by Kris Norris
Either way, he smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “Ice was just in here. He thought you should try to eat something. And he has some more meds you need to take before you head back to bed. Think you could sit up? Maybe eat some soup or some bread?”
She frowned. “Ice?” Why did that name sound so familiar?
“Ice. Russel Foster. Air Force PJ, or at least, he was. He works for Cannon, now. You met him a few times—”
“Right. Ice. Sorry, things are a bit…fuzzy. I didn’t make the connection to back…” She cleared her throat. Talking about the past was not the road she wanted to go down. “Anyway, I assume he’s the one who stitched me up? Saved my life? Other than you and Cannon. If you hadn’t opened the door…”
She’d be dead. Lying in a pool of blood on the doorstep. Had there been a mat? Something to help contain the spillage? Or would they have had to clean it all up? Wash it away just like her past had been washed away.
Brett shrugged, though his eyes narrowed. Darkened. And a slash of red crept along his cheeks. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know how Ice does it. Looking at you…” He swallowed, and she could have sworn it had taken strength. Concentration just to get his throat to work. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing the man works miracles. So, some soup?”
He actually expected her to eat when simply sitting there, breathing in his scent, his very presence, tied her stomach into a thousand knots? Made the thought of eating seem as hard as escaping had been?
He didn’t seem the least bit…off. Was the same calm, cool, soldier she’d fallen in love with. And she’d done her best to become just like him over the past few years, only without the compassion. She’d heard her colleagues describe her as hardened. Cold. And that’s the way she preferred it.
Except here. With Brett—Colt. Damn, she hated not knowing how to interact without crossing lines she couldn’t see. Her intelligence—her ability to communicate—had always been her strongest asset. The reason she’d joined the service—had gone into Military Intelligence. And now, she was left floundering. Relying only on the physical skills she’d honed over the past few years.
“El? You okay? Should I get Ice back in here?” He turned, but she managed to grab his arm. Stop him.
Damn, the man was strong. Muscled. Not that he hadn’t been before, but he’d taken it to a new level. As if he’d spent every spare moment over the past five years moving as much iron as he could. And it showed.
“I…It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need you to call Ice. And I was hoping I could start off with a trip to the bathroom. Is it far?”
Christ, she must be losing it if she was questioning if she could walk to the bathroom. Though, she’d be lying if she said simply grabbing Brett’s arm hadn’t cost her some of her energy. Felt as if she’d been drained by over half, already.
“Not far, at all. Though, in your case, it might as well be on the moon. Ice says you’re better but…you still look like death to me. And I can feel your grip weakening as we speak.”
He shuffled so he was perpendicular to the bed instead of hovering over her. “Can you put your arms around my neck? It’ll be more comfortable for you that way.”
“More comfortable when you do what, exactly?”
“Carry you.”
She snorted. “I think I can walk to the bathroom without keeling over.”
“Would you care to wager on that? Because I lost fifty bucks on a hockey game the other night, and this would be easy money.”
“I can see hanging around with Cannon all this time has improved your charm.”
“Sweeter than ever. Now, are you going to accept my help, or should I just call Ice in so he can be here when you give yourself a concussion?” He winked at her. Actually winked, the jerk. “I don’t think he had to treat you for that, yet. Might be a refreshing change from gunshot wounds and electrical burns.”
That tone. The one he’d used that first night when he said they’d talk—it was back. As if her wounds had upset him—angered him. And by the sounds of it, they knew far more than she wanted them to. Had deduced she’d been held. Which, of course, they had. They’d seen their share of captive prisoners—had rescued enough brothers from enemy forces—to know interrogation techniques when they saw them. Though, the burns hadn’t been that obvious. Her captures had seen to that—less evidence to connect back to them. But…Ice was thorough. Had been a damn good medic from what she remembered—the praise he’d gotten from Brett and the others. Stood to reason he hadn’t missed anything.
