Undercover Texas (7 page)

He returned the shell to her.

She slipped it into the pocket of her swim wrap and bit her lower lip. “Well, it was nice—”

“You’re from the States on vacation?” he interrupted. He didn’t want to let her go.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Florida. This trip is more of a celebration, I guess. I just successfully defended my dissertation and decided to go somewhere I’d always dreamed of. After living in the library, I wanted to see something amazing and beautiful.”

She looked out over the sparkling water of the bay. “Did you know some scholars think Santorini might be Plato’s Atlantis? The Minoans were far ahead of their time compared to the rest of civilization....” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry, there I go again. History this time.”

She folded in on herself. Hunter couldn’t allow that. “Would you like to go to dinner?” he rushed out. “With me. I want to hear more about the Minoans.”

She swallowed and met his gaze. “Who’s asking?”

He held out his hand. “I’m Clay Griffin.” For the first time in a long while, using an alias didn’t feel right. Not with this woman.

She laid her small palm in his. “Erin Jamison.”

“Well,
Dr.
Jamison, how would you like company in your celebration? I can promise great food, great wine and perhaps more, if you’re so inclined?”

Her cheeks flushed, and her pupils dilated with a flash of desire. The sounds of the beach muffled, and all Hunter could hear was the sound of his heart thudding. All he could feel were the shivers of anticipation skirting over his skin.

She licked her lips. He swallowed. Blood pooled low in his belly. Despite her shyness, this woman’s sensual nature begged for his touch.

With a gentle hand, he stroked her cheek. “You are one intriguing woman, Dr. Jamison. Meet back here? Tonight? Six o’clock?”

She twisted the fabric of her wrap and folded it across her body. “I’d like that, Clay.” With a slight smile she turned and wandered down the beach, every few feet staring back at him.

My name is Hunter.

He wanted to shout the truth, but he couldn’t. She could never know.

Hunter watched the sway of her hips as she disappeared behind an outcropping of volcanic rocks.

With a sigh, he returned to his bungalow. He shouldn’t go tonight. Her eyes were honest, guileless. He was a man of lies, and he’d made a career of them.

But he’d be right here fifteen minutes early tonight, just as surely as he’d known the moment he’d taken his oath as a member of the armed forces that he’d finally found a place to belong.

He sighed, rubbing the bandage on his side. He would heal. And he would return to the team that had become his family, and try to redeem the loss of Kent Miller’s son.

The surf lapped at the black sand, then melted away.

The sea transformed into a small room.

Hands pushed at his side, rolling him one way, then another. Someone tugged at wet material sticking to him.

His back screamed in agony.

No. He wanted Erin. He didn’t want to let her go. Not again.

He twisted away from cloying hands. Erin was gentle. She would never hurt him. He was the one who’d hurt her.

“Clay!” A hand shook him. “Clay, can you hear me?”

He hated that name. He wanted only one thing before he left Erin. He wanted to hear her whisper his
real
name before the dream faded away—as they always did.

“No.
My name is Hunter.
Not Clay.”

Chapter Four

Stabs of pain peppered Hunter’s neck and shoulders, dragging him out of the dream. Not a dream. A memory.

And one that was long gone and could never be again.

The mattress shifted.

Hunter rolled to his side and forced his eyes open. Erin stood only a few feet away from him, holding Brandon, disbelief and hurt painted on her face.

“You lied about your
name,
too?” The accusing voice made him wince. “Just who are you, Clay, aka
Hunter?
”

He froze. The fog around his mind lifted. She hadn’t said, she couldn’t have said—

Oh, man, she knew his name. What else had he revealed? He’d been trained never to disclose important information. He’d faced guns and knives, swords and fists, and he’d never whispered his true identity. To anyone.

He groaned. “Can you forget I said that?” he asked.

“Was anything you told me the truth? Not that you said much. Whenever I asked you a question...” Her voice trailed off and her cheeks flushed.

Hunter knew exactly what she was thinking. The moment was etched into his brain. He’d had more than one dream about it. She’d asked him about his job, and how often he’d traveled. He hadn’t wanted to lie—an unfamiliar urge—so he’d done the next best thing. He’d kissed her. The first time, her cheek. The second time, her lips. The third time...he’d started at the arch of her foot and worked his way up, not missing an inch of skin.

They hadn’t talked again for a long, long time.

How could he answer her? Wasn’t it better for her to hate him? Wouldn’t it make the next steps that much easier for both of them?

“Sometimes the truth isn’t an option.”

He sat up and grimaced. Man, his back hurt.

Erin and the baby blocked his path. “Oh, no, you don’t. I said I’d look at your back and I will. As much as I want to kill you, I don’t want your death on my hands.”

He had to know the extent of the injury. Every movement of his shoulder blade burned like fire. He needed her help, even if she’d prefer to leave him to rot. If his injury got her mind off his name... “There’re some basic supplies in that first-aid kit,” he said, his voice cautious. “Next to the weapons.”

“Yeah, I’m not even bringing up the irony there.”

Erin pulled out the medical kit and placed it next to him, then opened the small refrigerator. Okay, so she was mad. She had every right to be.

