Under the Gun

by Lyn Stone

  “Here’s your bed, sir, right behind you. Go ahead and sit down,” said an unfamiliar voice filled with concern. It was deeper than Mercier’s, not as clipped and forceful, but with the same speech patterns. Will thought he should ask who the man was…tomorrow, maybe. He felt his mind slipping, seeking rest.

  A softness caught him, pillowed his aching head. Someone lifted his legs and covered him with a blanket. No, a quilt, he realized as he closed his fingers around the puffy upper edge and felt the stitching.

  He drifted back into boyhood. Cool summer nights. Grandmother tucking him in, brushing his hair off his forehead, tapping his nose with her finger. “Morning’s waiting on you,” he mumbled right along with her, smiling back.

  Her soft laugh sounded younger. “So it is. Go back to sleep, Will.”

  “What did he say?” Jack asked. They had settled Will in and Grayson had left them alone.

  Holly busily adjusted the covers again, even though they didn’t need it. “He said ‘morning’s waiting,’ and he’s right about that. You’d better take off if you want to make McLean by sunrise.” She knew Jack needed to get back to the office, coordinate the team and locate Odin.

  “We need to talk first. Come out in the hall.”

  Holly followed him from the room. She could smell coffee brewing. Boy, could she use some of that. Exhaustion was setting in big time. She followed her nose down the hallway.

  Jack held back, his hand on her arm. “You can explain the details to Grayson after we’re gone. Just so we’re clear, in addition to guarding Will, your orders are to find out if he can add anything to what we know about the op at the airfield, and report to me as soon as possible.”

  She nodded.

  “While he’s asleep, you can work up your detailed description and a sketch of the guy in the hospital and get that to us, too. Joe and Clay will have to take over the other cases we’ve got going, which fortunately are in early stages and not critical. Eric and I will be concentrating on this Odin character. However, if things start popping on this, we’ll all be on it.”

  Holly faced him, hands on her hips. “You think it was Odin himself in the hospital?”

  “I believe it was. I’m counting on his coming after me, thinking I got a glimpse of him, too. And I’ll be a whole lot easier to find than you and Will.”

  She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

  He grasped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Do your job, Holly. Let Eric and me do ours. With the SAMs missing and Matt’s death and Will’s being shot on a multiforce investigation like that, every agency will be solidly behind us all the way. They’ll pull out all the stops.”

  She nodded. “Any communications gear other than the phone line in this firetrap?”

  “Everything necessary and then some. I’ll be waiting on that sketch.”

  “My artistic talent leaves a lot to be desired, but I think I can get a fair likeness.”

  “We’ll try to match it with ID photos and get you some to compare. Don’t use your personal credit cards while you’re here. You have your cover ID with you?

  “Always,” she told him.

  “Good. You can use that. If Odin’s working from the inside, he could have resources to pick up an obvious paper trail.”

  “You think he’s an agent who’s flipped?”

  “Entirely possible. He found out where Will was.” Jack pulled out his wallet and handed her a stack of bills. “Mad money. That’s all I have on me, but I’ll wire more to Roanoke in Grayson’s name tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” she said as he turned to go. “See you, Jack.”

  “Soon,” he replied.

  None of them ever said goodbye. It seemed too final or something, as if they didn’t expect to meet again. Funny how they all adhered to that without ever having discussed it.

  She followed him to the door and locked it, checked on Will and found him still sleeping peacefully, then went to find the kitchen and that coffee she had smelled.

  Grayson offered her a mug as soon as she walked in. “Welcome to paradise,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Hungry?”

  Holly nodded and he gestured to a plate of sandwiches on the table. She grabbed one and began to munch, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything other than a package of peanut butter crackers since breakfast.

  “Got any soup for our patient?” she asked.

  “Sure, but he looked like he was down for the count. Want to give me a rundown on what we’re dealing with?”

  Between bites, Holly outlined what had gone down and why they were here. Then she added, “Chances are there’s nothing to worry about. I know you’ve had training, but I’d like to know if you have any field experience.”

  Grayson smiled. “Yeah, I do. Anything happens, I’ve got your back.”

  He looked capable, Holly thought, as she observed him more closely. She guessed he was around sixty, maybe even older, but seemed in pretty good shape. Not a large man, hardly taller than her own five-five, Grayson moved with the tensile grace of a man trained to strike.

  His graying hair was buzzed short in the old military style, the line of it receding just above his temples. His broad features resembled carved mahogany. He wore a dark, close-fitting knit shirt and camouflage pants. His wide feet were bare and heavily callused.

  “The way you were looking at that boy in there. He means something to you besides an assignment, right?”

  Holly delayed her answer as she drained her mug of coffee and set it down. Then she looked the old soldier square in the eye. “Right. We’re on the same team. And we’re best friends. Got a problem with that?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot now,” he said, holding up one hand as if warding off an argument. “I just hope you won’t let personal stuff cloud your judgment if worse comes to worst.”

  She met his frowning gaze with one of challenge. “My professional and personal objectives are one and the same here—to keep that man alive at all costs. He’s very important to me, yes. But he’s also vital to the success of future missions.”

