Seek and Destroy (3 page)

    "I was on the pill, for crying out loud. I have half a mind to call them. Birth control, my ass."

    The Webers both sported their field BDUs, black on black with more black. David viewed his appearance by slowly glancing down so not to pass out from the movement. Modeling a lovely hospital gown of threadbare white and ugly-ass blue paisleys, he'd groan if he had the power. He hated white, hated blue, and hated hospitals.

    "It is only 99.8% effective," Weber defended as he paused and looked at her, his overbearing frame taking up half the tiny hospital room. JT held her own against her husband, easily softening his rougher edges.

    He noticed how Dan didn't seem nearly as upset about the pregnancy. Interesting. David always took him as the loner type. Having him marry any woman, let alone a fireball like JT shocked the shit out of him. Knowing he seemed keen on having a family opened up a whole new side of the surly director.

    The poor sorry bastard. David wouldn't want to walk a day in his friend's shoes for one nano-second. Sure, JT made last year's Playmate-of-the-Year look like a monkey in a dress. Her dark waves fell down to the middle of her back now, and her enormous green eyes melted a man's heart while at the same time giving him a raging hard-on. If she and Weber hadn't already had a thing going when he met them down in Colombia, he would have gone after her himself.

    Thank God for unexpected miracles. She may be the best shot NASSD had ever possessed and every man's wet dream-Weber's original description, though he did agree with it-but she had a temper on her only Weber could handle. Hell, Weber was the only one who handled any part of JT. And vice versa. They were a perfect match.

    His mind rested on that thought as he struggled to focus on anything other than the raw pain encompassing his body. Did such a thing as a perfect match even exist? A soul's mate? Not in his eyes. A person only got one chance on this rock. No way would he spend his time here searching for that one person, not when there were so many women, and only one of him. Besides, he'd learned his lesson the hard way, wasted enough time on someone he thought to be his perfect match.

    If he could have thrown out a cynical laugh without passing out, he would have. His greedy, horny-for-everyone's-cock-but-his bitch of an ex-wife possessed all the traits the opposite of his perfect match. He felt the bitterness start to drive up his pulse. The monitor next to him beeped in time with the beat of his heart, the sound reminding him of a tracking device as it closed in on its target. Beep. Beep.
BeepBeepBeep
.

    He slowed his breathing as best he could under the circumstances. The unbelievable pain coursing through his body, along with the goddamn annoying beeping of the monitor, told him the bullet hadn't killed him. He darted his gaze around the room, careful not to move.

    
"David?"
An echo of a whisper landed in his ears. The voice, like an angel, so tender and soothing, comforted him and he closed his eyes as the sound dulled everything around him. He felt the weight of her hand on his arm. It sent warmth shooting through him, numbing his pain while at the same time charging his senses.

    He almost pictured her eyes. Those haunting blue eyes watched him every time he closed his.

    His mind drifted back to almost five years ago, chasing down a target in the mountains of Montana. He'd tracked him to a tiny shack in the middle of BFE and, up until he'd spotted another agent fifty yards out, he thought he'd been there alone.

    He didn't know another agency had been tracking the same madman and had a bead on him at the same time. When he'd realized the other agent was female, he froze in his tracks just long enough to commit every curve of her body to memory. There weren't too many female agents, and even fewer in the field.

    That pause ended up saving his life. He tensed against the harsh memory. Sure, his raging hormones saved his life, but not hers. Even after all these years he still saw the perfect outline of her pretty face.

    The face? No, not the face. The
eyes
. Those eyes now floated in his subconscious, only this time they didn't drive that dagger of regret into his heart. This time they shined down on him. Angelic. Hypnotic. Piercing deep into his tortured soul.

    He blamed himself for her death. He spotted the wire moments before she did. He could have given up his position and pointed it out, hollered for her to stop. It might have cost him his life, but it would have at least saved hers.

    "No," he muttered, the combination of the horrific memory and the angry pain from the gunshot pulling his mind back to the present. What little sharpness he had started to blur and he felt ready to give back in to the darkness threatening to pull him under.

    "He's in and out. I'll come back later," he heard his angel announce. He wanted to protest, to beg her to stay and talk to him, to touch him again and send his demons away. He loved the sound of her voice, the feel of her touch. But then his angel left his side and David felt a void clear into his soul.

    

    Forcing his eyes open, he blinked at the grit until he found the strength to focus. Damn, he hurt from asshole to elbow. He lifted his left shoulder. Manageable pain. He tried to lift his right shoulder and nearly screamed. Not so manageable. He cut off a grunt and rested his head back on the pillow, panting in agony.

    Drugs. He needed drugs, and a shitload of them.

    "He's awake," JT pointed out.

    David went to lick his lips. They felt like sandpaper and hurt, too. His mouth felt dryer than a popcorn fart. As he tried to take a breath to speak, he felt that familiar vise grab hold of his chest and squeeze until his eyes burned and watered. The searing rush of torture took over, leaving no room for reason. It blinded him, took his breath away. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. It consumed him, forcing his heart to race, his blood to thump in his ears. He tensed, his hands clenching into fists, all the muscles in his body stiffening in an attempt to help manage the unyielding agony.

    It didn't.

    "David?" JT ran to his side. "David? Are you okay?"

    He started to shake uncontrollably. His mouth salivated. He felt the goose bumps prickle his skin. "Hurt...all...over."

    "Can I get you something?"

    Yeah. Someone to knock him back out. At least then the pain wouldn't make him want to throw up. No doubt that would hurt like hell.

    "Angel." He wanted the angel from his dreams, the angel from his memories. "Angel," he repeated with more conviction, wanting her voice to pull him back under, the presence of her by his side to lull him back to sleep.