Ellis sighed. “Wasn’t exactly a fun time for me, either, but… Fine. I’d appreciate the lift. Just this once.”
“Right. Arms…”
She reached up when he leaned down, groaning against the burn through her side. She hated that he was right. That she wouldn’t have made it any farther than she had the other night before falling down. Not that she’d admit it. She’d worked hard since joining the Agency to overcome any physical weakness the military hadn’t beaten out of her, and admitting to some, now, wasn’t going to help her fight back against the company. The one she’d thought was honorable—was dedicated to waging the war against terrorism.
Colt waited for her to thread her fingers together behind his neck before scooping her into his arms. She inhaled when the tee rode up, dangerously close to baring her ass. Not that he hadn’t seen it before, but… They weren’t together. Weren’t a couple. And somehow, being naked beneath the shirt made her feel more vulnerable than when she’d been down to a bra and panties with the creeps who’d tortured her.
Probably had something to do with the butterflies congregating inside her stomach. The ones that wouldn’t sit still and insisted on fluttering about. That or the way her pulse kicked up the moment he pressed her against his chest.
Brett tsked. “You’ve lost weight. Was there something wrong with how you looked before? Did some asshole tell you that you weren’t pretty enough? Make you feel like you had to conform to some Hollywood ideal?”
Did he seriously think she’d had any kind of life since him? That the changes in her appearance hadn’t been wrought out of necessity?
“There haven’t been any guys, assholes or otherwise. And it’s called training. I actually weigh about the same, it just looks different.”
“Badass. Yeah, we noticed.”
He stopped at the door to the en suite. Five steps. That’s all it had taken to cross the room. And about three more than she probably could have achieved.
He placed her gently on her feet. “Do you think—”
“Got it covered. Promise.”
He frowned, glancing from the toilet over to the sink then back. “You sure? It’s not far, but…”
“Positive. More than enough items to brace myself on. I’m good.”
His frown deepened, but he nodded. “I’ll be right outside. If you think, for even a second, you’re going to fall or pass out…”
“I’ll call for backup.”
“Stubborn.”
But he reached in after she’d made her way inside and closed the door, giving her some much-needed privacy. Which should have made it easier to breathe, but knowing he was standing on the other side, listening—and she knew he was. Waiting for the slightest indication she was in trouble—only increased the tight feeling in her chest, and she had to physically force in a few deep inhalations before she was able to stumble to the toilet—take care of business.
Groping her way to the sink was harder than she’d anticipated, the stitches in her side pulling with each step. And when had her legs gotten so weak? Standing shouldn’t be this hard. She’d been doing it all her life. Yet, her muscles shook as she turned on the taps—managed to splash some water on her face. God, she looked as if she’d gone a few rounds in the ring and lost. Horribly.
Ellis glanced longingly at the shower. What she wouldn’t give for five minutes under the spray. Wash the grime out of her hair—bits of dried blood off her skin. Brett or Ice or one of his buddies had obvi
ously cleaned her up as much as possible, but it didn’t compare to cascading water. To the feeling of rinsing all her troubles away.
And there was that lingering feel of those bastard’s hands on her skin. The rough glide of their palms. The stench of sweat and smoke.
“El? You okay?”
Did he have to keep calling her that? The nickname only he’d ever used? She’d never really liked her name—the short forms even less. So, to everyone she’d ever met, it had been Ellis. Not El or Ellie. Ellis. Until she’d met Brett. The way the single syllable had rolled off his lips… It had felt right. Hearing it, now…
She wasn’t sure how to respond. Obviously, it was the by-product of habit. Of two years’ worth of dating. It didn’t mean anything else. Couldn’t.
The handle rattled then opened, and she looked into the mirror at his reflection. Damn, he was handsome. Almost pretty in his features and definitely not someone she’d peg as a hardcore Delta Force soldier. Surfer, sure. Maybe even a model. Not a deadly threat. But, that had always worked to his advantage. Was part of the reason he’d been so good at getting intel from the locals. He didn’t look threatening. Lethal.
