Shadow Hawk (5 page)

Immediately, she opened her mouth to yell, but he stopped her but good.

This time with his mouth.

She was so stunned, it actually took Abby a moment to struggle. He was kissing her.

Really.

Kissing.

Her.

And, holy smokes, she had to work frantically to actually keep herself distanced…which turned out to be all but impossible with his lips slanting over hers, his tongue licking the inside of her mouth, consuming her, heating her up from the inside.

God. Six months of wondering how it'd feel to have his hands on her hadn't come close to the reality, but this wasn't the time to melt. No. No melting. This went against every thing she'd expected, against everything she'd experienced the last time a man held her down, and she didn't know how to react.

But Hawk did. Oblivious to her inner torment, he kept on kissing her. And if she'd thought accidentally brushing her nose against his neck had been heart attack inducing, it was nothing compared to mouth on mouth. His lips were surprisingly soft and yet somehow firm, and while she processed that realization, another came right on its heels.

She'd frozen like a scared little bunny, when she'd promised herself no more scared little bunny. It was why she'd talked Gaines into letting her come back to work after the leave of absence, it was why she'd chosen communications, where she could be in the action and yet not in danger.

Ha!

His tongue traced her lower lip, then slipped inside her mouth to tango with hers, reminding her she was in danger now, mortal danger of forgetting where they were.

Oh, no. Nope. Not happening. Again she came up hard with her knee.

But she'd lost the element of surprise, and he anticipated the move, shifting so that she caught him in the upper thigh instead as he kept kissing her.

She'd shoot him. Soon as she got her rifle back, that is. He still had one of his powerful legs between hers, pressed up high enough that she couldn't swallow without him feeling it, but she squirmed anyway. He merely pressed down harder, and unbelievably, it awakened parts of her that had been dormant for a long time.

Then he lifted his head, his breathing none too steady as he stared at her. “Two things. Gaines wants me dead, and I think he wants you the same. I need you to believe me.”

“No—”

“Goddamnit—” Hawk bit back the curse, then shook his head. “Fine. You won't trust me, then I have no choice.”

Reaching back, he grabbed something from his pocket. Handcuffs.

Abby met his gaze and at what she saw there, felt like she was straddling a steep crevice, about to plunge to a helluva fall. “Hawk.”

“Sorry.”

“Whoa. Wait a damn minute—”

He slapped the steel on one of her wrists and then on one of his, linking them together.

W
ATKINS STOOD ON THE EDGE
of the clearing, feeling the heat of the fire toast his face. The wind lashed at him, the smoke stinging his eyes. He'd directed Gaines's men out of there now that the explosions had gone off, and the fire was out of control.

Their job was done. Permanently. Most would vanish completely now with the booty Gaines had given each of them, although it was inevitable that some, the greedy ones, would continue with their illegal forays.

Not his problem.

His cell vibrated. He looked down at the readout and grimaced. He debated not answering, but that could be bad for his health. “Yeah?”

“How the hell did Logan get onto a heli-transport?” Gaines demanded. “He's supposed to be dead. You were supposed to have him killed.”

Watkins closed his eyes. He'd been paid extremely well over the years, and, as a result, he hadn't had a problem with how tonight was to go down.

But he hadn't agreed to off Logan.

Nor Abby.

Besides, there wasn't enough money to look into Abby's eyes and watch her die. There just wasn't. “Not my fault. Sam screwed up and didn't make sure he was dead before he tossed him off the roof. And then Abby ordered me to—”

“Christ. You let a woman run your show? You're worthless.”

The back of Watkins's neck tingled. His heart lodged in his throat. He turned in a slow circle, making it halfway around before he came face-to-face with two hooded men.

Gaines's men. “I thought I told you guys to get out of here.”

“Goodbye, Watkins,” Gaines said in his ear, just as one of the men lifted his gun and pointed it at Watkins's chest.

 

J.T. L
OGAN WAS DREAMING ABOUT
floating on a raft, surrounded by a sea of gorgeous, stacked
Playboy
centerfolds there to serve his every whim. Even dead asleep he knew the utter ridiculousness of the fantasy, and exactly how politically incorrect it was, but, hey, it wasn't his fault, he was dreaming.

But it didn't last long enough. As he came awake in slow degrees, pain spread like knives stabbing throughout his entire body.