Within seconds, she’d settled Brandon on the floor by her feet. He held a sippy cup in his small hands and stared up at Hunter. His son’s big brown eyes looked at him with such trust...so unlike his mother.

And why should she trust him?

He unfastened his life vest and let it fall to the floor.

“Oh, Hunter,” Erin murmured.

He blinked. Blood stained the inside of the orange material. He tried to look over his shoulder. Pain sliced through him and he hissed.

He lifted his arms to unbutton his shirt. She pushed his hands away. “Let me.”

Her voice had gentled. Her fingers worked their way down, but when she tried to slide the material down his back, he couldn’t stop the moan.

She stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“Just get it off,” he bit through clenched teeth. “The wound needs to be cleaned.”

Together they worked his arms out of the shirt, but the material stuck to him.

“You’re going to have to soak it off.”

Resigned, Hunter turned onto his stomach. Erin filled a bowl with water, then returned to his bedside.

“This is going to hurt, Cl—Hunter.”

Great. So much for hoping she wouldn’t remember. “I know it’s going to hurt. Let’s just get it over with. I don’t want Brandon seeing it.”

She hovered over him and sucked in a deep breath.

“Do what you have to do,” he said.

Her hands more gentle than he deserved, she wet down the shirt. Inch by agonizing inch, she pulled the cotton from his body.

Her gasp echoed through the shack.

“Hunter, you’ve been shot.”

* * *

T
HE
SECRET
FACILITY
BASED
JUST
outside Langley, Virginia, defined
covert.
No one used names here. Leona Yates wiped her hands down her dark suit, nodded at the guards and proceeded to the hand scan. Several seconds of whirrs and clicks later, the computer had matched the palm print, and a retinal scan had completed authentication.

“Yates, Leona. Verified,” the mechanized voice confirmed.

She crossed the lobby and pressed a single button. Within moments a solid titanium elevator whooshed her down several levels. With the security and background checks, this was one place Leona had always believed invulnerable.

Now she couldn’t stop her belly from twisting as she grew closer and closer to the man she didn’t want to face.

The doors slid open and Trace Padgett waited to greet her. His strong, powerful figure impressed her, as much for his brains as his well-proven abilities to get the job done. No matter what the obstacle. Which was why her boss had handpicked him.

“The general’s waiting, ma’am,” Trace said, and held out an arm to escort her into the inner sanctum.

She nodded and walked down the barren hallways. “What does he know?” she asked.

“More than we do, most likely,” Trace said.

“He always does.”

Leona licked her lips and entered the general’s office. He cut an impressive figure, his Special Forces experience keeping his eyes sharp and his intuition keen. They were about the same age, but the general’s forehead carried twice as many worry lines. More responsibility. More decisions. More deaths on his hands.

Leona just prayed three more wouldn’t come about on their watch.

General Miller crossed his arms. “Status,” he ordered.

“Terence Mahew was admitted to a Florida hospital. He’s alive but vulnerable. We should bring him in.”

The general nodded at Trace. “Make it happen.”

“Yes, sir.” Trace saluted and exited the room.

“You trust him?” Leona asked quietly, revealing for the first time her discomfort.

Her boss’s eyebrow rose, and then his jaw set. “I have to.”

“Kent—”

“Why didn’t you come to me, Leona? I would have helped you.”

She squirmed under the piercing gaze. “I made Hunter a promise. I couldn’t break it.”

“You may have cost him his life.” Kent’s jaw pulsed with barely controlled fury. “He’s been compromised. And somehow we have to fix it.”

He drummed his fingers over his forearm. Leona recognized the look. “You have a plan.”

“Maybe. I need more intel before I commit. Interview Mahew. Find out who his contact is. We have to identify the leak, Leona. Hunter is too valuable an asset. I
won’t
lose him.”

“Or his family,” Leona added.

Miller nodded. “I want to know everything Mahew knows—and what he doesn’t realize he knows.”

“And after?”

“He’s murdered at least two innocent people. Do what you think is best.”

With a swallow, Leona gave him a small nod and walked to the door leading from Kent’s office to the situation room. She turned back to her longtime colleague. They’d known each other since their training days. “Kent, I don’t like how this is going down. In fact, I don’t like much of anything that’s happened over the past month or so.”

The general sank into his chair, for the first time showing a fatigue she’d never seen. They’d been through hell together. They’d lost too many men over the years. Was she getting too old for the business? Maybe after this thing with Hunter worked itself out, she’d retire with Chuck and move to the Bahamas. Sea, sand, surf, frosty beverages, no thinking and no terrorists chasing after the people she cared about.

“We’ll fix this, Leona. We can plug the holes on this
Titanic.
”

“It may not stop the ship from sinking, Kent. You know that as well as I do.” She walked through the door, and the lock snicked closed behind her.

A wall’s worth of monitors greeted her with a flurry of activity. Videos played from all around the globe. She made her way over to a Florida map and the newest addition to the team. Zane Westin had come in on Hunter’s recommendation. He stared at the screen and punched the keyboard in front of him. She’d find out soon enough how good he was. “What’s Mahew’s location?”

