of the Denver metro area was near three million, which meant that law enforcement personnel numbered in the thousands. As part-owner of TST Security, he’d met dozens of cops, deputies and agents. But there were only a handful he knew well. Special agent Wayne Woodward was one of them.
Reluctantly, he introduced him to Jayne. His relationship with Woody was the opposite of friendly, but they shared an interest in computer technology. Often they found themselves hacking away at the same cybercrime.
Dylan put away his gun. “I’m surprised to see you out of the office.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“Did Cisneros contact you?”
“Kidnapping,” Woodward said. “It’s FBI jurisdiction.”
“Wait a minute.” Jayne held up her palm. “Nobody has been kidnapped. I’m standing right here.”
“She’s right,” Dylan said. “Kidnapping is only a theory. The only real crime that’s happened is breaking and entering.”
Woody sucked in his cheeks and pursed his lips, thinking. He was a careful man. “My office should have been involved from the start.” Dylan was reluctant to give up control. Jayne had a tendency to be irritating, but it was his job to keep her safe. More than that, he wanted to protect her, to swaddle her sharp edges in cushioned layers of safety.
Pointing down the row of lockers toward the exit, he tried to herd her out the door and away from Woody. “Dr. Shackleford is expected in the operating room.”
Jayne balked. “Agent Woodward,” she said, “you can lose the surgical mask. It looks ridiculous, and you won’t be getting close enough to my patient to contaminate anything. Another hint—most surgeons and surgical nurses don’t wander around wearing their scrub caps, not unless the cap is extra fabulous. Like mine.”
She tucked her long, heavy hair into a pastel-blue surgical cap with a design that resembled tangled branches or spiderwebs. Dylan recognized the pattern. “Neuron art.”
“Yes.” She gave him a quick nod of approval, and then her gaze turned cool again. “As you know, Dylan, I had hoped to avoid talking about the abduction, but after the scene with my dad, the secret is out. There’s no need for you to pretend to be anything more than a bodyguard.”
“Got it.” He matched her curtness. “I’ll try not to appear too smart.”
“Not what I meant,” she snapped.
“I know.” He understood. She had not intended to be insulting. Her standoffish attitude was a shield that she used to hide the real Jayne—the woman who wore sexy panties and was a little bit clumsy.
“I trust that you—” she encompassed both of them in a stern gesture “—gentlemen will be discreet.”
They nodded. Dylan noticed that Woodward had yanked off his cap. Not one hair on his head was out of place, no doubt a result of FBI training.
They hiked up the stairwell to the second floor and followed a yellow stripe through swinging doors at the eastern end of the corridor. Over the past couple of years, Roosevelt Hospital had undergone extensive renovation, and Operating Room 1A looked brand-new. The spacious room was sparkling clean with a circle of lights suspended above an adjustable operating table. In addition to the usual IVs and monitors, the neurological tracking and mapping equipment took up two walls.
Dylan stood and gawked like a nerd at his first Comic-Con. There were gazillions of switches, buttons, dials and tubes. One screen was a vertical light table that displayed a series of CT and MRI scans. On another screen, he saw a rotating, three-dimensional image of the brain. He wanted to ask Jayne how all these machines were used, but she was already deep in conversation with another doctor.
Special agent Woodward tugged on his sleeve. “How long before they get started?”
“The surgery was originally supposed to be at eleven.”
“I know that,” Woody said. “It was posted.”
An official schedule meant that anybody who wanted to know where Jayne was would be able to find her easily. Dylan looked toward the corridor, half-expecting to see Koslov. “It’s already ten minutes past eleven.”
“I’m aware. When do we eat lunch? How long does this operation take?”
“The surgery takes five or six hours,” Jayne said. “Once we get started, unauthorized personnel are not allowed in the OR. Dylan, if you’d like to come in right now, change into a pair of scrubs from the supply closet and cover up your shoes with booties.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Roosevelt was a teaching hospital, and Jayne’s surgery provided an experience worth studying. She was one of the only surgeons in the nation who regularly performed this procedure, and there would probably be students and other docs who wanted to watch.
Dylan pointed to the long, high window and the row of theater-style chairs on a platform looking down at the operating theater. Two young women in street clothes were already there. “That’s where you’re supposed to sit, Woody.”
“Don’t call me that.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Who the hell does she think she is? Granting me her permission to observe? She doesn’t call the shots.”
“Yeah, she does. This is her surgery, and she’s the boss.”
“If I wanted to, I could pull the plug right now.”
“Let the doctor do her job.” He positioned himself near a nurses station, where he had a clear view of both directions in the corridor. “As long as you’re here, we should talk.”
“Why would I talk to you?”
“Because I know things.”
“Such as?”
He sounded like he was offended, as if the FBI deserved more consideration. Dylan knew other agents who cared deeply and passionately about their work. Woody wasn’t so inspired. He worried about not having enough time for lunch. A nine-to-five kind of guy, he was a nitpicker...not that there was anything wrong with knowing the details. He’d probably done his homework on this case. If Dylan played his cards right, he might tease some useful information from Woody.