Holy shit.
With a moan, he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at one of his
Playboy
centerfolds.
Huh?
Still dreaming? Hard to tell. She wasn't picture-perfect like the others nor magazine-cover ready, but there was something vibrant, something extremely real about her.

She wore blue, which contrasted with her siren-red hair, pulled into two haphazard braids on either side of her head. She was watching over him from behind black-rimmed glasses through which a pair of forest-green eyes, outlined by long, spiky lashes, blinked at him. These rather amazing eyes were narrowed, and her forehead was creased into a frown, with one eyebrow bisected by a scar that drew his gaze.

He couldn't look away. Oddly, he wanted to know what had happened to cause that scar more than he wanted to know why his head felt as if it'd been blown half off his shoulders.

She wore no makeup except for gloss on lips that were still frowning and also moving.

Asking him a question, he realized. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to hear a thing.

Yeah, he had to still be dreaming. But what was this harassed-looking, slightly rumpled
Playboy
bunny doing in his dreams?

The others had all been naked, and yet here she sat wearing clothes. Scrubs to be exact, which wasn't one of his particular fantasies, though he was always willing to—

Uh-oh.

Turning his head, he took in the sky. Ah. Not a
Playboy
bunny but an angel. Yeah, that explained it.

Except he didn't want to be dead….

Then Logan realized he was looking at the sky from a small window. He was flying. In a pretty damn fine helicopter, too.

Oh, boy.
Either he really was on his way to heaven, or he was in big trouble.

He'd take door number three instead, thank you very much.

Too bad that didn't appear to be an option.

His hearing was slowly coming back, though everything was sounding tinny and very, very faint, as if coming from miles away. And, damn, the pain had him gasping, wanting to curl into a ball.

Or hurl.

“What's your name?” the angel in scrubs was asking.

“J.T. Logan. Just Logan is good, though,” he answered automatically. Which was good, right? It was always good to know your name.

“Okay, J.T. Logan, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Now that stymied him, because, interestingly enough, he didn't see any fingers. Though he did see a lot of that red hair, escaping those messy braids. She had the kind of bangs that swept across her temple and down one side of her face, framing her jaw. Her ears were small, dainty, with two single gold hoops in one ear, and four in the other. Her V-necked scrubs were short-sleeved, revealing toned, tanned arms.

His angel liked to be outside, and she liked to be physical, which in no way took away from the fact that she was nicely stacked.

“How many fingers?” she asked again, bending over him to check one of the pieces of equipment behind him. As she did, her top gaped, revealing a pink bra beneath.

And a heart belly ring.

God bless the belly ring. “Two,” he answered definitively, looking at her breasts. “Pink cotton-clad—
ouch!
”

His angel jabbed him with a needle, which answered his question about heaven. He definitely wasn't there. Proving it, she pressed something just behind his ear, which came away bright red.

Blood.

His.

Ah, shit.
Pain continued to bloom through him.

“Nice gash there,” she said, still frowning. “You'll need stitches after X-rays.” Then she set down the blood-soaked cloth and ran her hands down his body, and he wished like hell he could feel them instead of the agony slashing through him because he'd bet her hands were warm and sweet and gentle—

“Besides the possible concussion, I'm going to guess at least two dinged-up ribs—” She paused, probing, while he did his best not to lose his dignity and throw up on her very clean, white athletic shoes. “Make that three.”

“That's probably going to hurt pretty good when I stop floating,” he said.

Again she leveled him with those green, green eyes. His beautiful, still-frowning flight nurse. “You feel like you're floating?”

“Better than puking, right?” Logan tried a smile and felt his eyes roll in the back of his head at the movement.

“Don't move.” She ran her fingers over his ribs and fire burst through his veins instead of blood.

“Holy shit!” he gasped. “What else is injured?”

“I'm guessing some internal bleeding. I think your right leg's fractured. Not sure about your hip.”

God.
He stared up at the ceiling of the chopper and concentrated on breathing. At least he was breathing. And then it occurred to him that he had no recollection of getting there. “What happened to me?”

“You don't remember?”

He stared at her as his brain hit Pause, Search and then Play. But all he could summon up were the
Playboy
models floating naked on the ocean, pleasuring him however he wanted, when he wanted. Somehow he didn't think she wanted to hear about that.

