Under the Gun

by Lyn Stone

  He set down the cup and clasped her hand in his. “Even if he is, we’re not exactly out of the woods. If the colonel is the one and we pick him up, we’ll only have the supplier. There are two more missiles out there and a plan in the works to use them.”

  “Most likely nearby, too,” she agreed. She squeezed his fingers, then laced hers through them. He could feel the tips of her nails indent the back of his hand slightly, just enough to make his nerves tingle. Her small palm against his felt warm, intimate.

  “Jack, Clay and Eric will take it from here,” she told him. “You’ve done more than your part, and my job is to keep you out of mischief until this is over. We’ll hang around in case you get more feelings about this that might be of help, but we’re staying out of the action now.”

  She was so wrong about that, Will thought as he held her hand and sipped his coffee, not bothering to offer her any verbal argument.

  Maybe he couldn’t see much, but he wasn’t so blind he couldn’t function at all without help. And his sight was improving. It was, he insisted to himself, gritting his teeth.

  No, he wasn’t out of this. However long it took, Matt’s killer was going to die, even if Will went totally blind and had to beat the bastard to death with a white cane.

  “You have to be practical about it, Will,” Holly said, sounding worried. She must have sensed his fury. “There’s really nothing more you can do.”

  “Right,” he agreed, his voice clipped, his hands steady, his mind flying in all directions at once. “Not now, anyway.”

  Holly slipped a sedative into Will’s next cup of coffee when she poured it. He was wound way too tight, not thinking straight. She blamed herself for adding to that. She never should have responded when he kissed her. She never should have agreed to go to bed with him in that motel.

  Every time they touched now—on purpose or not—the act became a jolt of warning for both of them. Yet neither worked very hard to avoid it, or rushed to pull away when it happened. Were they just inveterate danger junkies, or what?

  Maybe if they had finished what they’d started, he would be better able to handle this new development now. Or it might have made things worse for him, increased his tension instead of releasing it. She was in nearly as bad a twist as he was.

  Trying to talk it out hadn’t done one bit of good. They needed to settle things between them and put this out of the way, but first things first.

  After he fell asleep on the sofa, she joined Eric in the den just off the kitchen, where he had set up shop.

  “Will’s down for the count. Anything new?” she asked. “Any line on that name Turkel?”

  “Nope. Nothing. But now that we suspect who Odin might be and how he was getting his inside info, Jack’s putting everybody from Immigration to the profs of Middle Eastern studies onto the problem. Not to mention the CIA, the Bureau, NSA and Interpol. If the name Turkel has ever surfaced, you can bet we’ll know where and why within a matter of hours.”

  “And Arbin?”

  “Pretty soon he won’t have any secrets left. If he ever so much as kicked a cat, we’ll find out about it. We pulled his military file before,” Eric told her. “But now Jack’s got people interviewing everybody who knew him, professionally and personally.”

  “What about the guy Will shot in Virginia, the hit man? Can they link him to Arbin?”

  Eric nodded slowly. “Yeah. Peter Hackers, a warrant officer who worked in supply. Arbin was an advisor in Iraq while Hackers was there. We’re still checking on what Hackers has been up to since he got out last year, but I think we can safely assume the two are somehow connected. Arbin has to be Odin.”

  “If so, he’s bound to be wondering what happened to Hackers,” Holly said. “He’ll be waiting for word from him that Will and I are out of the picture. When he doesn’t get it, that’ll surely alert him that something’s gone wrong.”

  “We have Hackers’s cellphone,” Eric said. “If anyone calls that number, we’re set up to run a trace. As soon as we find Arbin, we’re bringing him in.” He ground a fist into his palm, frowning. “What’s his motive for this, Holly?”

  “Greed,” she said, sure she was right. “We heard him mention the sale. They had to get the missiles to the buyer by Thanksgiving in order to collect the money.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve just now verified that Arbin’s already got money. He’s not in debt. Owns his house and two cars and a good portfolio. Why turn traitor and deal with terrorists?” Eric shook his head. “No, there’s got to be more to it than picking up extra cash.”

  “If he has any input about selecting the targets, it could be revenge on the airlines or someone on a particular plane, as Will suggested. A power play, maybe,” she suggested. “Boredom?”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “Well, if it is Arbin, we’re about to give him more excitement than he can handle, believe me.”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  “Time for a short break. Jack’s calling me back in a few. How’re you holding up? You look a little ragged around the edges.”

  She rubbed her forehead, trying to smooth out any worry lines, knowing she must look a fright. It had been two days now since she had bothered about her appearance.

  Eric nodded in the direction of the living room. “What’s up with Will? Has he been conking out like that often?”

  Holly wrinkled her nose, wincing at what she’d done and how Will would react if he found out. “Not unless I slip him a mickey. He needed the rest, but he wasn’t about to be left out of the loop long enough to get it. You know how dogged he can be. I’ll have to sit on him to keep him from jumping right in the middle of this with both feet.”

  “Sit on him?” Eric said, grinning for real. “Now there’s an interesting image. Done it yet?”

  She shook her fist at him. “No, and you keep that little mind of yours out of the gutter or you’ll be the next one to take an unplanned nap.”