He was both.
She arched a brow. “Something wrong? Am I not allowed a bit of time to wash my face? Give my teeth a scrub?”
“I asked if you were okay, and you didn’t answer. I reacted, accordingly.”
“I was busy. But, since you’re here…don’t suppose I could trouble you for a towel? So I can take a dip in your shower?”
She knew by his reaction—furrowed brow, pursed mouth—that he thought she was crazy. That he could see just standing there was taking all her strength. That there wasn’t a hope in hell she’d be able to get in and out of the shower, let alone wash her hair, clean herself, without getting one of those concussions he’d mentioned. But, it was worth asking.
He took a step closer. “I know you probably feel like crap, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t know if Ice would even allow it. Your wounds—”
“Are bad. Yeah, I know. But, my mental state is equally important, and it needs to wash this entire incident off me.”
“Mental state? Wait. Did they…” His jaw clenched. Repeatedly. Jumping the muscle in his temple. “Fuck, El, did they…” He swallowed hard, again. Like before. As if it hurt. “Did they…rape you? Is that what this is about?” He wet his lips, glancing around the room. His eyes were wide, almost panic stricken. As if he hadn’t considered the possibility. Not when it was foreign to him. When he wasn’t capable of that form of violence. “Shit. Wait here. I’ll get Ice. He—”
“Easy there, Brett. You’re going to give yourself whiplash if you keep hopping from one assumption to the next like that. No, they didn’t actually rape me, but… That doesn’t mean they didn’t grab me. Didn’t put their hands on me. That I can’t still feel all it. So, yeah, I’d like to wash that off, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Actually? What the fuck does that mean?”
Shit. She shouldn’t have said anything. Brett was a natural protector. She knew the bruises and wounds had probably set him off. Made him edgy. But thinking they’d touched her—been inappropriate… He’d be seeing red.
“What it means is, they were stupid and let their guard down. Allowed me to capitalize on a moment of weakness and escape. Nothing more. Now, about that shower…”
He didn’t ease up, but he nodded. “Even if it won’t compromise your injuries, you’re not in any condition to go in there, alone. Ice is a medic, he—”
“I don’t need a medic to babysit me in the shower.”
“Then, I can ask Jericho. She’d be more than willing to help. And she just got back with Cannon.”
Jericho? Who the hell was Jericho? Shit, was she Brett’s girlfriend? After all, it had been five years. And Brett was gorgeous. Strong and sweet and any woman’s dream. Thinking he was still single—that he hadn’t moved on—was foolish. He wasn’t wearing a ring—she’d checked. Not that she was proud of that fact, but not sporting jewelry didn’t mean they weren’t together.
“Jericho?”
“Cannon’s girl—partner.”
“Wait. Cannon has a girlfriend? As in an actual relationship?”
“For several months, now. Pretty sure they’ll get hitched but that doesn’t seem to be too pressing. They’re totally devoted to each other. Kinda creepy after never seeing him with anyone, before. But…” He made direct eye contact. “Guess he realized there’s more to life than endless missions. That having someone to share it with makes it all worthwhile. Took him long enough.”
If she’d wondered if he had unresolved issues regarding their previous relationship, the way she’d left, he’d just clarified it. And based on the increased red across his cheeks, he wasn’t happy with that fact.
Good, neither was she. But those questions would have to wait until after she felt human, again. Not that a shower would accomplish that, but it was a start.
He tilted his head then raked his hand through his messy locks, somehow managing to make himself look even sexier than before. “I’ll go get Jericho—”
“No. Really, I’ll be fine.”
“You really won’t.” He moved in a bit closer. “Jericho’s great. You’ll like her. And she’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal, so, she won’t freak out over seeing the cuts and bruises. In fact, she helped stop the bleeding while we were waiting for Ice to arrive.”