A small red dot blinked in front of her. “Burn unit.”

“Any other information?”

“We’ve lost track of Graham. He landed at Eglin yesterday. An unidentified boat exploded off the Florida coast. It matches Hunter’s M.O.”

Leona didn’t comment. She knew all of this. “What about the chatter? Any new indications popping up?”

Zane frowned. “I don’t know why intel wasn’t picking up the signs before. Seems obvious to me. A bigwig scientist, Erin Jamison, was mentioned weeks ago.”

Zane rattled off Erin’s impressive bio.

“Current status?”

The computer jockey’s expression grew grim. “She hasn’t been seen since leaving her office yesterday afternoon. Two bodies were recovered from her burned-up residence. The cops believe she and her one-year-old son died in an accidental gas explosion. It hasn’t hit the news yet.”

Leona stared at Zane. “What do you think?”

“I don’t buy it,” he said softly.

Leona nodded. Hunter had been right. This guy
was
intuitive and smart. Or he was a fantastic plant.

“Okay, Westin. Not bad. See if you can pinpoint the origin of the chatter.” Leona leaned down, her lips near the man’s ear. “And Westin” she whispered, “don’t give the information to anyone but me. Understood?”

Zane’s gaze met hers. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Leona straightened. “I hope you do.”

* * *

E
RIN
PRESSED
HER
FINGERTIPS
near the deepest wound on Clay’s back. She’d seen enough movies and television to know a bullet hole when she saw it. The projectile had torn through his flesh.

This would have laid most people out. And yet he still functioned. His color had even improved.

He shifted and tried to roll over.

“Can’t you follow orders? Just this once?” The humidity clawed at her like a wet wool blanket, oppressive and stifling, not to mention that the dampness was a perfect breeding ground for bacteria. She pressed her hands against his left side—the only area not injured. She had to keep him still. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Or do you want to get infected?” she snapped.

She leaned over on Clay’s arms, trying to keep him from turning over, and pressed her mouth against his ear. “If something happens to you, what are we supposed to do? At least let me clean the wounds.”

Brandon jabbered, holding up his arms to her.

Clay glanced over his shoulder at their son. His gaze softened, and then he scowled at her. “Get it over with,” he gritted. “And don’t be gentle.”

She chewed on her lip. She didn’t want to make him hurt worse, but sometimes there had to be pain to heal.

She knew that firsthand.

Erin blinked several times. The weeping burns looked painful. The life jacket had protected him, but not everywhere.

Brandon tugged at her pant leg.

“Hey there, cutie. What can we do to distract you, hmm?”

She glanced around the room and strode to a rickety armoire in the corner.

Brandon whimpered, crawling after her with that odd movement kids used on hardwood floors. Even her one-year-old avoided pain with each motion.

With resolve, she ripped open the doors and riffled through the wardrobe’s drawers. One held some T-shirts, sweatpants and a few socks. She tied a sock in a knot and knelt down to her son.

“Can you play with this for a while, big boy?”

He clutched the makeshift toy and stuffed it into his mouth, grinning up at her.

“Is he okay?” Hunter asked.

“He’ll amuse himself.”

“While you have fun torturing me?”

“I may be mad at you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sorry, lame attempt at a joke. You look so intense.”

“Who wouldn’t?” She picked up the bloody shirt and life jacket and tossed them into the sink, then filled a bowl with water. She took the iodine out of the first-aid kit and squeezed a few drops into her basin.

“What are you doing?”

“Sterilizing the water and trying to keep infection from setting in.” She grabbed a thin rag. “Are you ready?”

“Did you lock the door?” he asked.

“Of course. That rickety fastening may not keep anyone out, but at least it’ll keep Brandon inside.”

A loud bang sounded. She whirled around, then shook her head. Her son had discovered a pot and had turned it into a drum.
Bang. Bang. Bang
. He chuckled.

Erin sighed. At least he had distracted himself. Ignoring the incessant noise, she carried the supplies back to the bed.

“He’s enthusiastic,” Hunter said.

“You have no idea. I need the energy of two, and even then I doubt I’d keep up.” She took in a deep breath and stared down at Hunter.

Burns, blisters and cuts covered a quarter of his back. The scar she’d explored during their week together remained, but he’d added several in less than two years.

With a deep inhale, she plunged the rag into the water. Inch by inch she cleaned the wounds. Each time she touched a new section, she braced herself for a curse or a shout, but Hunter didn’t make a sound.

She hesitated at the torn flesh under his shoulder blade. Should she dig into the hole or just flush it? Erin couldn’t stop the worry from rising in her throat. “The bullet’s still inside, isn’t it?”

“Nothing exited out the front,” Hunter said through gritted teeth.

Her heart lurched at the pain lacing his voice. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she didn’t have a choice.

“How does it look?” he asked.

She leaned down and studied the hole. “Blood is seeping, but it’s only a trickle. The edges are clean.”

“Okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she pressed around the hole. “Not okay. I’m not a medical doctor. The only training I’ve got is cleaning up Brandon’s scrapes and scratches from his forays into learning to walk. You’ve got a bullet inside you.”