Gray Wolf Security: Wyoming

by Glenna Sinclair

  The only way to know for sure was to sew it up and see how he was doing in a few hours. I did that, sewed him up with thread I'd bought at Walmart. It wasn't the best option, but it was better than leaving the wound open. He groaned when I forced him onto his side, but he held up better than I probably would have. It was excruciating having someone methodically sew your skin together without some sort of pain killer.

  "Drink," I said, shoving a straw from a juice pouch against his lips.

  He opened his eyes and glared at me, but did as he was told.

  I washed my hands in the sink only to glance down and realize I was covered in blood. I took my dress off and filled the sink with cold water, shoving the dress in it to attempt to get the stains out before they set. My sensible cotton bra was covered in blood too, with red and pink stains on my belly and breasts. Disgusted, I stripped naked and shoved all my clothes in the sink, causing pink water to slosh over the edge.

  "Stand up," I ordered.

  "Give me a minute," he said, his eyes closed as he finished the fourth of the juice pouches.

  "Don't have a minute."

  I reached down and grabbed his arm, yanking him up to his feet. There was bloody water pooled under his feet, blood smeared on the sides of the tub, on the walls, fingerprints everywhere. I turned the water on, pulling the showerhead down so it wouldn't splash him until the water was hot. And when it was, I climbed in, grabbing the bar of soap provided by housekeeping that had probably been in this bathroom for months, unwrapping it and creating the most impressive lather I could manage. It wasn't much, but it made me feel better to watch the stains slowly disappear from my body.

  When I felt human again, I turned to find the detective leaning against the back wall, his eyes only partially open.

  "Those stitches will cause swelling. Your body won't like them and an allergic reaction will set in. We'll have to find something more suitable in the next day or so."

  He nodded, paying more attention than I'd thought.

  "I have a friend, a vet, who can help us out."

  "Good."

  He pushed away from the wall and reached for me, his hand slipping from my shoulder to my bare breast. He made a funny sound, pulling away. I pressed a hand to his back, led him closer to the water. The blood washed away, but some of it needed the soap to make it disappear completely. I washed him as he leaned with his hands on the front wall, careful of his wound as I washed as much of the blood away as possible. I had to remove his boxer briefs, but he no longer seemed concerned about modesty by then. The blood loss was bringing on an overwhelming exhaustion. I could remember how hard it hit some of the soldiers in the field, soldiers who were used to running on adrenaline, rushing back into the fight after wounds worse than this. But then they'd crash, sleep for days at a time, their bodies finally betraying their hearts.

  When we were clean and most of the blood evidence was gone, I got out of the shower and dried off, wrapping the towel around my chest before reaching for him, helping him settle back on the toilet. When he was dry, I bandaged his wound, drying the stitches as best as I could. I shouldn't have allowed them to get wet, but the shower was necessary.

  I don't know how I got him to the bed, but somehow, I did. He collapsed on his left side, his eyes closed before they hit the pillow. I pulled the blankets around him and stepped back, but his hands were reaching for me.

  "Don't go," he mumbled. "Stay with me, little one."

  I wasn't sure he was aware of where he was or who he was talking to. But the day was catching up to me, the adrenaline leaving my body and leaving behind the same sort of exhaustion. I crawled onto the bed beside him and curled up with my back to his chest. I don't know who fell asleep first, but I felt his arm come around me before I was lost to the darkness.

  Chapter 5

  At the Ranch

  It went wrong all at once.

  The explosion and then gunfire... it was obvious they'd been lying in wait for the raid. It was a miracle anyone got out alive.

  Sutherland paced the waiting room of the hospital, waiting for news. She was alone, the others who weren't patients here were trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. And looking for those who hadn't been accounted for.

  Complete disaster! They'd been careful, planned for every contingency. But it never occurred to them that the Mahoneys would know they were coming. They thought they'd plugged the leak, but clearly, they hadn't. Someone said something to the wrong person. They not only knew they were coming, but they were waiting for them. And now... it was a fucking disaster.

