Midnight Pursuits (5 page)

He kept her in the bathtub for almost a half hour, his knees digging into the uncomfortable linoleum floor as he stayed at her side, running the cloth over her face. The water and antibiotics must have done the trick, because he could see the flush leaving her olive-colored cheeks, feel her skin getting cooler beneath his touch.

When he was satisfied that the fever had lowered, albeit slightly, he left her in the tub and went to the closet by the door, where he grabbed a fresh set of linens and proceeded to strip the bed of the bloody sheets and bedspread.

A few minutes later, he deposited Juliet between the clean sheets and covered her with the thin blanket he found in the bottom drawer of the pine dresser.

She didn't rouse the entire time, but he wasn't worried about her state of unconsciousness. She needed rest, first and foremost, while her immune system battled the infection.

Fuck, he needed rest too, he realized when he felt his eyelids drooping. Sighing, he unzipped his parka and tossed it on one of the two armchairs by the curtained window. He removed the shoulder holster that housed his twin Sig Sauer pistols, but held on to the Glock that had been tucked in the waistband of his cargo pants. As he sank into the second armchair, he caught sight of a black duffel bag sticking out from beneath the bed. Juliet's gear. Val had already checked it out, commenting that the woman traveled with a shit ton of firepower.

As an afterthought, Ethan quickly got up and dragged the bag over to his feet. Just in case Juliet came to, forgot who he was, and decided to surprise him with a bullet to the chest. He made a mental note to peek at the contents of the bag later, but first, he had to get some sleep.

He needed to be firing on all cylinders when Juliet woke up. He got the feeling men underestimated her, too dazzled by her gorgeous face and delectable figure, but Ethan knew that even injured, Juliet Mason posed a serious threat. He had no intention of letting her weakened condition lull him into a false state of security.

Which was why he kept a tight grip on his Glock even as he drifted into much-needed slumber.

•   •   •

Juliet opened her eyes to find a very familiar man sleeping in the chair across the room. She squinted, blinked, tried to orient herself. Tried to make sense of why Jim Morgan's man was in her hotel suite.

Where the hell was Isabel? Now that the fog was slowly lifting from her brain, she remembered the SOS call she'd made to her colleague, but she couldn't recall whether she'd actually spoken to the blond chameleon. No. No, she hadn't. She'd spoken to . . . Ethan Hayes.

Goddamn it.

Why had he come?

And why was he pointing a gun at her?

Okay, it wasn't pointed
at
her. The sleek gray weapon was resting on his thigh, with his right hand casually draped over it. But he was armed nonetheless, which kind of irked her.

She swallowed repeatedly, hoping to bring moisture to her arid mouth, then allowed her gaze to settle on Ethan's face. He was too damn good-looking, an observation she'd first made back in Monte Carlo when she'd joined forces with him and his team to track down his missing boss.

Ethan had those classically handsome features that rubbed her the wrong way—straight nose, defined cheekbones, perfectly shaped mouth. His hair was light brown and cut short, and though his eyes were closed at the moment, she knew they were hazel and deeply intelligent.

Men as handsome as him tended to be manipulative scoundrels, at least in her experience. And just because she hadn't gotten a slimebag vibe from him last year didn't mean he wasn't one.

Although it pained her to admit it, she remembered a lot about this man. Like the fact that he was young—twenty-five, if she recalled correctly. He was also a rookie on Morgan's mercenary team, a former Marine, and way too polite for his own good.

Well, not
always
polite. He'd definitely gotten snippy with her more than once when they'd last met. Granted, her needling him about his age had probably contributed to that. It sure had been fun teasing him, though.

But finding him here? Now?

Not fun. Not in the slightest.

She shifted on the mattress, noticing that the blood-stained sheets had been replaced with crisp, clean white ones. And her side wasn't throbbing anymore. How long had she been out?

The second she slid into a sitting position, Ethan's eyes snapped open and homed in on her.

“Good. You're awake.” His voice was deeper than she remembered. Huskier.

Sexier.

She ignored the inane thought and met his concerned gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass.” He rose from the chair in one fluid motion and, still holding his gun, strode toward her.

“And why the fuck are you armed?” she added irritably.

He glanced down at his hand as if he hadn't realized the weapon was in it. “Ah, sorry. I wasn't sure you'd remember me.”

