Shadow Hawk (8 page)

In the heart.

She had a strand of silky hair over one eye, and very, very slowly he reached out to stroke it away, wanting to do much more but unable to figure out how to further touch her without her gutting him. “It's going to be okay,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, I don't know exactly how, but we'll get there, I promise.”

Her gaze searched his, soft now, uncertain, leaving him just as uncertain what to make of the shadowed expression in her eyes. Was she still mad? Hurt? Was she feeling any of what he was feeling, which was that he wanted to kiss her again, for real this time, without anything coming between them?

Abby turned away.

And there was his answer. No, she was not feeling any of what he was. Still waiting on the gas, he pulled out the phone again and dialed Logan's cell. No answer. Damn…Glancing up, he found her watching him.

“Last I heard,” she said quietly. “He was in the air, headed back to Cheyenne County.”

He only hoped that wasn't as serious as it sounded. “Okay, so we go with what we've got. The rifle. I just have to match it to the ATF serial number list to place it as one of the stolen weapons. So we need to get into regional offices.”

“Or to my laptop at home.”

“Yeah, much easier. Let's go.”

“There's that ‘let's' again.”

“We have to do this, Abby. Placing the rifle is evidence of the inside job.”

“Still not enough.”

“Well, we'll think of more then. We have to do this, you know we do.”

“No, we don't.
We
don't have to do anything.” But Hawk realized the heat in her voice was gone.

Best news all night, from where he stood, because whether she knew it or not, he was winning her over. “If I'm wrong, I'll—”

“What? Turn yourself in?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at him. “Let's call Tibbs now.”

“Not without the serial number. Not when he already has evidence against me.”

“Hawk…”

“Look, if I'm wrong, you can call him. I promise.”

She tugged on the cuffs. “Your promise is no good to me when I'm with you against my will.”

Okay, good point. But he wasn't letting her go until they were back on the road, because he wasn't going to risk her getting out of the truck this close to Gaines. “I'm sorry.”

“If that were true, I wouldn't be here.”

“No, I'm sorry about whatever happened to you.”

Abby went so still he doubted she was even breathing. Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet his, and then
he
wasn't breathing, because there, revealed for him to see, was such pain he nearly staggered backward.

In the loaded silence came the startlingly loud click of the gas pump, signaling that the tank was full, and she blinked and turned away.

Moment over.

By the time Hawk got back into the truck, with her hurriedly scooting over so that he wouldn't have to touch her, she'd regained her control.

And reestablished her silence.

He started the engine, but she cleared her throat and rattled the handcuffs.

Right. Hoping he wasn't being an idiot, he pulled out onto the highway before he tossed the key into her lap. She wouldn't do anything stupid at sixty-five miles per hour, he figured.

Hoped.

Abby grabbed the key. Bending her head, she set herself to the task of unlocking the cuffs, her hair falling over his forearm, her breasts inadvertently brushing his bicep. She'd probably have a heart attack if she realized but he had another reaction altogether.

Freed, she rubbed her wrist and stared out the window. Reaching over, he brought her hand close until he could see her skin in the dim light of the console display. She was bruised, abraded and raw.

“Don't you dare say you're sorry,” she told him.

He closed his lips on the words and pressed his lips to her skin.

She didn't snatch her hand free, which he considered an excellent sign. Instead, her breath caught as if maybe she liked his touch after all, as if maybe she was finally going to surrender her aggression and fear, and soften toward him. At least in his dreams.

“Why would he show himself to you?”

His eyes met hers. So she hadn't decided that he was completely full of shit. He'd take that. “I think it was sheer cockiness, to tell you the truth. Sort of like, look what I pulled off.”

“But to play both sides…It's so crazy dangerous.”

“He's dying tonight, remember,” he reminded her. “In essence, retiring.”

“After getting rid of his loose ends.”

“Yes.”

“Like you.”

“Yes.”

She nodded, clearly holding it together by a string, and he wanted to touch her so badly, just to let her know she wasn't alone.

“I keep going back,” she said. “To when I was working on the Kiddie Bombers in Seattle.”

He slanted her a glance. “Something clicking?”

“There were several times when things went down like tonight, when Gaines showed up at raids no one expected him to be at. To watch the takedowns, he always said.” She shook her head. “Once I questioned him on that.”

“And he was thrilled.”

“He brushed me off.” Abby shook her head. “And I let him. I discounted all of it until now. But I'm thinking that on the off chance I was getting too close…” She closed her eyes. “I'm a loose end, too.”

“Yes, but you're an alive one,” he reminded her. “Let's keep it that way. First, your computer.”

“And then what? We draw him out in order to prove he's alive?”

It was the first real sign he'd had that she might believe him. “I like the way you think, and yeah. He needs to be drawn out.”

Which Hawk would do alone, because no way in hell did he plan on letting Gaines anywhere near her. In fact, he needed to find a safe place for her until this was over. And yet…and yet there was a small part of him that couldn't deny what it felt like having her with him.

Because with her here, he wasn't alone. As disastrously bad as the night had gone, as bad as it could still get, he wasn't alone.