  Sutherland dragged her fingers through her hair, unaware of the dried blood that was flaking off her hands. She'd sworn to herself a long time ago she'd never be here, never be in this sort of situation ever again. Yet, here she was, waiting.

  He was strong and smart and capable... more family to her than anyone had ever been, especially after Mitchell. She could count on him for almost anything. Yet it was his body that had lain on the sidewalk, blood pouring from holes that didn't belong on a human body. She pressed her hands to as many as she could, tried to stop the bleeding, but she didn't have enough hands. They'd gotten him here as fast as they could, but she was convinced it wasn't fast enough.

  He wasn't going to make it and somehow that was her fault.

  She should have known. She should have seen something, should have known something... it was her job to be their eyes and ears. She was supposed to tell them when things weren't going well, she was supposed to get them the hell out of there. She did the best she could, but... they were so prepared! They knew exactly what we would do, how we would respond. They knew our every move before we did.

  And he was in surgery, paying the price.

  "Mrs. Knight?"

  She spun around as a doctor, his scrubs stained with blood, came toward her.

  "Is he still alive?" she demanded. That was all that mattered to her.

  "He's still alive. He's in recovery and will be moved to the ICU in a few minutes."

  She nodded, ready to hear the rest of it.

  "He lost a lot of blood. We had to reset his bowel and repair the artery in his thigh. His thigh bone is shattered, but we stabilized it and the orthopedic surgeon will put a rod in later. Those injuries are concerning, but it's the wound to his head that worries us the most. We were able to remove the bullet, but we won't know how bad the damage is until he's regained consciousness."

  She nodded.

  "His jaw was shattered, but that we were able to reconstruct. It will just be a waiting game until we know anything else."

  "But he's alive."

  "He's alive."

  Relief rushed through her body. The FBI had lost six agents. The Casper PD had lost four. Gray Wolf hadn't lost anyone, but there were five people missing, including Ryan Babcock.

  Ryan had been stationed on the street and had been ordered twice to return to her assigned position, but she disappeared in the early moments of the operation. They had no idea where she'd gone or if she was alone. Ash was among the missing, as well. Ash, his FBI contacts, and two cops.

  And Kipling was lying in the ICU, fighting for his life.

  "Can I see him?"

  ***

  It seemed like she'd been there for minutes, and it felt like days. In reality, it had only been a few hours, but he'd made no sign that he might be waking. Sutherland held Kipling's hand, fighting the tears, the overwhelming fear, that were building inside of her.

  "You wouldn't let me fall apart after Mitchell," she said softly. "You kept telling me I was a warrior, that I was built to fight. You said Mitchell wouldn't have wanted me if I was anything less. Well..." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his fingers. "I'm telling you the same thing, Kipling. You're too important to me, to Ash, to Hank. You can't leave us now, you can't leave us without a leader. After everything we've all gone through together, after what you went through..."

  Tears rolled thickly down her cheeks. "Don't leave
me, Kipling," she moaned softly. "I can't do this without you."

  "Would you mind stepping away from my husband?"

  Sutherland sat up, wiping at her tears as she turned. She found herself face to face with a redhead with intense green eyes. She wasn't looking at Kipling, but she wasn't looking at Sutherland, either. She was studying the notes the nurses made each time they came to check his vitals, her red rimmed eyes skimming it quickly, like she was looking for something specific.

  "You probably shouldn't..." Sutherland began to say, but then her slowed mind began to catch up. "You're Harley." And Harley, Kipling's second wife, was training to become a surgeon.

  The woman looked up, her glance indifferent.

  "And you're Sutherland Knight. You're the reason he's in that damn bed!"

  Sutherland hadn't been expecting such vehemence. She slowly stood up, letting go of Kipling's hand almost reluctantly. Exhaustion and fear and the strain of the day made her knees weak. She stumbled back a little, hitting her hip hard on the edge of the bed beside Kipling's.