“What, you thought I'd wake up and kill you?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” he said dryly.

“Aww, kiddo, are you scared of me? I'm flattered.”

Those hazel eyes darkened. “I'm not scared of you. I just happen to have a healthy respect for your skills.”

He set the gun on the dresser, then walked back to the bed. When he reached for the sheet covering her body, she scowled and pushed his hand away. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Checking your dressing.” Without missing a beat, he shoved
her
hand away and pulled down the sheet.

It took her a second to realize she was wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy black panties.

Her jaw dropped with incredulity. “Did you
undress
me?”

“Yep. Your fever was out of control, so I had to give you a bath.”

“You gave me a
bath
?”

“Yep.”

Juliet had to smirk. “So, how was the show? Did you like what you saw?”

“I didn't look. I was too busy keeping you alive. Now, quit moving around so I can peek under the bandage.”

She was oddly annoyed by that breezy “I didn't look” remark of his but, at the same time, impressed by his professionalism. Most men would have totally ogled the naked woman in their arms, unconscious or not.

“You still haven't answered my question, by the way,” she told him.

“Which question was that?” He bent his dark head to check her dressing, and his woodsy, masculine scent surrounded her. The fragrance was familiar, one of those classic manly aftershaves that smelled like citrus and leather and a hint of spice.

Lord, his scent was addictive. So good she had trouble focusing.

“What you're doing here,” she said through gritted teeth. “Where's Isabel?”

“On her honeymoon. She forgot her phone, and I happened to be in possession of it when you called.”

Pain streaked through her when Ethan peeled away the tape holding the bandage in place, but the confusion swimming in her head overshadowed the discomfort. “So you came all the way to Eastern Europe yourself instead of giving Isabel the message?”

“She's on her honeymoon,” he repeated. “You're telling me you would've wanted her to abandon her new husband and race to your side?”

Juliet's indignation faltered. He had a point. Isabel was happy for the first time in her life, married to a man who adored her, a man who'd been able to look past her shitty background and fucked-up issues, a man who saw her for who she truly was.

Juliet had no doubt that her friend and colleague would have dropped everything to come to her aid, and she suddenly felt like a total ass for putting Isabel in that position. Sheesh. Maybe it was a good thing Ethan had intercepted her SOS.

And yet . . .

“Why didn't you send Abby?” she asked suspiciously. “Or ask Abby to get in touch with someone? Why did you travel halfway across the world to help a chick you don't even know?”

Rather than answer, he made a satisfied noise with his tongue. “The wound isn't oozing anymore. Those antibiotics must be working. How do you feel? Hot?”

Before she could respond, he placed his palm on her forehead, then pressed it to her cheek.

For some absurd reason, her heart actually skipped a beat. Oh, for Pete's sake. Why was she reacting to this man's touch? Scratch that—this
kid's
touch. Because that's what he was. A kid. A young, handsome, sweet kid that a woman like her would eat alive.

“Fever's definitely gone down,” he said with a pleased nod. “And to answer your question, I came because I owed you one. You helped us out last year. I'm just returning the favor.”

He swiftly covered her with the sheet, then straightened up and took a step back.

It occurred to her that he hadn't glanced at her chest the entire time he'd tended to her bullet wound. Not even once.

What kind of man didn't react when presented with a pair of bare tits?

A gentleman
.

Jeez, maybe she was still feverish. That would explain why she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Ethan Hayes. He looked bulkier than before, but that could also be due to his black cable-knit sweater. The thick material hugged his broad chest, and though his dark green cargo pants were by no means tight, they couldn't hide the muscular legs and taut ass beneath them.

The kid had a spectacular body—that was for sure.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked, one eyebrow arched.

She tucked the sheet around her torso and slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. The mere act sent another shooting pain to her gut, but it was a bearable pain, not the excruciating agony she'd experienced when the infection had been ravaging her body.

“Hey, easy,” Ethan warned, as she stumbled to her feet.

He was at her side in a flash, one large hand landing on her waist to steady her.

“I'm fine,” she insisted. “Seriously, I can walk.”

Rather than go all alpha male on her, he released her with a dubious look. “If you say so.”

She ended up proving him wrong, walking toward the bathroom with steady steps while clutching the sheet around her naked body. “I heal fast,” she informed him. “Nothing keeps me down for long.”

