In the Crossfire (Bloodhaven) (16 page)

He stirred. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She attempted to put on her bra, but the material teased her too-sensitive flesh. She gave up the effort. She could walk home in the nude. “Goodnight, Liam.”

His hand snaked out to circle her calf. His palm was deliciously rough with calluses.

“Isobel?” He sounded confused. His voice, rasping with remnants of pleasure, made her want things she wasn’t supposed to want.

She stared down at him, clutching her clothes tightly. She was an utter wreck of thoughts and emotions. She felt something shift, and knew at once with desperate panic that she couldn’t do this. She didn’t do relationships. She’d been fine the way things were. She hadn’t been looking for change.

She couldn’t. . . . This wasn’t. . . .

“Goodnight, Liam,” she repeated. She backed away.

He let her go, his expression stark as she left him there, as she took her refuge in the comfort of shadows.

“Fuck protocol,” Jamal growled.

Isobel met his glare steadily. “The two-week leave period is mandatory, Jamal. You know that.”

Tubes shifted as Jamal glowered from his hospital bed. He’d been moved from the Council’s infirmary to Bloodhaven General’s ICU once his physical condition had been pronounced stable. The hospital staff could provide prolonged, intensive care here, which there was no denying he needed.

His torso and thigh, which had been surgically grafted and slathered in sealant gel to protect the injury sites, were now wrapped in shifter-grade Med-bands designed to speed up the healing process. Four years ago, it would’ve taken at least six months for the muscles and ligaments to repair and knit together, even given the shifters’ enhanced healing abilities. Now, thanks to advancements in the field of shifter medicine, Jamal was projected to show improvements in less than a couple of weeks.

If only everything was so easily healed.

The gel had been applied to his left wrist as well, but despite this and its thick bandage, a small crimson spot showed that blood was still seeping from the last time the dressing had been changed. Jamal’s hand had been ripped off at a jagged angle, further complicating his surgery. They’d managed to repair both his ulnar and femoral arteries, only just managing to stop the heavy loss of blood—a life-threatening situation on the operating table, if Isobel had heard correctly. The fact that Jamal was awake and in fighting mode right now was actually a good thing, in her opinion.

Her eyes wandered to that spot of blood. To his missing hand. A mocking reminder that there were some things medical advances couldn’t save.

She wanted to ask Jamal if he’d spoken to anybody about prosthetics, but she knew she couldn’t do it with him currently roiling with anger. When she’d arrived to visit him ten minutes ago, she’d witnessed him throwing a bedpan at one of the nurses. Fortunately, it’d been empty. Isobel had ushered the nurse out so that Jamal could take his anger out on her instead.

She could handle him. She was used to handling growly males.

She steadfastly refused to think about a particular growly male she’d avoided when leaving her house that morning, or of her pleasantly languid muscles that had tempted her to linger abed.

No, she’d ruthlessly denied her body’s wish to indulge in satiated recollections of the previous night. She’d woken Naley up far earlier than necessary, listening to her niece’s groggy grumbles as they had breakfast. She’d dropped Naley off at school for weekend practice before heading over to HQ. After submitting her report, Isobel had turned in her gun and badge as required prior to her mandatory leave. The Council also deactivated her access to their resources for the remainder of that period, to be reinstated once she was back on-duty.

That done, she’d attended the first in a series of required visits to the staff psychologist. It was another routine part of protocol for agents emerging out of certain brutal, demanding missions. She hadn’t seen Malcolm in the waiting room, but that wasn’t unusual; they usually preferred to stagger the session days for agents involved in the same mission, so his session likely took place tomorrow.

Now she was officially off-duty. She’d arrived at the hospital to visit Rex and Jamal, who were stationed in the shifter wing. The antiseptic smells in this wing weren’t as harsh and offensive to the olfactory system, and though the machine beeps and announcements over the intercom couldn’t be avoided, the soundproofing here was better than in the human wing.

Rex and Jamal were on different floors, but they had their own rooms in a secure section of the building on account of their status as Council agents. Isobel had looked in on Rex earlier, but he’d been fast asleep so she hadn’t stayed. The nurse there said he was recovering speedily, though, so he was doing much better than Jamal.

Speaking of which. . . .

Jamal scowled at her from his bed. He thumped his fist on the sheets.

“You’re the best agent in the field and the Council knows it,” he snarled. “It should be you out there hunting Ogden down right now, not some junior-level hack. Who’s out there, Reaver? Thomson? Did they send
Lewski?
”

“Jamal. . . .”

“If it’d been you going after the Ogdens in the first place—”

He stopped. Isobel finished the sentence: “Then none of this would’ve happened?”

His jaw worked. “You know I don’t blame you, Isobel.”

He’d used her first name. He really was struggling, she thought with dismay.

“Maybe you should,” she murmured. If she hadn’t left in the middle of it all to return to Naley, Jamal wouldn’t have had to take her place, and he wouldn’t be here right now. But what else could she have done? Left Naley alone to fend for herself, perhaps for several days, while she went after the Ogdens? That hadn’t been an option. If something had happened to her while she’d been away . . . or worse, if something had happened to
Naley
while she’d been away. . . .

Naley was safe, but Jamal was here now, in this condition.

Isobel forced herself to slam the door on the insidious circle of guilt crowding out her thoughts. She couldn’t leave that door open. It would only let all the what-ifs consume her, and she’d seen too many agents go down for that.

She drew in a deep breath. “Who’s to say it wouldn’t have been me in that hospital bed right now? I know you, Jamal. We’ve worked together for a long time. You’re a good agent. There’s nothing you could’ve done that I wouldn’t have done differently.”

“How the hell do you know? You weren’t there!”

Isobel flinched. Jamal looked away.