  “He needs you,” Eric said, suddenly turning serious. “Don’t be such a hard case about it, Holly.”

  “I’m not. Will and I both decided it wouldn’t be such a good idea.”

  Eric wasn’t buying that, she could tell.

  “Jack won’t care if you two get involved. Not a hell of a lot he could object to, since he hooked up with Solange, now is there? That was a real rule-bender.”

  “Let him hear you say something like that and you’ll be looking for a job.”

  He ignored that. “All I’m saying is Will’s lost his twin. He might have lost his sight, too, as well as the ability to function as an operative if he doesn’t get that back. Don’t let him slide into depression if there’s anything you can do for him, okay?”

  It was unlike Eric to admit he worried this much about anything, or anyone. His usual breeziness was an act, of course, or he never would have been chosen for the team, but he maintained that blasé attitude with a vengeance.

  “I’ll do what I can,” she promised. That didn’t include becoming a substitute for Will’s brother, however, and it certainly wouldn’t lead to any therapeutic sex. Will would object to that idea as hotly as she did.

  Her agreement seemed to pacify Eric. He went back to the computer and continued his search for information. Moments later the phone rang and he was in deep conversation.

  Holly poured herself another cup of coffee. She needed sleep, too, but knew she wouldn’t be able to get any until Eric got off the phone and shared what he was busy finding out.

  When Will woke, he would need a status report. The least she could do was to keep him fully informed.

  Seven miles away, rain was pouring down. The old house reeked of mildewed rugs, furniture and years worth of decayed leaves that had blown in through the missing roof. Miserable place. Miserable night. Miserable company.

  Odin wandered down the stairs to the first floor, where things were a bit less-saturated with rot. The less ancient kitchen wing was intact, leakproof, and provided adequate storage for the Stingers.

  The p
lace still stank. The whole operation did, but it would be worth the trouble eventually.

  Turkel was kicked back in one of the kitchen chairs, chugging a beer. His two minions were making sandwiches. Of ham.

  How quickly they ditched their tenets of faith when exposed to western decadence, Odin thought with a smirk. How fake became their so-called jihad. All they wanted was to destroy and cause chaos, like evil little boys stabbing a big dog through a fence with sharp sticks.

  Well, they would soon learn that the fence was not locked and the dog could easily devour them all when the time was right. How he would enjoy that.

  Unfortunately, they had to live until Thanksgiving in order to do their deed and assume their rightful blame. Then he could get rid of these turkeys. Turkeys, Turkel. The aptness of the comparison made him smile.

  Turkel smiled back, a gold tooth shining, a secretive glint of planned betrayal in his black-as-sin eyes.

  It was no secret that he hated Americans, even the one who provided him with the weapons to strike a blow for his damn holy war. Maybe especially this one.

  That was all right, too, Odin thought as he dug a beer out of the cooler for himself and joined the enemy at the table. All would end exactly as planned, and Turkel and his buddies could complain to Allah in person.

  Odin felt righteous about the whole thing. Godlike, really. Everyone was playing his part to the letter. It was a propitious plan, at least for him.

  Yeah, it would be worth the collateral damage, worth the sacrifices. He was already doing everything necessary to hold those to a minimum.

  Chapter 10

  Will woke with a pounding headache that felt like a hangover. A groan escaped when he tried to sit up, and he collapsed back on the lumpy little pillow. Where the hell was he? He opened his eyes cautiously.

  The safe house in Atlanta, he remembered. The taste in his mouth gave him a definite clue to what had put him out like a light, and it wasn’t anything alcoholic. Damn Holly.

  He could make out three windows in the room, but they were indistinct rectangles. No sunshine coming through them, he decided. Streetlights. Dawn or dusk, maybe. Or a very gray day. Not many sounds from outside; must be night. Pushing out a sigh, he sat up.

  Again he listened. There was no noise in the house. Neither clicking of computer keys, nor voices. No television.

  After a few minutes he heard water pipes gurgle. He oriented himself as best he could. The kitchen was to his right down the hall, bathroom to the left at the end.

  Pushing himself to his feet, shuffling slowly, he felt his way to the bedroom door by sliding his hands along the wall. “Holly, that you?” he called.

  A door squeaked open and light flooded the corridor from the other direction, the bathroom.

  “Will. You’re up early.”

  Her figure, backlit, moved closer. He smelled the peach-scented shampoo combined with the hand lotion she always used. And her unique scent blended with that, the essence that drove him crazy when he wasn’t steeled against it.

  Sometimes even when he was.

  He propped one hand against the wall to steady himself. “You drugged me,” he accused.

  “Just a little,” she admitted. “Sorry, but you were coiled like a rattler ready to strike.” She touched his arm just below his shoulder. “Had to do something. Feel better?”

  “Hell no, I don’t. I’ve felt better after weekend frat parties.”

  He had only vague memories of being hungover in his college days. Never as a Marine. He rarely drank more than a couple of beers at a time now, hated wine and seldom touched hard liquor at all except for an occasional social drink. Inebriation did not blend well with intelligence work.

  “Dammit, Holly, I still feel drunk and it’s your fault.”