“I can see that.” He sounded amused. “By the way, don't think I haven't noticed you're avoiding the question.”

“What question?” She tossed him a look of pure innocence, then ducked into the bathroom and shut the door.

She took her time washing up and using the toilet, a part of her hoping that Ethan would simply leave if she stalled long enough. An examination of her wound revealed that someone had torn out the stitches she'd given herself in the car after she'd left Grechko's farmhouse. She wondered if it had been Ethan, but she had a vague recollection of a fair-haired man leaning over her, his large, graceful hand moving like a maestro's wand as he threaded her flesh with a row of neat stitches.

“Hey, did you arrange for a doctor to come here?” she called out, her stalling attempt trumped by her need for answers.

“Not exactly,” he replied from behind the door. “I contacted a colleague of mine before I left Colorado, told him to fix you up. He was with you until I got here.” There was a beat. “And you're still avoiding the question . . .”

An unwitting smile sprang to her lips. The kid was persistent; she'd give him that.

“How about grabbing me some clothes, kiddo?”

She heard footsteps, rustling noises, and then a sharp knock sounded on the door. She opened it a crack and accepted the pile of clothing he handed her. As she got dressed, her side started to throb again, a reminder that she still wasn't even close to recovered. She'd need to take it easy for a few days if she wanted to be in prime condition to take down Orlov.

Goddamn Orlov.

For a moment there, she'd actually forgotten about the son of a bitch. And her brother.

Now it wasn't just her side that ached.

Eight hours. The infuriating man had stuck around for eight hours already, and seemed to be in no hurry to leave, in spite of the numerous and not so subtle hints Juliet had dropped about his services no longer being required.

She couldn't believe how stubborn Ethan was about needing to know who hurt her. He hadn't left her side for an instant, except to let her use the bathroom, and there was no getting rid of him. She'd tried to achieve that result by suggesting he go and grab them some food. In response, he'd promptly called up the mercenary who'd stitched her up and had the man deliver food, coffee, and supplies right to their door.

Now Juliet eyed her rescuer-turned-intruder over the rim of her coffee mug, feeling more than a little resentful. “I can't believe Markin just showed up here like a deliveryman. What—if you work for Morgan, you just snap your fingers and people drop their lives for you?”

Ethan sipped his coffee. “Val technically works for Morgan too. And even if he didn't, the merc community looks out for its members. Now, quit deflecting and tell me how you wound up shot and bleeding in a Minsk hotel room.”

She decided to throw him a small bone.

“I had a run-in with a competitor, okay? Some bullets were exchanged, I got hit, and that's all she wrote.”

His lips twitched as if he were holding back laughter. “You really think I'm going to be satisfied with that half-assed explanation?”

“Frankly, I don't care if you're satisfied or not, baby.” She emphasized the word
satisfied
and threw in the
baby
just to see if she could make him blush, but he didn't give her the desired reaction. If anything, he looked annoyed, and, to her dismay, even more determined.

“You can deflect all day long,
baby
,” he said mockingly, “but I'll get some answers, one way or another.”

She smirked. “What are you gonna do, beat the story out of me? Or are you planning a different approach? Fucking it out of me, perhaps?”

Annnnnd there it was—the blush. Except his flushed face was accompanied by a gleam of heat that turned his eyes from hazel to smoky, sensual green.

The idea turned him on.

Jesus. It turned her on too. Her nipples were now harder than icicles and her core had clenched involuntarily, making her regret ever opening this can of worms.

“As appealing as either of those options sound,” Ethan said, his voice coming out raspy, “I'm choosing option number three.”

Her mouth had gone dry, so she had to clear her throat before speaking. “And what's that?”

“The shadow method.” Now he was the one smirking. “I'm not leaving your side until you tell me what happened. I'll stick to you like glue. Wherever you go, I'll go, until you're so sick of me you'll be begging me to
let
you tell me the whole story.”

Fighting her annoyance, Juliet stared longingly at the cell phone on the bedside table. It was practically screaming for her to use it.

“Go ahead,” Ethan cajoled. “Make your calls. I promise to stay quiet as a mouse.”

She scowled at him. Goddamn it. She didn't want to bring him into the loop, but at this point, what other choice did she have? The guy clearly wasn't going anywhere. To make matters worse, he'd asked his colleague to procure a startling amount of supplies—enough for them to hunker down in this room for weeks without ever having to step foot out of it.