In a low, conspiratorial voice, Dylan said, “Let’s start with Martin Viktor Koslov.”
Woody raised his eyebrows, creating furrows across his formerly smooth forehead. “How do you know about Koslov?”
“He left his fingerprints in the doctor’s bedroom last night.”
“He’s not in the FBI top ten, but Koslov is definitely on our Most Wanted list.” Woody shuddered. “Some of the murders he’s committed are horrific. Beheading is the least awful. They say that he cut a man in half with a chainsaw while he was still conscious.”
“Wow, how old is he?”
“In his late forties, maybe even early fifties, he’s been around for a long time, considering the dangers of his profession. He has a reputation as kind of a health nut, watches his diet and runs five miles a day.”
Long-distance running might come in handy for an assassin. “Any family?”
“None are mentioned in his file, which is about this thick.” Woody held up his thumb and forefinger six inches apart. “We suspect his first crimes were for the Romero cartel based in Venezuela. Somebody in that group might be family. Oh, and his mother was Russian. She was killed in a bomb blast.”
Dylan hadn’t known about the connection with the Romero cartel. They were so famously evil that even he had heard of them. The cartel lurked like a giant spider on the web of crime in South America, but they weren’t involved in oil...and oil was the motive for the kidnapping.
“I thought his mother was Saudi,” Dylan said, trying to keep his question innocuous so Woody would blab even more.
“Nope, Russian. His mother’s name isn’t Koslov, but she’s Russian.”
“He’s done a lot of dirty work for the sheikhs.”
“Your sources are behind the times.” Woody scoffed. “He hasn’t been involved in the Middle East for ye
ars.”
“But he’s still active, right?”
“You bet, he is. Four months ago in June, Koslov was in Dallas, and he—” Woody clenched his jaw.
“You can tell me,” Dylan encouraged.
“It’s FBI business.”
“Come on, Woody, it’s the era of the internet. Everybody knows everything and has a flash photo.”
“I said too much.”
“I’ve been doing research on my own,” Dylan said. “I know that Koslov has never been arrested. He’s been taken into custody a couple of times, which is how his fingerprints got into the system, but never charged with a crime.”
Tight-lipped, Woody turned away.
Apparently, he was done talking. Dylan’s patience was all used up. “Last night, Koslov got careless. He left a fingerprint. And he let his intended victim escape. Why?”
“That’s not typical.” Woody said.
“Think about it,” Dylan said.
“I’d appreciate if you’d keep an eye on her while I change into these scrubs. You’re armed, aren’t you?”
“Always.” He darted a nervous peek down the hallway. “Do you think Koslov would come after her in the hospital?”
“Would the horrific assassin take on a bunch of unarmed civilians? The only thing stopping him is you and me.” Dylan pointed toward the operating theater. “If she goes anywhere, you follow. I’ll be back in ten.”
He would have preferred having Mason as his backup, but Woody could probably handle a short stint of Jayne-watching. Also, Dylan had other jobs for his partner. He wanted Mason to check them out of the hotel and to stop by Jayne’s place and pack at least two more outfits. After the operation, he planned to take her to a safe house, where nobody could find them. This topic wasn’t up for discussion. His decision was made. It was best for her to disappear for a few days.
He ducked into a supply closet and switched into the light blue scrubs, the same color as Jayne’s. He positioned one of his guns, the Glock 17, under his armpit with a body harness. His second weapon was in an ankle holster.
When he returned to the OR, he found Woody standing where he was supposed to in the observation area. As soon as Dylan joined him, the FBI agent complained, “I’m hungry.”
“When you go for lunch, there’s something I want you to check.”
“Now you’re giving me orders.”
While Woody launched into a monologue about how the FBI deserved more respect, Dylan peered through the window and focused on Jayne. The blue in her scrubs and in her cap brought out the color of her eyes. For a moment, she looked right at him, caught his gaze, and he felt a tug that drew him toward her.
Aware that Woody had stopped talking, Dylan shrugged. “Okay, fine. I won’t tell you my lead.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. Go ahead.”
Dylan went through the deductive reasoning that made him believe Koslov had used a hacker to disable Jayne’s alarm system. “I checked some of our local computer experts and found that Tank Sherman seems to be on the move. He’s trying to hide.”
“Because Tank did a job for Koslov, and Koslov doesn’t leave loose ends.” Woody nodded. “I’m going to lunch, and I’ll track down these loose ends later.”
Dylan watched him go, figuring that he wouldn’t see Woody for at least two hours.
Though the patient wasn’t yet in the OR, there were seven people, including Jayne, in the room. All wore scrubs, caps and throwaway gloves. Nobody had on a mask. None of them looked in the least bit suspicious.
Jayne popped her head into the outer area. “Dylan, why don’t you scrub up, put on some gloves and come in here.”
With all the cool machines? She didn’t need to ask twice. In the operating room, she waved him over and introduced him to the nurses, another surgeon and a neurologist who seemed to share his raging fascination with the equipment. The atmosphere was friendly and relaxed, but Jayne was clearly in charge. Not bossy—these people were her peers. She was genuinely more comfortable than he’d ever imagined she could be. No wonder she insisted on staying here. For Jayne, this was home.