  "I wish you would just go," Harley said.

  Sutherland started to shake her head, but then she remembered the possessiveness that had overcome her when she went to the funeral home to take delivery of Mitchell's body. She hadn't wanted anyone around, not even the kind funeral director who had been so accommodating to her when Mitchell's father passed.

  "If you need anything—"

  "I need to be with my husband."

  Sutherland just nodded, walking out with her head held as high as she could get it. But the moment she was outside the door, her weak knees refused to carry her any further. She fell into a chair that happened to be nearby, perhaps for this very reason, and collapsed, all the tears she'd been holding back coming to the surface.

  This wasn't the way things were supposed to be.

  Chapter 6

  Ryan

  I lay on my side, my hand tucked under my head. I was asleep. I knew I was asleep because I was sixteen again, hiding in between the hay bales in my stepfather's barn, waiting for him to come find me. Him was Todd Brooks, the hottest boy in my class. He'd promised to come find me, to show me what he could do with that talented tongue of his. I'd heard rumors—everyone had heard the rumors—but I was about to find out the truth. And then I felt his hands on my breasts, his fingers twisting my nipples between his fingers, pain shooting through my body that was equally mixed with an intense amount of pleasure.

  I knew I was dreaming because Todd never showed up that night. My mom found me and grounded me a month for sneaking out after curfew. But that hand, wide and hot, was still against my breast, the other sliding slowly down the length of my belly, searching for that place... oh, yeah, that place…

  I moved my hips a little, pressing my thighs together to keep that finger hard against my clit. But even as pleasure burned through my lower belly, reality was poking at my consciousness, forcing me into full wakefulness.

  "What are you doing?" I muttered, not sure if I was talking to my mother, Todd, or someone else.

  "Trying to figure out what the big deal is."

  That voice...

  It suddenly came back to me: the strategy meeting, the ride to the target, the operation, the shooting, and the run from the ambush.

  I pulled away, aware that I was naked and unsure what I'd done with my clothes. I grabbed the sheet, but it was tangled around his body, leaving me with just the option of remaining on the bed and huddling with my back to him.

  "Don't touch me!"

  He laughed. "That's pretty interesting coming from the girl whose made out with most of the guys on the CPD rooster."

  "I have not!" I twisted around a little so I could see his face. "It's been less than half a dozen."

  "Oh, like that makes it so much better."

  "I like guys in uniform."

  "They like you, too," he said, running his hand over my bare belly again. "The things I've heard in the locker room—"

  "Quit touching me!"

  I brushed his hands away, but he put them right back where they'd been. He even scooted closer to me on the mattress, his lips coming dangerously close to mine.

  "Don't you know that sex is a great pain reliever. And, in case you've forgotten, I allowed you to perform surgery on me this morning."

  "If I hadn't performed surgery, you would have slowly bled to death."

  "That's debatable." He ran his hand slowly over my naked belly. "But I think you owe me a little pain relief just the same."

  "I don't owe you anything. You owe me. If not for me, you would be back at that building with several more bullet wounds in your ass."

  His eyebrows rose. "You think you saved my life?"

  "I think you're better off with me than back there."

  He was quiet for a second, his hand still moving over my belly. He didn't come close to anything more than the low edge of my breasts, but the intention was still there, the desire burning in his green eyes. I found myself staring into those eyes, liking what I saw there.

  And then I remembered the things he'd called me on our first meeting.

  "Turn around. I'm going to get out of bed."

  "It'd rather watch."

  "That's not an option."

  He chuckled low in his chest. "A little late to pretend to be a pious girl now, isn't it?"

  "Don't be an ass." I slapped my hand against his shoulder. "Let me up."

  "I was serious about the pain relief."

  As if on cue, he grimaced, his hand moving from my belly to his hip. I started to lift the sheet to catch a peek at the wound, but then realized doing so would reveal my bare breasts to him.