Except now it was a matter of principle. She wasn't going to spill her guts just because he demanded it. Maybe that made her petty, but she hated taking orders from anyone. She followed Noelle's commands only because she trusted the woman implicitly and liked the arrangement they had, but there'd been times when even Noelle couldn't push her around.

“Nah, the calls can wait.” Setting down her cup, she picked up the remote control and turned on the small flat-screen that was mounted to the wall over the dresser.

The TV screen came to life, turned to a local news channel, but the lead story was of no interest to her. Something about a piece of legislature a senator was lobbying to pass, and it sounded so boring she promptly pressed the
MUTE
button.

“You're ridiculously stubborn. You know that?”

She glanced over at him. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“Hey, I don't think it's unreasonable of me to ask how you ended up with a bullet in your gut. You're the one who's being difficult.”

She shot him a sugary sweet smile. “You know, if you hadn't given me the whole shadow speech, I probably would have told you.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

Ignoring the accusation, she reached for her coffee and took another sip. “So, how's the new compound working out for you?”

“We're making small talk now?”

“Why not? It's better than sitting in silence.”

“Fair enough.”

He leaned back in the armchair, drawing her attention to the defined muscles beneath his navy blue polo shirt. He'd removed that heavy sweater a while ago, and, she had to admit, she was thoroughly enjoying the view provided by this tighter shirt. His chest was rock hard and rippling with power, a clear reminder of what he did for a living. He was a soldier. A warrior.

Jeez, why was she always attracted to dangerous men?

Wrong on both counts,
she had to remind herself.

Yup, because Ethan was neither dangerous nor a man. He was a twenty-five-year-old kid, and, sure, he had the skills necessary to excel as a mercenary, but he certainly didn't throw off any danger waves. At least none that she could see.

“The new place is pretty nice,” he said. “It's a damn fortress, totally impenetrable. And Costa Rica is hot. Humid as hell down there.”

She arched a brow. “Can't handle the heat?”

“Oh, I can handle it. Doesn't mean I like it, though. I've always been more of a winter person.” He offered an adorable shrug. “I like the snow.”

She jerked her thumb at the window. “Well, there's plenty of snow out there. Why don't you step outside and enjoy it?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice try.”

She sighed. “Why do you live on the compound, then? Why don't you just pick somewhere cooler to live?”

“My place is with the team.”

“Do you have any family?” she asked, then kicked herself for it. Hadn't she decided she didn't want to get to know him?

“Nope. You?”

“Nope,” she mimicked.

They eyed each other for a moment, sipping their coffee in silence.

Until finally Juliet couldn't take it anymore. “Seriously, kiddo, I don't need a babysitter. I'll be back on my feet in a day or two, and then I'm outta here. Wouldn't you rather head to Izzy's house in Vermont and go skiing or something?”

“You'll be outta here, huh?” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And where will you be going?”

“Nice try.”

This time
he
sighed. “You can trust me, you know. Whatever trouble you've gotten yourself into, I might be able to help.”

“What makes you think I'm in trouble?”

“Says the woman with the hole in her side.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Hazard of the job. Believe me, I'm not in any trouble.”

“You said something about a run-in with a competitor? What exactly does that mean? Were you working a job for Noelle and someone else interfered?”

“Why do you care so much? Can't you just trust me when I say it's nothing for you to worry about?”

“Can't you just trust me enough to offer a few measly details?” he countered.

Argh
.
The frustration returned, lodging in her throat like a piece of gum. She didn't understand Morgan's men and their need to throw themselves into matters that didn't concern them. Kane Woodland had done it with Juliet's colleague Abby a couple of years ago, inserting himself into Abby's mission, and Morgan seemed to call on Isabel whenever he needed someone to do undercover work for him.

And whenever those dudes found themselves in a jam, they had no qualms about reaching out to anyone they could.

Juliet
never
asked for help. She was even loath to contact Noelle when shit went south, only doing so as a last resort. And truth be told, “favors” aside, she'd helped Morgan's team last year because her boss had instructed her to, not out of the goodness of her heart. In Juliet's world, people looked out only for themselves, and when they came to your aid, it was only because they wanted something in return.

Well, she didn't want to owe any favors, and she certainly didn't trust anyone to look out for her. She'd been taking care of herself since she was five years old. Whatever obstacles she encountered, she was perfectly capable of facing them alone. She would be the one to avenge her brother. She owed him that.