  Grayson pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. You’ll keep your head.”

  “I always keep my head,” she replied. But Holly felt a little angry with Grayson for planting the seed of doubt in her mind. Nonsense, of course. Hadn’t she remained perfectly detached when Will was threatened in the hospital? Hers had been a textbook response when the shooter appeared.

  Will surfaced with a raging thirst. His skin felt like shrink-wrap. “Water,” he said, hating the croak that emerged.

  A few seconds later, a cool cloth bathed his face. Crushed ice chilled his lips. He opened his mouth, dying to drink something. Anything.

  He felt a straw and grabbed it with his lips. The delicious trickle of cold streamed down his parched throat and pooled in his stomach. He seemed aware of every cell in his body soaking it up.

  “Easy now,” crooned a voice near his ear. Holly.

  He reached out to the voice and his palm met her face. He slid his fingers over her cheek, touched her ear, threaded them through her hair.

  Holly’s was clipped almost as short as his own, lying in little black satin wavelets close to her head. Neat, efficient and sexy as hell. He wasn’t supposed to think sexy, not about her, his muzzy brain reminded him.

  “Where are we?” he demanded.

  “At a safe house not far from Roanoke,” she explained, taking his hand in both of hers as she leaned close. “You remember what happened?”

  He recalled bits and pieces. There had been trouble. “Some of it,” he admitted. “The hospital. A helicopter.”

  “I’ll fill you in on the details later. Just so you know, Solange sedated you. You aren’t permanently addled.”

  Addled didn’t begin to describe how he felt. Will turned his head from side to side, struggling to take in his surroundings, but the room was dark. Or he was blind. He remembered the blurriness he had experienced before. “It’s night,”
he said.

  “Yes.”

  “What night?”

  “Friday,” she told him. “Well, Saturday morning early. About four o’clock. Be daylight soon.”

  “Holly?”

  “Yes, Will?”

  “I can’t see.” He forced the words from between clenched teeth. The thought scared the absolute hell out of him, but he was trained to conceal his emotions. He did so now. No point getting panicked, he told himself. It wouldn’t help and might even hurt.

  “I know, you told me in the hospital, but your eyes will be fine. It’s temporary.” A hopeful lie. If she had any basis for it, Will knew she would have explained in detail.

  Her voice held a note of desperation. Or maybe not her voice. That sounded calm enough, now that he thought about it, but he strongly sensed her overwhelming concern. It scared him more that she tried to conceal it than if she’d stated her worry openly.

  He forced his lips to stretch into a semblance of a smile. “Thanks for sticking around.”

  “Now where else would I be, you doofus?” He heard her sigh, a slight breath of sound. She patted his hand.

  “Well, I guess you might have to be my eyes for a while. Sorry.”

  She was talking, but Will stopped listening. All he could think about was getting out of bed and back on his feet. How he would manage that, feeling the way he did, he didn’t know how yet, but he would find a way.

  There was something he needed to remember, something that haunted him, but his train of thought kept breaking. He hoped to God it was the medication causing the terrible sense of foreboding.

  Morning arrived, just as his grandmother had promised when he fell asleep. That had been a dream, he realized now. Grandmother was gone, died when he was sixteen.

  So his mind was refusing to function fully at the moment. At least he was aware that it wouldn’t, and things seemed to be coming back to him bit by bit.

  Sunlight flooded the room, but the shape of objects in it remained nebulous as hell. Colors were fugitive, fragmented.

  He rubbed his eyes. Blinking didn’t help, either. It was like looking at things through the patterned glass wall tiles that encircled his shower at home.

  He fought panic. Before it took hold completely, he sensed he was no longer alone. Holly. She was back.

  “Hey, you’re awake! Good morning. How’s the noggin?”

  “A little confused,” he said.

  “That’ll pass. Ready for breakfast? You must be starving.”

  Her voice sounded too bright, too chipper. She should be ragging him the way she usually did, ordering him around and poking fun, trying her damnedest to make him laugh. That meant he must be even nearer death than he felt, and God knew that was near enough.

  He could make out her shape standing just to the left of the foot of his bed. “You look good…in red.”

  The silence lasted a beat too long. “Thanks.”

  “You are wearing red, right?” he asked, the question tentative.

  “Well, no, not right now. I’m wearing green, but I am holding a red robe. I brought it for you.”

  “Oh.” He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat much more noticeable. “Thanks.”

  He felt her settle on the bed beside him. Her arms slid around him and she rested her forehead lightly on his shoulder. “This trouble with your eyes will pass, Will. I know it. I promise….”

  “You mentioned breakfast?” he said, gently pushing her away, unwilling to accept what felt too much like pity. That, he could do without.

  She moved quickly. He heard her inhale a shaky breath. “Yeah. How about some broth? When you can tolerate that, maybe some Jell-O later. How’s that sound?”

  He made a face. His appetite was nonexistent at the moment, but he knew he needed to eat to get his strength back. “How long was I out?”

  “Six days,” she said, sounding reluctant to discuss it.

  He coughed in disbelief. “Six?”

  “You were in the hospital. In a coma,” she told him.