“It's okay,” she said, softening, her fingers touching his jaw. “Just relax, and—”

“Enjoy the flight?” He let out a laugh that definitely wasn't full of amusement. “That depends on what the in-flight movie is for today.” Logan went to sit up, and found his vision hampered by yet another explosion of white-hot pain.

“Yeah, that's your ribs. Hence the not moving suggestion.”

Got it. Not moving. Very carefully not moving. But as he lay back and went still, he wracked his brain for answers.

None came.

“What's your last memory?” she asked.

“Floating with the bunnies.”

She arched that scarred eyebrow. “The fluffy white-tail kind?”

“Um…sure.”

She eyed him, and he had a feeling he was slipping nothing by her.

“Huh,” she said. “Wonder what
bunnies
were doing at your raid.”

“Raid?”

She lifted up the flak vest she'd obviously had to cut off him. The big white letters across the back read
ATF Agent
.

And just like that, it slammed into him. Separating from Hawk on the roof. Hearing Hawk call out Gaines's name. Having it all make terrible gut-wrenching sense and then being hit over the head before being shoved off the roof. It hadn't been Gaines, he'd been on the ground, but one of Gaines's men. He knew it. “Hawk,” he said hoarsely. “Where's Hawk?”

His angel/nurse gently set a hand on his chest. Yep, just as he thought, she had a sweet touch. Sweet and unyielding.

Because she wasn't letting him get up.

“My partner,” he ground out, gasping as he lay back. “Do you know about him?”

Her eyes filled with compassion as she shook her head. “You're the only one we have tonight.”

“Cell phone. I need my—”

“Whoa there, cowboy.”

“I need to—”

“Breathe,” she said firmly, nodding when he gulped in air. “Yeah, just keep doing that.” She was leaning over him again, hands on his upper arms, holding him down. “That's it.” She looked behind him to the pilot. “Ethan, ETA?”

“Twelve minutes.”

“Almost there,” she told Logan, stroking a hand down his arm and back up again, in a manner that was incredibly calming. “You've had quite the night, haven't you?”

“I need to call in—” He broke off at a wave of dizziness. “Shit, this sucks.”

“Tell you what. You lie really still for me, and soon as we land, I'll find out about your partner, okay?”

He wanted her to call now. But there were spots swimming in his eyes and he thought maybe he was going to puke after all.

“So, do you remember how you got so dinged up?”

“Took a hit to the head.” Which had hurt way more than he'd expected, but not as much as, say, taking a flying leap off a roof. “Then I took a tumble off a roof.”

“You fell off a roof?”

“Not fell.” His jaw throbbed with tension and all the pain. “I was pushed.”

She shook her head. “And I thought
my
job was hazardous.”

Logan let out a low laugh, which had him groaning in agony. Again she bent over him.

“Keep breathing,” she whispered, eyes on his.

Yeah, he'd keep breathing, soon as he was done throwing up. He would keep breathing, just as long as he could keep looking at her….

 

H
AWK WAS STILL HOLDING ONTO
Abby, who was staring in horror at the handcuff on her wrist. He had to admit to feeling a little bit of horror himself, but he had to keep her safe, at all costs. Because that's what he did, he upheld the law, he kept people safe…

And she needed to be kept safe, whether she knew it or not.

God
. He'd handcuffed her to him. And somehow he didn't think it would help to explain to her that sometimes to do the right thing you had to cross the line. Especially when he hadn't just crossed it, he'd stomped on it. But, God, she'd tasted so sweet, so hot, he wanted to stomp on that line again….

No. Bad.

Focus.

He was going to keep her safe, at any cost.

The wind had kicked the flames so that they were surrounded, as if in their own, intimate hell. They stared at each other, her glaring, him stunned. Kissing her had been everything he'd ever imagined and more, so much more, because the reality of her willowy body against his had been better than any fantasy. If he hadn't been bleeding all over her from the cut on his head, that is.

Oh, and if he hadn't
cuffed her
. Yeah, that had been the golden touch right there. Really, it was shocking that she wasn't falling all over herself to be with him.

She'd been right after all; he
was
an idiot, and an ass.

Abby tried to jerk free, and she was strong for such a little thing. He hadn't realized that about her. He'd known she was strong-minded, driven, that she enjoyed work, that she had a pair of eyes that cut through all his crap and saw the real him. Oh, and that she'd taken an instant dislike to him from day one.