“Then tell me,” she said softly. “What happened out there, Jamal?”

He gritted his teeth, avoiding her eyes. “You didn’t read my report?”

She shook her head. “You know I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to. I’m off-duty now, remember?”

He swallowed, then returned his gaze to hers. “The two scents diverged. Hagen and I went after Rupert, the others after Pierry. I didn’t wait; I was hot after the scent and outran Hagen. I didn’t realize that the scent had circled around to join the father’s until it was too late.”

Isobel kept her expression impassive. She had to.

“I was overpowered. In a moment of distraction with one Ogden, the other pressed my hand to his collar and initiated the release mechanism. Seems they’d paid close attention when we were putting the collars on them, because they knew exactly where on the panel to place my prints.” His jaw hardened. “The older Ogden shifted and sank his teeth into me to hold me down so that the son could release his own collar. I started to shift, raked my claws across Pierry’s face. That was when he got the collar off, shifted, and ripped my hand off.”

A tic throbbed hard in Jamal’s cheek. “Rupert tore me up a bit, then they both scattered when they heard the others coming. I was too consumed by pain to move. I should’ve moved, though. Should’ve called out a warning. Should’ve done
something.
” There was a hollowness in his eyes that Isobel instantly hated, instantly wanted to take away. “I didn’t see what happened, but I heard. I heard everything. The team had expected the Ogdens to be trapped in human form. They didn’t find out until it was too late.”

Isobel rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, but knew the words were inane and inadequate. Utterly useless right now.

He swallowed. She could see him visibly push back the emotions that threatened at the surface as he returned his steely glare to hers. “We all knew the risks when we took on this job, Saba. So shut the fuck up and find Pierry. You know you’re the one to do it.”

She wanted to. She wanted to find Pierry Ogden and press her blade to his throat. Make him pay for doing this to her friend. To Rex. For killing her colleagues. She wanted to hunt him down, but she’d been taken off this mission and placed on leave. Now she had to rely on other agents to finish the job. They’d better work fast, because the case would grow too damn cold for her to pick up again by the time she was back on-duty.

“There’s nothing I’d like better than to tear him apart with my bare hands, Jamal. But you know I can’t. Protocol. I’ve been placed off-du—”

Jamal snarled and slammed his fist against one of the machines hooked up next to his bed. A series of erratic beeps and alarms went off, and the room was instantly flooded with nurses and resident physicians.

“Fuck protocol!” he shouted as he wrenched off the tubes and wires connected to him. “You think protocol is going to fix any of this?”

Isobel started to step forward, but a security guard put himself in front of her. The guard knew she was an agent and so didn’t try any bullshit intimidation tactics, but his arched eyebrow indicated without words that it was best if she left.

“Fuck the Council,” Jamal yelled. “You can do better, Saba. You know that!”

Isobel had to force herself to walk away. She went down the hallway, toward the elevators, all while his voice continued to ring throughout the entire floor: “God-fucking-dammit, Saba, stop following the damn rules and go after the bloody bastard!”

* * *

Naley was upbeat when Isobel picked her up from practice. It helped ease Isobel’s tension from visiting Jamal.

“Can we get sushi for lunch first?” Naley asked, jumping into the jeep.

“Practice must’ve been a breeze if all you want is sushi after that hard work. What happened to the two dozen eggs a day?”

“Ha ha. Coach never said we’re supposed to have two dozen eggs a day.” Naley cast her a quick, suspicious look, but Isobel raised one hand from the wheel in a protestation of innocence.

“I haven’t talked to your coach at all. Wouldn’t want to send him into fits, or whatever it is you think I’m supposed to have done to him.”

“You’d better not. Anyway, sushi’s not
all
I’m eating.” Her tone added the unspoken
obviously.
“I just want it first. Then we can go to that barbecue place afterward, and finish off with ice-cream at Scooter’s. There’s a sushi place near where Liam dropped off his stuff yesterday. I can show you that crazy expensive rocking chair I was telling you about.”

Isobel maneuvered the jeep around downtown traffic. She refused to react to the mention of Liam’s name. She’d never run from a challenge in her life, and was pissed at knowing she’d done essentially that when she’d backed away from Liam last night.

She wouldn’t think about how he’d felt inside her, thick and hard and thrusting to the hilt.

She didn’t
do
complicated.

Damn, she still burned. And the burn was even worse now, knowing he was so close, right there within reach. She could just walk over to his cabin and jump him. All she’d have to do was ask.

She wasn’t going to ask.

Isobel knew where Hooper’s Fine Furnishings was, but Naley pointed the way anyway. The girl was out of the jeep before Isobel had even finished parking. “Come and see,” she said enthusiastically, tugging on Isobel’s arm.

Isobel, amused, let herself be dragged over to the store window. She did a quick sweep of their surroundings on the way. She might be officially off-duty, but cataloging everything around her with swift precision was second nature, as instinctive as breathing. Human mother twenty feet ahead, pushing her baby in a stroller. Three humans and two shifters—fox and jaguar—outside an Italian restaurant, arguing about going elsewhere for their lunch meeting. Two wolf-shifters lounging idly across the street.

No, that wasn’t right. Their casual slouching was feigned, their eyes too watchful. Isobel studied the two men, taking note of their description before returning her attention to Naley.

“That one, see?” Naley pointed through the storefront window. “Twelve hundred. Can you believe it? Oh hey, Mrs. Hooper’s there. Hi, Mrs. Hooper!”

Naley waved through the window. Isobel saw an older woman flap a hand back before turning to the customer she’d been speaking to.

Isobel’s senses spiked to full attention. She didn’t need to turn around to know that the two wolves behind them were crossing the street.

“Naley,” she said casually, “why don’t you go in and say hi to Mrs. Hooper?”