Ellis inhaled. A Deputy U.S. Marshal? Fuck, had the woman called in the incident? Ellis had been shot, so it was standard protocol. Notifying the authorities. But if they used her name…
“Whoa, El, the color just drained from your face. Are you feeling faint? Like you’re gonna puke?”
She met his concerned gaze—did her best not to make any of his questions a reality, before managing a breath. “She’s a marshal? God, Brett, please tell me she didn’t report this? Shit, if they know I’m here. That I’m still alive—”
“Easy, sweetheart. She’s been around us long enough to know some matters can’t go through the regular channels. Showing up bloody with armed men shooting through the door… It wasn’t hard to figure out this needed to be kept on the down low. And the last thing she’d want to do is put your life in jeopardy. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re a Jane Doe over at Harborview. Jericho used her connections to get it on the books. It won’t last long, but we’ll hopefully have more intel by then—know better how to keep you safe, so…breathe.”
More intel? How to keep her safe? Christ, all she’d wanted was to get some help. A few pints of blood, or a lift to the hospital that she’d planned on ditching the moment she woke up. And now, it sounded as if she’d amassed her own squad. Brett’s squad. All without saying a word. By just arriving on his doorstep bloody and broken. Which seemed crazy. They hadn’t come looking for her before. When she’d actually meant something to Brett. When she’d needed them to hold true to the code—not leave her behind. Thinking they might rally, now, after all this time…
It made his request to breathe impossible. Not when everything was spinning out of control faster than she could regain her footing?
She sank down onto the side of the tub, hoping that the shakiness in her legs was from the blood loss and not the prospect of spending more time with the man standing in front of her.
He followed her down, gently touching her chin then lifting it. Their gazes locked, and damn if her stomach didn’t flutter, again. The man was just too handsome.
He smiled. “You never were one to accept a lot of help. Always something to prove.”
“Please, the military is still very much a boy’s club. I was expected to prove myself.”
“Doesn’t look like your new job is any better in that department.”
Shit. Now, he was asking about her job. While he hadn’t said the words operative, agent or CIA, she knew that’s what he was thinking. What they were all likely thinking based on how she’d arrived on their doorstep. And she wasn
’t sure if she could go down that road. Talk about what had happened.
He grunted at her silence. “Okay, then how about a compromise? I’ll help you into the tub, where you’ll sit, just like this, on the back edge. I’ll get the water and soap ready for you, then turn around while you lose my shirt and use the hand spray to wash off the important areas—avoiding the wound Ice stitched closed. Then, when you’re done, you can lean forward, and I’ll run the water through your hair. It won’t be the same as standing under the spray, but you’ll feel better, and Ice won’t want to kill either of us for putting your safety at risk. Deal?”
His shirt? Of course, it was his shirt. She was in his apartment. His bedroom. But, she’d managed to ignore that fact, until now. No wonder it smelled like him. And had he actually suggested she get naked while he was still in the room? Modesty or not, she wasn’t sure she could do that and remain sane. After years of wishing she could have one more night with him—a chance to say a real goodbye, because love or not, she couldn’t be near him while involved in the CIA. Wouldn’t put him in the crosshairs that came with the job—even sitting there bent over as he washed her hair seemed dangerously intimate.
“El?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Where the hell had that come from? Hadn’t she just told herself it was a bad idea? That this was risky territory she shouldn’t be considering?
A smile. Not a real one that reached his eyes, but a fairly convincing fake one. “I think I can manage.” He reached for her hand. “Ready?”
Chapter 7
This was insane. He was insane. No man in his right mind would willingly volunteer to help his ex-girlfriend—the extremely sexy one he was still hopelessly in love with. Who’d ripped out his heart with a lame ass Dear John letter in the middle of the damn desert and had probably planned on strangling him with his own leather belt just thirty-six hours earlier, unless he’d lost his fucking mind.