  She came closer and took his arm. “Come on, baby, I’ll get you some tomato juice and a couple of Advil. Fix you right up.” She urged him toward the kitchen.

  Since he didn’t have a lot of choice, he went, sat where she put him and obediently swallowed the pills she dropped in his hand. The juice calmed his stomach.

  She had flipped the light switch when they came into the room. He discovered he could actually make out the placement of furniture, though edges and details were blurred.

  He could see her lithe figure moving around. What little he could see, augmented by his other senses, told him she was making coffee, grinding the beans, getting out cups.

  It was too soon to shout with relief, he thought. He would still be classified as legally blind according to medical criteria, but this improvement relieved him more than anything had so far. With sufficient light, he was sure he could function without being led around.

  “Where’s Eric?” he asked.

  “He left about an hour ago to coordinate with the feds and the locals. Soon as they get a fix on Arbin, they’re bringing him in.”

  She proceeded to give a rundown on what they had found out. As usual, her report was concise and to the point, with no extraneous data, no conclusions.

  “Jack and Clay are arriving around ten. It’s 6:00 a.m. now,” she informed him when she had finished.

  Will ran a hand through his hair and over his face. “I guess I need a shower and shave.” He pushed away from the table and stood up.

  She touched his arm, but he pulled back, still a little angry with her for sedating him. “I don’t need a guide.”

  “Okay, sure,” she said, sounding contrite, but he knew she wasn’t. Holly had done what she thought was right, just as she always did. Hell, maybe she was right. Will’s head might feel like hell, but he could see a little better now after a few hours of deep sleep.

  He walked directly from his chair to the hallway, knowing there was nothing in the way to impede his progress. All he had to do was walk straight back the way they had come and go to the end of the hall to that door she had exited. He could manage that. Nothing to it.

  When he reached the open door of the bathroom, he sensed her behind him and turned. “I said I can do this.”

  “Boy, you sure can!” she exclaimed, grabbing him in a bear hug and kissing him soundly on the cheek. “Will, you can see, can’t you!”

  “Pretty good,” he lied. “So take a hike.”

  Her delighted laughter and the way she squeezed his arms signaled her relief, made him feel rotten for exaggerating his improvement.

  He didn’t confess, though. He needed to be left alone right now.

  How could he stand having her hover while he took a bath, all the while smelling her, feeling her touch, hearing that sexy little growl of hers? Better to stumble through this by himself than to get stirred up again for nothing.

  She was determined to forget what had almost happened between them, and he planned to help her do that. If only he could, too.

  Her scent tortured him every time she entered the room where he was. That voice, whether soft or strident, wreaked havoc with his best intentions. He kept picturing how her lips curved when she smiled, how expressive and sensual they were even when she didn’t, how lush they felt when he kissed her. His fingers curled at the memory of how smooth she was when he slid his palms over her bare skin. Satin. No, he was not about to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

  It helped a little that she had made him mad by doctoring his coffee last night. Maybe he should hold on to that feeling and use it like a safety line.

  He stepped into the bathroom and firmly closed the door. The anger was rapidly dissipating in spite of his resolve. Holly had his best interests at heart, he knew. How could he resent her for it?

  Will pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door between them and felt like banging it repeatedly until the pain drove her out of his mind. That probably wouldn’t work, either. Nothing did, not even issues of national security.

  Holly paced in her bedroom, listening for the water in the shower to stop running. She worked to block out thoughts of him standing under the spray, soaping himself, muscles glistening as they had in
the tub at the safe house in Virginia.

  Eventually the shower cut off. She shook her head to clear away his image. Water ran again and she heard the tap of a plastic razor against the sink. Could he actually see himself in the mirror now?

  Her elation when he had told her he could see much better had faded somewhat. He hadn’t managed all that well on his trip to the kitchen earlier.

  That frowning, unfocused look he’d been wearing since he woke up from the coma hadn’t disappeared. More likely he only wanted her to quit hovering. She could understand that. He must be sick of being dependent on her by now.

  She jumped when the door to the bathroom opened, and quietly moved to stand in the doorway of her bedroom as he emerged. He wore only his sweatpants, the drawstring loose so that the waistband rode low. He kept one hand on the door and reached out to feel for the wall.

  His feet were bare. There was something strangely vulnerable about them. They were slightly tanned like the rest of him, though he had paled somewhat during his hospital stay.

  He had an almost daily dose of sun in his pool at home, since he swam in all seasons as part of his daily workout. Will was in remarkable shape considering what he had been through. Thank God he was or he’d never have been able to pull her out of that car and the river. She’d be dead now.

  “How’s the head?” she asked.

  He halted immediately, taking his hand off the wall as if embarrassed that she had caught him feeling his way around. “Fine. Still a little foggy from the sedative.”

  Ah, to explain away his groping, she supposed. “Come and lie down. The bed’s this way.”

  He appeared to be looking straight at her. Maybe she was wrong to think he had lied. Even as she thought that, he walked toward her, his gait natural, confident. He placed his hand on the door frame beside her. “In here?”

  She moved back into the room. “Straight ahead,” she told him, though his things were in the room behind him.