Cheyenne Memorial Hospital

L
OGAN WOKE UP IN A WHITE ROOM
filled with beeping equipment and a sterile smell that made him groan in disgust.

A hospital.

He hated hospitals, always had. His asshole father had put him in several, until the state had finally decided, oh, gee, maybe we'd better do our job and remove the kid from his situation. Logan had thrived in foster homes, but thanks in no small part to his wild streak, he'd still managed to land himself in various emergency rooms all on his own.

Then there'd been Special Forces and the time he and Hawk had been nearly shot to kingdom come when their convoy had been hit in the Gulf.

Since then, however, he'd actually managed to stay hospital free, though he had a running bet with Hawk—one hundred bucks on which of them would run out of luck first.

And damn it, now he'd lost. Unless he could get himself checked out before Hawk found out….

Something rustled at his side, and a face swam in front of his. Fiery red hair, black-rimmed glasses, mossy eyes and well-glossed lips.

His sweet angel, who'd been with him when he'd been dreaming about
Playboy
bunnies, and when he'd ended up tossing his cookies at her feet.

Oh, yeah,
that
had been a highlight.

Still the sight of her made him want to smile. When he did, a whole new kind of pain swam through him. “Oh, shit.”

“Careful.” She cupped his jaw, her hand blessedly cool on his burning skin. “Stay still.”

He let out a raw laugh. “Yeah. Not so good at that.”

“I'd suggest trying.”

She'd seen him at his absolute worst and was still here. Other than Hawk, that was a rarity for him. And worth everything. He could look at her all day. Hell, all week. He felt dazzled. Dizzy.

But that might have been the pain meds. “You stayed.”

She put her deliciously cool hand on his forehead. “I'm glad you're back.”

“When was I gone?”

“You've been pretty out of it. Your boss called and he sounded devastated at what had happened to you.”

“Tibbs?”

“I didn't catch his name. He said he'd see you soon.”

“Southern accent so thick he sounds like his cheeks are filled with marbles?”

“No. Sort of a rushed, clipped voice.”

At that, images flashed to him from the barn. Everything going to shit. The shadow on the roof with him. Looking down and seeing something, someone on the ground, looking up at him just before the hit to the head.

Gaines.

He knew that now. He'd looked into Gaines's eyes and yet had been hit from behind.

By one of Gaines's men.
Bastard.

“You were out for a long time.”

That sounded bad. He only vaguely remembered being loaded from the chopper into the hospital, but he definitely remembered this gorgeous angel hovering over him with those sweet eyes and that mouth that made him think of hot, sweaty sex. He tried to lift a hand to touch her and found it taped to a board with two separate IVs hooked up to his arm. Uh-oh. Locating his other hand, he slapped at his legs to make sure they were both still there, and a searing bolt of pain sang up his right leg. This time he couldn't even swear, much less breathe.

“Oh, Logan, don't.” She ran a hand down his arm in a slow, comforting manner. “Just hang tight. And don't move.”

He gasped for breath. “Just—give it to me straight. My injuries.”

She looked him right in the eyes. “Well, you have some.”

“Some? Or so many they can't be counted?”

Her lips quirked. Her eyes softened. “Somewhere in the middle.”

A sense of humor. With eyes like that and a mouth made for sin, it was sensory overload. “Tell me.”

“Let me get your doctor—”

Somehow he managed to grab her hand and hold her still. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Well, you have quite a concussion.”

“Okay, that explains why my head feels like it was stitched back onto my neck.”

“Yep, eighteen stitches.”

“Ouch.”

“There was some concern about the length of time you were unconscious, but you're awake now, and that's all the matters.” She stroked her fingers over his. “Right?”

He stared at her fingers. Long, strong, capable. Ringless. “Absolutely. Awake is good, but…? I thought I heard a big one at the end of that statement.”

“Logan.”

Oh, yeah. His humor faded. “Spill it.”

“You fractured your right leg and three ribs in the fall.”

“I've had worse.” Which was true.

“There's some internal bleeding that's causing concern. They were worried one of your ribs might have punctured a lung—”

“Hey, I'm breathing just fine.”

She nodded and smoothed his blanket, looking so touchingly concerned he wanted to pull her into his lap and kiss it away. Too bad he hurt so much that he was in danger of puking again.

She read his expression with alarming accuracy. “Do you need—”

“No.” He would not throw up again in front of her if it was the last thing he didn't do.

“Well…I should probably go. I'll get your doctor first—”

“No.” Logan tightened his grip on her hand, about to utter two words he'd never said before, to anyone. “Don't go.”

“I really shouldn't be here.”

“And yet you are.”

“But I shouldn't be,” she repeated with a helpless smile. “I don't know why. I just…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. I puked in front of you. Give me something.”

She glanced back at the door. “It sounds so silly, like a cliché, but I felt this…connection…”

“I know.” He'd felt it too, and he didn't do connections. Not breaking eye contact, he pulled her closer until she sat on the edge of his bed.

