Wild Card (25 page)

were damp with blood. He was losing blood. And a lot of it from his leg. Damn him. Damn

him. She knew it was worse than he had tried to convince her this morning. Knew it.

She tore her overshirt off, ripped it up the seams and packed the cotton at his waist, applying

pressure to it before shoving the other cloth to the blond giant staring at her with cold, seething

pale eyes, his lips parting as though to say something. "His shoulder. Or get out of the way and

I'll handle it."

He was pressing it to the wound in Noah's shoulder as her hands examined Noah's body. His

arms, ribs, upper legs. Nothing seemed broken.

She stared at the men around her. "Ambulance."

"No ambulance."

Her head jerked around at the sound of his voice, the seething anger burning inside her as Noah

blinked up at her, dazed.

"I'm okay." He shook his head and glared past her at Nik. "Did you get the license?"

"No plates," the other man rumbled. "If she'll let me haul you up I'll take you to my place. Get you patched up if you don't want to go to the hospital."

"'Like hell, he's going to a hospital." Sabella glared at both men, pain and fear raging through her, mixing with the anger.

"No hospital, Sabella." Noah pushed himself up, "Where's Toby?"

Toby was fine. He was still sitting on the incline, staring around him in shock.

"Dude. Some bitch tried to run me over," he exclaimed.

"Some bastard more likely," Noah muttered, easing himself up, his gaze pinning Sabella.

His eyes were fevered, glowing. Something not wholly natural was blazing in them, holding

her speechless as the mechanics rushed around him.

"Come here." He held his arm out to her, his eyes demanding. "Come here, Sabella."

She moved to him slowly, watching his eyes, just his eyes. His arm moved around her, jerked

her to him. If Nik hadn't been bracing them they would have both landed in the dirt.

He lowered his lips to her ear. "Stay steady. No ambulance. No hospital. You can't, under any

circumstances, allow anyone to believe I'm not in fighting shape. Don't fight me, baby. Not yet.

I'll explain everything later."

She shuddered at the sound of his grating voice but nodded. He wouldn't go to a hospital, didn't

want a doctor. And she wanted to know why.

"Let's go." Rory on one side, Nik on the other. Sabella felt crushed as they moved Noah across

the road, his arm so tight around her back she wondered if he even realized his own strength.

"We need to get you to my place at least," Nik stated again. "I have a friend that can patch you up if you're this determined."

Noah shook his head. "The apartment."

"I'll get him upstairs," Nik growled at Sabella, a hiss of sound no one else would have heard but her and Rory. "We'll have help en route. Rory, keep your ass down here and hold down the

fort. Take care of the sheriff, you know he'll be here."

What was going on? What the hell did Nik and Noah have in common besides cars? Cars and

dangerous eyes.

They dragged Noah to the back stairs, the weakness she could feel in him terrifying her. Her

hand was wet with his blood, she could smell the scent of it, sharp and metallic, as Nik all but

carried Noah up the stairs.

"Keys," Nik ordered.

Sabella dug into Noah's pocket for his keys, barely holding back a gasp as she encountered the

steel-hard thickness of his cock on the other side of the pocket lining.

Pulling the keys free, she stared up at him again. His eyes were so hot, so bright, lust building

in his gaze despite the weakness of his body. They weren't dark eyes, not the navy blue she was

used to. They were bright, almost sapphire. Almost. Oh God. They were almost, just almost

Irish eyes.

She forced herself to turn away, to shove the key into the lock, and would have entered the

apartment if Noah hadn't jerked her back.

Leaning against the porch railing, he jerked his head to the inside of the apartment in some

indication to Nik. Nik slid into the apartment, and the movement reminded Sabella of a

predator, or of all those damned government documentaries where she watched federal or

military agents slipping into unknown territory.

They were agents of some sort. She wasn't stupid; she had been married to a SEAL, for God's

sake. What made them think she hadn't paid attention to her husband?

Even at home her husband had been careful, checking the house out, checking windows and

doors, his eyes always hard, wary, until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt everything was

safe.

Sabella would sit in the hall, file her fingernails, or pretend to. She had always paid more

attention to the man she loved than she had to her nails. It had been a part of being married to

him. One she had accepted even as she lusted after his tight, hard body while he looked all

dangerous and predatory.

"Let's get him inside." Nik stepped out no more than a minute later and helped her steady

Noah.

They pulled him into the apartment and back to the bedroom. When she stripped the sheets

back she stared down at them in horror.

There was so much blood. So much blood. Blood he had to have shed through the night.

She turned and stared at him, watching as Nik helped him lie back then bent and unlaced his

boots before taking them off.

"Go into the living room." Noah was staring at her, hungry, fierce. "Go now, Sabella."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why didn't you tell me you were bleeding like this?"

Nik looked up at her, then to the bed. "'How much blood was smeared on you when you woke

up?" he asked.

"I washed it off her while she slept," Noah snapped, still glaring back at her. "Go into the living room and no farther. Go now."

She shook her head, moving instead to grip the hem of his shirt and pull it off.

His hand jerked out, catching her wrist. "Do you remember what happened last night?"

She stared back at him silently, her breathing harsh, heart racing in fear.

"It will happen again. And I won't give a shit who's watching. We have company coming. Let

Nik know when you hear them coming to the door. Don't open it, you understand me?"

"Ease off, Noah," Nik muttered, obviously wary, concerned.

"Answer me, Sabella," he growled. "Do you understand me?"

She tugged at her wrist, jerked it, but his hold was like iron.

"Sabella." He growled her name, an order, a hint of determination in it that seemed like a slap from the past. "Do you understand me?"

"I'll wait in the living room," she whispered hoarsely. "When I hear someone on the deck, I'll let Nik know."