  He remembered the tubes. It was coming back to him now. He shook his head, carefully, because it was pounding so hard he could scarcely think. “A coma?”

  She touched his arm, wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. “You were shot, Will. In the head.”

  He raised his hand and ran it over his hair, found and felt the tender scar just above his right temple. The memory came flooding back all at once. “Matt,” he whispered.

  She was holding her breath. Then she expelled it. “I’m so sorry, Will. Matt didn’t make it.”

  He had known already, before he asked, but he hadn’t wanted it to be real. “You told me before, didn’t you?” Why did the randomness of death still surprise him?

  “Yes. You have to get well now so we can find that bastard who shot you both. We owe it to Matt. Are you with me?”

  With monumental effort, he nodded. Either he was in shock or his subconscious had already accepted Matt’s death. He should feel grief-stricken, totally undone, after losing the person closest to him.

  Instead, he felt very calm inside, exactly the way he always did immediately before a mission, when he had the objective firmly in place, all the plans worked out. It was as if Matt were in on it with him. He could almost feel the connection.

  “Is he…buried?” he asked Holly.

  “At Arlington. Full military honors. Marines turned out in force.”

  That was good. Matt would like that. The Corps took care of its own, even after someone left it.

  “We’ll go visit him soon,” Holly promised.

  “When this is over. Not before,” Will said firmly. He could not do that until he had avenged the brother beneath that marker. “Our parents?”

  “They were there. They visited you in the hospital, too.”

  “But they’re gone again. Back to Italy,” he guessed. That sounded bitter. He sighed. At least they had come. Appearances must be kept up.

  “You’re not alone, Will.” Her lips touched his cheek, just a breath of a kiss, a contract sealing her promise. “You’ll be okay. Not today, I know, but you will be okay.”

  Maybe, maybe not. But the man who’d killed his brother would be dead one way or another. Sooner or later.

  Hours passed in a fog of painful memories and uncontrollable gusts of anger. He forced down the broth Holly brought him and later the gelatin. He sipped what seemed like gallons of ice water. He fought nausea and won. His resolve grew.

  A man came in, managed to get him to his feet and walk him to the bathroom and back. Will didn’t bother to ask his name. He didn’t care who it was.

  He focused his whole being on getting back his strength. Unfortunately, that was the only thing he could focus on. That and the fuzzy rectangle of light that was the window.

  Blind. Damn it! He held fast to Holly’s promise that it was not permanent. He needed to see to find this Odin. To exact revenge for Matt, to destroy a merciless killer. Will couldn’t say goodbye until he’d settled the score. It was all he could do now.

  In his mind, he could clearly see his brother nod his approval, hear his voice. Live for both of us, bro. You know it’s what I’d do.

  All right, Will thought, he would do that. Maybe this continued connection he was feeling was not real, but he chose to believe it was. It was too soon to let go completely.

  From here on out, no self-pity or survivor’s guilt. No time wasted mourning what he couldn’t fix. No way would he let Matt down.

  Later when he woke, Holly lay next to him, his head cradled on her breasts, her arms around him. This felt good. Right.

  He wondered why she had set aside the kick-ass, swaggering attitude he knew so well, and let him see this soft side of her. Her guard was definitely down tonight.

  He was sick of that guard of hers, anyway. And his, too.

  They had met a couple of years earlier, at Quantico, when they’d attended a special course provided by the FBI for other agencies. She’d been with the Bureau then
and Will with ATF. They had hit it off immediately.

  Their paths crossed on a joint case a year later, renewing their friendship. He carefully avoided anything more than that. He had taken his cue from her both times, thinking she might be involved with someone else. He had been. Heard she was, too.

  Now he and Holly worked together. She was the one who had recommended him for the Civilian Special Ops antiterrorist team when it was forming, and was responsible for his getting hired for Sextant.

  He treated her like one of the guys because that’s what she demanded of all the men on the team.

  Holly was everyone’s little buddy with a bossy mama complex. Every guy on the team would die for her in a heartbeat. She cared about them and showed it, baking them cookies, teaching them to cook, deviling them like a little sister. They adored her.

  They respected her, too, he firmly reminded himself. Holly had earned that many times over. She was a damn good agent, one of the best he knew.

  Not once had she ever betrayed any stronger feelings for him than the camaraderie they all shared. But now she was lying here holding him in her arms like a lover. How the hell was he supposed to ignore that?

  Maybe he wouldn’t even try, at least not now when he needed this so badly. He snuggled closer, all but burying his face in her cleavage, drawing in her tantalizing scent, pressing his lips to her satiny skin just above the tickle of lace.

  For a few minutes he thought of nothing but the firmness of her well-toned body, the strength in her small frame, the sweet breathiness of her sigh when his lips brushed the swell of her breast.

  He fully expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Either she was a damn sound sleeper or their friendship was undergoing a monumental change.

  Will valued that friendship the way it was. He envied Holly’s easy way with people, her passionate outbursts and her engaging laugh. How did she do it?

  She got so involved. There wasn’t a trace of the ice-princess reserve of the women he went out with. A cautious maneuver on his part, those choices. Safety lay in choosing women like his mother. No danger of emotional entanglements there, that was for damn sure.