“Look, if you're worried I'm going to interfere or pass judgment, don't be.” Ethan's quiet voice broke through her thoughts. “I just want to know what happened.” He paused. “I won't even offer to help with whatever it is you're planning, not unless you ask me to.”

She heaved out another sigh. “You really won't leave unless I tell you, huh?”

He just grinned.

Damn it, he looked cute when he grinned. Boyish. Which only cemented the fact that he was, essentially, a
boy
. In theory, the six-year age difference between them wasn't that huge, but Juliet had always felt older than her years. At six years old, she was already preparing meals for herself and her foster siblings. At ten, she was shopping for groceries. At twelve, she was working illegally at a dry-cleaning place to pay for her foster dad's booze.

And at thirty-one, she felt ancient. Far too hardened and embittered for someone as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as Ethan Hayes.

Not that she was interested in the guy or anything.

“Fine, I'll tell you,” she grumbled. “But only if you promise to get lost afterward.”

He chuckled. “So eager to get rid of me, aren't you? My feelings are hurt.”

“Too bad. Now, pay attention, because I'm only saying this once.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She ignored the mock salute he gave her. “My brother and his fiancée were gunned down a few days ago.”

Surprise flickered in Ethan's eyes. “Oh. All right. I wasn't expecting that.” He paused again. “I'm sorry to hear it.”

At the thought of Henry, her chest clenched with despair, but she forced herself to move past it. “When I visited my brother in the hospital, he described—”

“Wait. Your brother survived?”

“For a day. And then he died.” Her heart squeezed. “Anyway, Henry described the gunman to me, and when he told me about the way his fiancée had died, I knew immediately that it had been a hit. Two bullets to her temples, one between the eyes. There's only one contract killer I know of with that signature. So I tracked him down.”

Ethan's eyebrows shot up. “You tracked him down just like that? Who is he?”

“A man named Victor Grechko. Aka, the Siberian Wolf. He was well-known in assassin circles,” she said ironically.

“Was?”

“Let's just say Grechko is no longer a card-carrying member of the killer club.”

“You eliminated him.” There was no judgment in Ethan's voice.

“Yes, but not before I persuaded him to reveal who hired him.”

Suspicion crossed Ethan's expression. “And how'd you do that?”

She kept her answer vague. “A lady never tells.”

“Okay, so what you
are
telling me is that someone put out a hit on your brother and his fiancée—”

“Just the fiancée,” she cut in. “Zoya Harkova was the target. Henry was a casualty. He wasn't supposed to be home that evening. When he showed up unexpectedly, the Wolf pumped him full of lead and got the hell out of there.”

The pain returned like a flash flood, filling every inch of her body. Henry was dead. God, a part of her wished she was still feverish and unaware. At least then she could remain oblivious to the fact that the only person who'd ever truly cared about her was dead.

“Who was the fiancée?” Ethan asked briskly. “Why was she targeted?”

“I think it has something to do with her father. He works for the Ministry of Justice, but he's not a major political player, so I can't figure out why anyone would want to kill his daughter.”

“Did Grechko shed any light on it?”

“Nope. Most assassins don't question a client's motives. They just take the money.” She frowned. “Grechko said he was given Zoya's name and ordered to kill her. And she wasn't the only one he bumped off—apparently he'd already completed several jobs for the client, starting about eight months ago.”

Ethan's eyes narrowed. “How long did it take you to break him?”

His question triggered the memory of Grechko's screams. Those low howls of pain that had left the man's throat after he'd realized she wasn't messing around. The metallic scent of blood, along with the odor of smoke and urine, suddenly filled her nostrils, accompanied by another memory—one of Grechko's head being thrown back when she'd finally put a much-deserved bullet in it.

“Three hours or so,” she said without a trace of emotion. “I gave him a choice—if he talked, I'd kill him fast. If he didn't, I'd take my time. But either way he was going to die.”

Ethan let out a soft whistle. “No mercy, huh?”

“He killed my brother,” she said coldly. “Tell me you wouldn't have done the same if it had been one of your men.”

To her surprise, he didn't utter a denial. “I would've killed him in a heartbeat. But . . . I guess I'm having a tough time picturing you torturing a man. Not many people are capable of such brutality, even when it's necessary.”