A Father's Sacrifice (7 page)

He had no doubt what had happened. Of the three people who had been with Ben when the helicopter had flown over, only Natasha had put herself between his child and possible danger. He needed to tighten security around Ben’s play area. Now that Agents Storm and Gambrini were helping guard the main gate, Mintz could put an extra guard back there.

“Are you all right?” he asked her gravely.

She nodded.

He glanced over at Charlene. “You. See Alfred.”

Charlene looked terrified.

Good.
She shouldn’t have let Ben get three feet away from her. Alfred would make sure she understood.

“Sir, please. I am
so
—”

“I’m pleased with your skills,” he interrupted her. “And Ben likes you. But if anything like this ever happens again—” He couldn’t go on. His son clung to him with all his might. His little body still shivered, and his hot tears seared Dylan’s neck.

Charlene looked stricken. She’d been Ben’s physical therapist since soon after the car crash, and she obviously adored him. But right now Dylan didn’t care about her feelings. He didn’t care about anything except his son. He wanted to comfort him, make him feel safe.

“Just see Alfred,” he said tightly. He waited until Charlene left. Then he turned his attention to Natasha.

Her eyes were riveted on Ben. Their irises were a deep jade-green, surrounded by those long dust-covered lashes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked her.

She looked at him, her eyes wide and worried. “I’m fine. What about Ben—?”

Dylan caressed his son’s head. “He’ll be fine. Go on,” he said gently. “And, thanks.”

She started to say something, but stopped herself. She lowered her gaze and went through the connecting door to her room.

He set Ben on his knee and ran his thumb gently across his flushed cheeks, then kissed his dusty forehead, his chest squeezing with fear and relief and love.

Dear God, how would he live if he lost his baby?

“Dad-dy,” Ben sniffed.

He hugged his little boy. “I know, sport. I know. Tell Daddy all about the copter.”

N
ATASHA STOOD UNDER
the shower, wincing as hot water stung the fresh scrapes and scratches.

The roar of the helicopter still rang in her ears, as did Ben’s terrified sobs. His little body had seemed so small and fragile under hers.

The incident had spooked her. At best the helicopter was a news bird, trying to capitalize on the anniversary of Stryker’s wife’s death and the rumors about his son. At worst it was one of the fringe groups NSA was concerned about. Groups of radical fanatics interested in stealing and profiting from the neural interface technology.

Dylan was convinced that Ben was safe here. He would never agree to go to a secure facility, or send his son away. After hearing his horror story about the NSA’s underground “safe house,” Natasha couldn’t blame him.

But part of her was afraid that Mintz was right. As much as it horrified her to think about it, her rational mind knew that Ben and Dylan would be safer behind fortified, guarded walls. This compound, as protected as it was, was still vulnerable.

She knew Dylan believed he could protect his son. Now that she knew him, she believed it, too. Seeing his fierce determination, his intense devotion to Ben, she was almost convinced that he
could
single-handedly protect him from the world. It was obvious that Ben would be devastated if he were taken away from his father.

Whatever Dylan wanted, she’d make it happen. She just needed to be more careful, more aware, more vigilant.

She raised her head to the shower spray, wishing the water could wash away her fear and guilt.

She knew she wasn’t without blame. She should have stayed close enough to Ben to prevent him from getting near the hedge. Even the warm glow of appreciation she’d seen in Dylan’s eyes hadn’t made her feel better.

Because she knew the truth. There had been a moment out there—a brief moment when she had thought about taking Ben’s hand and leading him through the hedge into the unfettered light of the sun.

To her horror, she realized she could just as easily have exposed Ben to danger as shielded him.

Eager to wash away the surge of regret, she turned the hot water up higher and scrubbed at her wounds, grimacing as the soap stung them.

D
YLAN DRIFTED AWAKE
with a surprising sense of safety and calm. He opened his eyes and saw his son’s beautiful face. Ben was asleep, his little mouth moving with soft breaths. There were traces of tears on his cheeks.

Dylan’s heart swelled until his chest could hardly hold it. He loved Ben so much his whole body ached with it.

On the day he’d been told his infant son would never walk, he’d dedicated his life to proving the doctors wrong.

He’d worked for NSA since before Ben was born. NSA wanted bionic capabilities. Dylan had agreed to expand his research and develop the technology. It had turned out to be a fatal decision. It had cost him his wife and nearly his son.

So he’d demanded impossible concessions, half hoping they’d leave him alone. But the government had met every demand. They’d even agreed to help him h
ide Ben’s existence from the world. They wanted their supersoldier that badly.

All Dylan wanted was to give his son the ability to walk. The NSA’s offer provided unlimited funding, so he’d agreed. He’d built a fortress to shield Ben, and gone to work on the neural interface.

But now, his worst fear was realized. He and all he held dear were under attack again. A hacker had tried to penetrate his computer files, and within two days there were two efforts to breach the security of his estate. Were they connected?

Ben stirred, as if sensing his father’s agitation.

With a sigh, Dylan checked his watch. He’d dozed for about twenty minutes. He kissed the top of Ben’s head, then a little scratch above his eyebrow.

He needed to get back down to the lab. He was nearly done mapping the nerves. If Natasha could hold off the hacker long enough, Campbell could finish debugging the program, and Dylan could test it one last time. Then they could encase it in the specially built box, and NSA could transport it, along with Dylan and Ben, to whatever secret government location they wished.