“So you felt it, too?” She asked this casually, just like this wasn't the moment he usually ran like hell from. If he couldn't run, he typically backpedaled, scrambling to make up whatever it was that a woman needed to hear, whatever it took to get her back into bed, or into her clothes and out his door, whatever
he
happened to need at the time.

He could be, as Hawk liked to say, a real prick.

But Logan preferred to think of it like this: it took little to no effort at all to compliment a woman, to touch her the way she wanted to be touched, to listen when she spoke. They loved it.

And he loved being loved.

Normally, by the time he backed out of whatever budding relationship he had going, moving into different waters, the woman he'd been with felt great about themselves.

Both parties happy.

But staring into his angel's eyes, he suddenly had no fancy words, no moves. He had nothing, and as the silence grew, her smile faded. She stood.

“No, wait. I'm—”

“Sorry? Don't be. It's okay.” She shook her head. “It's my fault. I shouldn't have stayed. You just rest now, and—”

“Your name,” he said hoarsely. Christ, his chest hurt.

“What?”

She tried to pull free but he didn't let go of her, couldn't, because suddenly, seriously, his chest hurt like hell. And it wasn't from his fall. “I don't even know your name.”

“I've got to go.” Gently but firmly she broke loose and turned to the door, and Logan closed his eyes. The irony didn't escape him. When it came to women, he did the leaving, he always had. A shrink would have a field day with the reasons for his behavior, but he didn't care about any of that now, except that for the first time in his life, the roles were reversed.

She was leaving him.

It didn't matter that he'd known her for all of a handful of minutes. That he didn't even know her fucking name. That he was injured, and he had no idea where or how Hawk was, or how the take-down had turned out.

Nothing mattered but this, crazy as it was. “Please, wait.”

Hand on the door, she went still but didn't look at him.

More pain in his chest. Ah, now he got it. Not his chest, but his heart. He stared at her slim spine, at the lush red hair that he wanted to bury his face in.
Turn around
, he silently willed.

She didn't. Of course she didn't.

Because for once, he wasn't in charge, and he had no choice but to reveal himself. “I felt it.”

Pivoting around, she locked her eyes on his. “What?”

“The connection. If you meant this thing zinging between us at the approximate speed of sound, possibly even the speed of light, then, yeah.” He cleared his throat, and did something utterly new.

Bared his soul. “I
felt
it.”

She looked down at her feet, then back into his eyes. “Callen. My name is Callen O'Malley.”

“Well, Callen O'Malley…” He held out his hand. “Now that I've puked in front of you, not to mention been delirious and probably an all around class A asshole to boot, maybe I could show you a different side of me. A better side.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what side would that be? I've already seen every inch.”

One glance at the hospital gown he wore instead of his ATF gear was all the explanation of that statement he needed. “I hope they were the good inches.”

She smiled, and he felt like he'd won the jackpot. And when she stepped back toward him, he thought he could just die right now, because for the first time in hours, hell years, he felt like everything was going to be okay.

 

“Y
OU GOING TO
tell me the plan?”

Hawk glanced at Abby in surprise. She hadn't spoken to him in thirty-three minutes. He knew because he was still holding her phone and he'd glanced at the readout at least a thousand times.

By some miracle, they hadn't been followed, but they were on borrowed time. He had only until their pursuers caught up to them to figure out a concrete plan for getting Abby somewhere safe, and then to her computer. “She speaks.”

“Hostages don't speak. We suffer.”

He glanced over at her, but she was already shaking her head. “Forget I said that.”

Yeah, okay. Except he never forgot a thing. Not how she'd gone running out into the night from the relative safety of the van into the woods because she'd been worried about him, or how she'd sounded when she'd found him slumped on the ground. Or the feel of her arching against him as he'd kissed her.

At the time he hadn't been sure if she'd meant to pull him closer or push him away, but he knew better now.

She'd meant to shoot him.

Only she hadn't.

“I need to make a stop,” she said.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

She shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “No.”

“Then no stop.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Damn it.
The one excuse he had no defense against. Pulling off the highway at the next exit, he drove into the only thing around, a campground with a sign that read Lost Hills. The sign didn't lie, the place was rugged, remote. Indeed, someone could easily get lost here. The guard station was empty, and Hawk chose to take that as the first good sign in an otherwise entirely shitty evening.

Maybe his luck was changing.

He drove down the bumpy one-lane road, eyeing all the campsites, which were empty. Normal people didn't camp in northern Wyoming in the late fall, because it would freeze your body parts off cold. The road had plenty of turnoffs, and he picked an out-of-the-way spot. Pleased, he turned to Abby.

Who was distinctly not pleased. “I don't see a bathroom,” she said.

“Well—”

“And don't you dare point to a tree.”

Which was exactly what he'd been about to do. “I'll close my eyes.”

“How do you know that I won't gut you when you do?”

He sighed, the exhaustion creeping up on him like a sledgehammer to the side of the head. “Because you're not crazy about blood.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Look, kill me if you have to, I'm feeling halfway dead anyway.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And if you don't, we'll take off again when you're ready.

“To go to my place for my computer, and then we flush out Gaines. Right?”