    "
David
?" As if conjuring her up, his angel's voice purred in his ears. The sound of her creamy voice dulled the roar enough for him to remain conscious. He felt her soft hand take his. Squeezing, he held on for dear life until he had the strength to fight off the blackness threatening to take him again. The shaking subsided to tremors.

    "Can you hear me, David?"

    He made a noise that sounded like a whimper. Oh, he heard her. He heard her every night in his dreams, felt her body next to his. In his dreams he'd tasted her lips, traced her body with his hands, starving for a taste of more. So much more.

    But she'd always been just out of reach when it came to him burying himself deep inside her. In his fantasy they weren't on that mountain on an op. Instead, they were there on a blanket, kissing. Exploring. Loving. He felt his dick twitch.

    Well, at least some things didn't hurt.

    Her beautiful face consumed his fantasies, but her eyes held all the power, and him captive. Soft eyes. Bluer than the ocean after a storm, he always imagined swimming in them, drowning in them. She had full, sensual lips. He wanted to touch them with his fingertips, his mouth, his tongue.

    "Angel?" He whimpered as the darkness threatened to take him again. He wanted to remain awake, wanted to see if his angel really existed or was just another haunting dream.

    "Let's give you something for the pain."

    Good. He kept his eyes closed and soon the bolts of pain rushing through his body started to dull. He fluttered his eyes open then and swore he spotted her standing there looking down at him, those mesmerizing eyes sparkling. But then everything started to dim and she faded. He gave up trying to remain conscious. As the torment slipped away, so did he.

    

    

    "How much longer is he going to be out of it?" JT's voice rang in his ears.

    "For the third time, JT. I don't know," Weber grunted. David blinked his eyes open. Testing his threshold for pain this time around, he took a shallow breath.

    It hurt, but at least it didn't threaten to send him back into unconsciousness. "'Lo?"

    JT jumped up and hurried over. "David? How are you feeling?"

    "Like I've been shot," he rasped and continued to blink the sleep out of his eyes. His voice sounded like someone scraped his larynx with a rusty blade, and a dull one at that. "What time is it?"

    "More like what day is it," Dan Weber answered and let out a long, tired sigh. He yawned and stood to stretch. It looked like it felt so good. He wanted to stretch like that but knew it would be too much for him to bear. Instead, he sat in that bed, feeling pathetically sorry for himself, longing to be anywhere else.

    "I feel like hell."

    "You
look
like hell," Weber retorted lightly, mid-stretch.

    He narrowed his eyes. "Screw you. Change places with me then."

    Weber's face grew serious, hardened. "I would if I could, my friend. You and I both know that bullet had my name on it. It should be me in that bed, not you."

    He wanted to shrug it off, but knew even that little of movement would send him back into convulsions. They both knew the risks going into the op. Agents put their lives on the line every damn day. That day was no different. That bullet could have gotten either one of them. He just happened to be the lucky recipient.

    Real lucky.

    "I guess that means you owe me one," David teased.

    "I owe you more than that. You saved my life."

    He didn't see it that way. They were two agents watching each other's backs. Weber would have done the same. "How long have I been out?"

    "Almost a week."

    The news slammed into his chest. The vise tightened its grasp. As if it didn't already hurt to breathe. "Oh shit." David tried to swallow, only to have his throat choke him with the dryness. He fought against the urge to cough, knowing the gesture would probably send him back into the black abyss of unconsciousness. "Water?"

    JT nodded and grabbed a cup with a flex straw. She held it to his lips as he took a drink. Smiling, she brushed his forehead with her fingers. "They told us we almost lost you."

    He swallowed back another cough and darted his eyes to Weber. At least that didn't hurt.
Much
.

    "The bullet," Weber explained as he approached the bed, "shattered your shoulder blade. The little pieces of shrapnel took a ride and played pinball inside your ribcage."

    "Why can't I breathe?"

    "A piece no bigger than a cunt hair-" Weber stopped himself when JT cleared her throat. With a forced smile, he went on. "A small piece of the shrapnel shredded the lower half of your right lung. They found dozens of bullet fragments scattered all through your torso. They saved what they could."

    He felt the warmth drain from his face and glanced down under the covers. "Am I still a whole man?"

    "No one touched you below the waist."

    "What a crime," David mused lightly, thinking of the angel from his dreams.

    Weber attempted to smile, then must have decided against it. He was never one for sugarcoating anything. "You're pretty damn lucky to still be here, my friend. The asshole that shot you used a bullet with an explosive hollow point."

    Before he had the chance to ask what else might be missing, the doctor walked in. David glanced over toward the door and almost swallowed his tongue, sucked in a breath.

    And instantly regretted it. Swallowing down the sheer anguish and the explicit cuss word he wanted to shout out because of it, he kept his focus on the doctor. Son-of-a-bitch.

    
Angel
.

    She stood about five nine, chocolate-colored spirally curls tied back at the base of her delicate neck. The ponytail traveled down to the middle of her shoulders. Her deep, wide-set blue eyes, the exact shade he remembered from his dreams, were shadowed behind attractive glasses with rims the same incredible color.

    
His
angel. The angel from his fantasies. The agent from that op. From his nightmares?
Alive
.

    And even more breathtaking than he remembered, which said something since he had a photographic memory and recalled every last detail of that day. Every detail except her. Was her skin always that creamy? Why did his mouth water at the sight? His entire being sprang to life. A tingling started deep in his balls, tightening them as well as his cock. But, above all his other reactions to her presence, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

    She hadn't died in that blast.

    "It's you," he breathed. "You're real. You're
alive
."

    She smiled a breathtaking smile as she approached his bed, lighting up the entire room with her presence. Licking her lips, she broadened her amazing smile. Warmth enveloped him, storming his body with vibrations that stemmed from his soul. "Someone's been hitting the morphine."