Listening to the neurologist, Dylan picked up enough of the technical specs and data to generally comprehend how these machines worked. Some of the hospital equipment was dedicated to keeping the patient alive during the procedure. Others monitored and displayed. The shiny chrome superstars of technology were designed to mimic the interconnectivity of nerve endings. He particularly liked the brain-wave measurements on the oscilloscope.
Jayne appeared at his side. “What do you think?”
He gazed down at the neuron design on her surgical cap. Her brain, he suspected, was beautiful. “Impressive.”
“And now, all we need is the patient.”
“Do you bring him in here before you knock him out?”
“He’s not unconscious,” she said. “The anesthesiologist has to numb the physical pain while keeping the patient awake. It’s a difficult procedure.”
It all sounded difficult to him but also interesting. “I’d like to come here another time, when we don’t have anything else to worry about.”
“That can be arranged. What happened to your little fed friend?”
“Lunch break.”
“That figures,” she said dismissively. “He seemed like the type who would be more concerned with filling his belly than learning something.”
Not like me. He waited for her to pat him on the back for taking an intelligent interest in the process, but she was already talking to the neurologist about a complex procedure involving the subthalamic nucleus. Jayne wasn’t the type of person who scattered compliments like confetti.
He wanted her to notice him...in a positive way. He felt the words crawling up his throat and did his best to tamp them down. It was no use. He spoke up, “It’s only a matter of time, you know, before the computer experts and the medical experts get together and invent a machine that can do neurosurgery.”
Her full, pink lips flattened in a cold smile. “Then I’ll be out of a job.”
“Not what I meant,” he said.
“I know.”
They’d spoken these words before, but it was the other way around. Dylan thought he knew her deeply, that he recognized the Jayne under the facade. Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t the only one with X-ray vision. She understood his need to appear cool and smart, not unusual for a nerd.
She took his arm. “Let me show you around before my patient arrives.”
They went through the swinging doors and down a corridor wide enough for gurneys, and then she took a left at a short dead-end hallway that led to a break room. Just outside were bathrooms. Though Dylan’s trained eyes were constantly on the lookout for any threat, he found himself focusing on the gentle touch of her hand on his arm.
Thrusting out his free arm in a disjointed gesture, he pointed to the ladies’ room. “We should talk about bathroom breaks. I should enter before you and make sure nobody is hiding inside.”
Not paying attention, she nodded, dropping his arm as she strode through the empty break room. Much of the color scheme in the hospital was typical Southwestern colors, like turquoise, gold and terra-cotta red. In the break room, the colors were deeper, with an added purple and a red the color of chili peppers. Not exactly soothing after a long surgery, the loud colors might be why the room was empty. She stood before the vending machine, contemplating the choices. “I should probably eat something.”
He wanted to feed her a lavish gourmet meal and watch her eat, chewing slowly. All that appeared to be available were a variety of candy bars, snack cakes and chips. “I could go down to the cafeteria. Well, I wouldn’t go myself because I need to stay with you, but I could get someone else to...”
She turned and faced him. Before he could activate his lightning
-quick reflexes, she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned back to the vending machine. Over her shoulder, she said, “Couldn’t help it. You’re cute when you get befuddled.”
He was willing to concede that she was smarter than he was...and probably a better leader...and, very likely, she was more confident. But he wasn’t about to let her take the lead when it came to what happened between them.
He was the bodyguard. He was in charge.
He grasped her upper arm and spun her around to face him. Holding her other arm to anchor her to one spot in the empty break room, he kissed her. Not a belittling peck on the cheek, but a real kiss on the lips. His mouth pressed firmly against hers, he tasted mint and coffee. Though their bodies weren’t touching, the heat that radiated between them was hotter than a furnace.
When her arms tugged to be free, he mentally prepared to be slapped. But she didn’t end the kiss after he released her. Her slender arms encircled his neck. Her body joined with his, and her tongue plunged into his mouth. Entwined together, they maneuvered past chairs and tables until he had her pressed against the chili-red wall. His tongue probed her lips, and she opened her mouth, welcoming him inside.
For the first time since they’d met, Dylan and Jayne were in complete agreement.
Chapter Seven
Jayne reveled in the physical sensations that his kiss activated in her body. Every nerve ending trembled with excitement. Her limbic system was on fire, and the dopamine was flowing. She was overwhelmed by sensation.
All the intelligence sapped out of her as she wrapped her left leg around him and felt his erection pushing against her abdomen. It had probably been two months ago that she’d been on a date and been held by a man. But those caresses hadn’t felt like this. That date had been the very definition of who cares?
Dylan’s kiss was something far different. It consumed her. There was probably a solid neurological explanation for why she was swept up in tremors of ecstasy. But she didn’t care.
A low moan of pleasure escaped her lips. So inappropriate, that they were doing this in the break room next to the stale chips and wretched coffee. She needed to stop. Right now, she told herself. Or in a minute.