He held her gaze; those eyes, they were molten, like blue fire staring back at her.

Finally, he nodded slowly and let her go, finger by finger, releasing his hold on her until she

was drawing back, retreating slowly from the bedroom, walking through the hall, and standing

silently in the kitchen.

She was the widow of a Navy SEAL. She knew agents from various law enforcement agencies,

her father had been a detective with the Atlanta police department. She knew men like this. She

knew how they moved, she knew how they looked, and she knew when she was being lied to.

She swallowed tightly and stared around the living room. It was dim. Curtains were closed, she

knew the windows would be firmly locked.

What sort of government agents could they be? She searched her mind frantically then sat

down on the couch, trembling. Border patrol maybe? No, they seemed too hard eyed for border

patrol. The only thing she could think of were the deaths that had been reported in the park in

the past year or so. Illegals that had been hunted down in the dark. And there had been that girl

that went missing from the college a few months before. A pretty girl, Lisa? She had been a

friend of Toby's.

FBI? Maybe CIA. She could see a CIA agent with that hard, stony gaze, with the power in

every command he issued. Or a SEAL.

A shudder swept through her. A SEAL acted like that. But SEALs wouldn't be investigating

anything in Texas. They were a strike force, not an investigative agency. Noah was something

similar at least. An agent of some sort. Perhaps a former SEAL. A former SEAL as tall as her

husband, the same age as her husband would have been, one that held her as Nathan had and

one whose eyes had bled with sapphire fire just moments before. The same color as Nathan's.

She shook her head. God, was she so messed up that she had to believe Noah was Nathan to

excuse her attraction, her hunger for him? There was no other excuse. There were vague

similarities, she knew. Even Duncan had seen them. But he wasn't Nathan. Nathan was dead.

The man she loved was gone. Wasn't he?

She felt the tension tearing through her, fighting to rind the differences between Nathan and

Noah. Noah was hardcore, Nathan had always been gentle in the bed. But she had sensed that

darkness in him, had known there was more coming. Noah didn't hide it.

She nibbled at her thumbnail. Her Nathan hadn't been scarred. His voice had been lyrical, a

pure dark sound that caressed her senses.

Nathan had twirled his wrench just as Noah now twirled it. And chewed gum when he worked

in the garage.

She shuddered and pressed her hands to her stomach. That man in there was not her husband,

because her husband would have never stayed away from her for six years. He would not have

left her alone and grieving for him. He couldn't have.

Noah was an agent, he was just similar to Nathan sometimes, she told herself. Perhaps had the

same training. So what was he doing in Alpine?

The militia. The Black Collar Militia was rumored to have been behind the deaths in the park

lately. Illegals who were hunted down. There had been murmurs about it for years. It had to be

that or drugs. And there were no drugs in her garage, she made sure of it.

She rubbed her hands together before wiping them over her face, realizing tears still tracked her

flesh. She went to the kitchen drawer to get a dishtowel to wash her face. She pulled the top

one free and noticed the odd arrangement, the slight hump in the middle. Drawing them aside,

she found the gun.

Glock. She knew the type, the model. It was the same kind her husband had preferred. It was

kept in the same place. What? Was there a damned class for where warriors hid their weapons?

Nathan had never realized that she knew exactly where his guns were hidden through the two

years they were married. She hadn't bothered them, had never mentioned them, but she had

always known how to find them.

She was aware of every place in the house where Nathan had a weapon hidden while they were

married. And every place in the apartment. And this had been one of those places.

She pushed the drawer back slowly, still gripping the dishtowel as she moved to the sink and

dampened it beneath the cold water.

She wasn't going to go searching the apartment. Not yet. She could feel the panic rising inside

her now, slowly, insidiously. She had to catch her breath first.

Who was the man bleeding to death in the bedroom? Had he known Nathan? Had he

researched her? Was that why he had come to her garage, why he had invaded her life?

Was she a part of it, somehow? Her garage?

She put the towel over her face and fought back the need to run, to hide. She had only hidden

once in her life, those first three years of hell when nightmares and pain had seared every inch

of her soul. When they had eased enough for her to function, she had come out of her bed, and

had fought to rejoin the living.

For what? So another man, another adrenaline junkie, could walk into her life and destroy it?

The sound of vehicles pulling in behind the garage had her head jerking up. She was on her

way to the bedroom when Nik came out of the room, caught her arm and dragged her back into

the living room.

"Stay!" he mouthed, his rugged face tight, his body tense as he went to the door and cracked it open.

Sabella stood back and watched the men that came in. They stopped daily for gas. She didn't

know their names, but they looked a hell of a lot different with their flat, hard gazes.

There were two strangers, and bringing up the rear were Ian Richards and his wife Kira. She

almost laughed. Hysteria almost bloomed inside her as she met Kira's compassionate and

knowing gaze. Ian Richards was involved in this, and so was his wife. And Sabella wanted to

know why.

It wasn't as bad this time. Noah gripped the straps Nik had tied to the posts at the headboard,

gritted his teeth, and endured the stitches as Micah sewed his flesh together. He could feel his

blood burning in his veins, churning through him and raging into his cock.

Fucking whore's dust. Fucking Diego Fuentes. The bastard was still alive and grinning,

protected by Homeland Seas Noah lay in his own sweat and blood and fought to hold on to his

sanity.

The doctors had warned him that the effects of the drug his body had been filled with for so

long might never be totally gone. There were still traces of it. Especially after a hard surge of

adrenaline as there had been last night. Fever only made it worse. The cuts in his body had

been deeper than he had wanted to admit to, and stopping the flow of blood had been an on

again, off again thing.

He had to still the surging lust beating in his brain somehow. He didn't want Sabella to see him