  "You weren't so shy yesterday," he reminded me almost as if he could read my mind. "You stripped right there in front of me, climbing into that shower with me like we'd been bathing together for years."

  "You were half unconscious. I didn't think you'd even noticed."

  "Oh, I noticed."

  His hand was back, sliding up over a breast before cupping my jaw. He moved my face up to his, grazed my lips with his own. I turned my head, but his fingers bit into my jaw and made me turn back to him. This time it wasn't just a gentle touch. He kissed me like he hadn't kissed a woman in a very long time, capturing my lips with a need that burned deep down to my very core.

  I tried to pull away, moaning a protest. But then his tongue was doing something new against my lips and my body responded without warning, my lips parting to his, allowing him to come inside, allowing him to play games with me. His tongue touched the roof of my mouth, danced with my tongue, and did things all the uniforms had never done. What was I supposed to do? My body was responding before my head could remind it of why this was a really bad idea.

  His hand moved from my jaw to my throat, caressing the space below my chin with a reminder that he could be gentle, or he could be rough. And then his hand was skimming my breasts as his body moved closer to mine, a groan slipping from his lips as his hip grazed mine.

  My mind kept screaming at me to make him stop, to move from his touch, but my body so desperately wanted his kiss. Of all the men I'd kissed, none made my entire nervous system come alive like his did. It must have been experience or...I didn't know. It was just really good.

  He nibbled at my bottom lip, tugging it roughly between his teeth. Then he started down the length of my body, pausing against as his teeth grazed my throat, a groan slipping from between his full lips.

  "Stop," I muttered. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

  He grabbed my wrists roughly, pinning me to the bed as he rolled his body over the top of mine.

  "I heard you like it this way," he said, his eyes snapping with his need. "Do you like it rough?"

  "No," I said, pulling against his grip. It was useless. He was holding me too tight.

  "You make out with every cop in a fifty-mile radius. You'd have to realize that most of them—if not all of them—have bragged about it. Including the married ones."

>   "I don't get involved with married men."

  "You should probably vet your lovers a little better. That beat cop you went out onto the porch with at Gray Wolf the other day? He's been married a whole whopping six months. And he had plenty of stories to tell about you on the drive back to Casper."

  "You're lying!"

  He shook his head, amusement dancing on his face now. I tried once again to pull free, but his grip was much too firm. And he was enjoying my struggle much more than I was comfortable with.

  I turned my head so I wouldn't have to look at him.

  "Come on, sweetheart, what's the big deal? It's just a little fun between consenting adults."

  "No. I'm not consenting."

  "That's not what your kiss said."

  I glanced at him then and he surprised me by stealing my lips again. I could have pulled away. I could have stopped it. But I couldn't help myself, couldn't stop my body from responding to him the way it wanted to. And it wanted to. I moved into him, trying to remember the last time a man's kiss had felt this good. I might have kissed a lot of frogs, but I hadn't invited that many princes into my bed. In fact, there'd been very few, despite what this detective might think.

  Todd... not even he'd managed to get past the first few kisses.

  It was really pretty simple. Kenneth.

  We'd been engaged, but... well, Uncle Sam isn't the romantic we had hoped he would be. He sent Kenneth back to Afghanistan, forcing us to push back our dates by about eight months. And then Kenneth didn't make it home.

  I moved to Seattle to escape my well-meaning friends and family, moved to prove to myself that I could make it on my own. The whole boys in uniform thing started there and got me fired from the Seattle Police Department. But it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered, right?

  And this detective's kiss was impressive.

  Maybe nothing mattered anymore. And maybe it was easier to believe that than it was to deal with the reality of losing the only person who ever really understood me. I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, kissing him roughly as his hands moved over my hips, tugging me closer. I moved my hips against his lower belly, the pressure of his touch sending waves of pleasure through my body. I didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to tug his stitches out of place. I didn't want to cause any more pain than I already had in repairing his wounds, but his hands were pushing me lower on his body, his erection pressing against me with an urgency that was undeniable.