Once he was satisfied that Ben’s surgery was successful, Dylan planned to wash his hands of the damned interface, the government and the encroaching danger. Maybe once it was out of his hands, he could be sure his child was truly safe.

Moving quietly, he got up and glanced at the connecting door that led to
his
room, the room he’d vacated when Natasha had arrived. He was spending most of his time in the lab, and he liked the idea that Charlene was on one side of Ben and Natasha was on the other.

Natasha had looked ill by the time she’d gone into her room. Had she just been feeling the reaction to the close call with the helicopter, or had she been hurt worse than he’d realized?

The sight of her grimy, scratched face, eyes dark with concern for Ben, rose in his mind. He’d already seen how seriously she took her job, but today, she’d earned his admiration and trust, and his undying gratitude. She’d protected his child without thought to her own safety.

He needed to check on her. To thank her. After slipping on his shoes, he tiptoed over to the door and knocked lightly.

No answer. He wasn’t surprised. Natasha didn’t seem like the type to waste time or indulge herself when there was work to be done. She’d probably already cleaned up and gone down to the lab. He knocked again.

Behind him, Ben stirred. Not wanting to wake him, Dylan turned the knob and slipped through the door.

“Natasha?” he called.

No sign of her, except her dusty clothes tossed in a corner. Oh well, he’d catch up with her in the lab. As he started toward the hall door, he heard a faint noise behind him.

The bathroom door opened and she emerged, one hand toweling her wet hair, the other pulling a very short, very damp purple satin robe closed.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened.

Her face, her neck, the hollow between her breasts, gleamed with dampness. Every curve of her body was unmistakably outlined by the wet satin. Her concave belly and delicate navel were exposed to Dylan’s
hungry view, as was the golden glistening shadow between her legs.

To his surprise, his body reacted immediately and urgently. Suddenly, he grew hard, his arousal throbbing with a delicious ache against the constricting seam of his jeans. Desire, hot and unfamiliar, streaked through him.

Twice in less than twenty-four hours he’d reacted sexually to Natasha Rudolph.

Twice
. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been attracted to a woman. The last time he’d felt anything at all other than the fear that he wouldn’t be able to save Ben’s legs.

She yanked her robe closed, and let the towel drop to the floor. His jaw ached as the terry cloth slid down her legs—legs that went on forever, smooth and creamy. He raised his gaze, tracing the strong shapely thighs back up until they disappeared under the very short robe.

His gaze continued upward. Her breasts had tightened. The thin wet fabric revealed each puckered ridge of her nipples.

His mouth went dry as he imagined the taste of them. “I’m sorry—” he croaked.

“Did you—” she said at the same time. “Did you need something? Is Ben okay?”

His gaze flew to her face. “Your face is bleeding,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes, starred by her pale wet lashes, widened. She shook her head. “Just scratches,” she said tightly, releasing one edge of her robe to touch a scrape on her cheek.

He moaned deep in his throat.

She blinked. She’d heard him.

Get it together,
he admonished himself as she clutched the robe together more tightly.

She moistened her lips. It was a nervous gesture, since her face and mouth were still damp from the shower. The sight of her tongue nearly sent him over the edge.

He had to get out of there before he embarrassed himself. He clenched his jaw and took a step backward, as if being a foot farther away from her would break the spell of desire she’d cast over him.

“I wanted to thank you…” Breathless, he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look. I’ll leave so you can dress.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me. I did what anyone would do.”

“No. Two of my trusted employees were there, and yet the only person who protected Ben without thought to her own safety was you.”

“I scared him.” Regret pooled in her eyes like tears. “I didn’t mean to—”

A thin drop of blood trickled from just above her wrist. Without thinking, he stepped close to her and pushed up the sleeve of her robe. Ugly red scratches covered her arms. He ran a finger along her forearm. “Some of these are bad. We should get them bandaged. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. In the cabinet.”

She looked up at him.

“This is my room,” he said with a shrug.

She’d suspected it. Although his clothes were gone, there was a stark masculinity about the room. And of course, he’d sleep next door to Ben.

But he’d put her in his room, and now she was sleeping in his bed, using his shower, standing naked
in the same room where he’d stood naked. The vision that accompanied her thoughts was vivid, erotic…and impossible. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the delicious, dangerous daydreams.

“Let me help you with those scratches—” He stepped closer.

“I can take care of them,” she murmured.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

A drop of water fell from her lashes to her cheek, and a spear of longing pierced him.

“Your son is very special,” she said.

He nodded.

She lifted her head a fraction of an inch, her pale lashes making her eyes seem wider and greener. He traced his thumb across her wrist.

She stiffened and pulled her hand away.

Suddenly jarred out of the mesmerizing haze of desire, he was embarrassed at how natural and necessary it had seemed that he touch her.

He backed away. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to dress.” He turned on his heel. At the hall door he stopped. “By the way, your equipment is here.”

“I’ll get right to work. I was on my way to the lab.”

Dylan disappeared through the door.

Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth. She sucked in a long, shaky breath as she looked down at herself. A sharp, thrilling shiver tightened her thighs. She’d been practically naked, with Dylan Stryker’s blazing eyes on her—on every part of her.

She wiped her face with both hands.

Concentrate,
she admonished herse
lf. She didn’t have time for an adolescent crush on the handsome doctor. She had to get her new equipment installed and catch a hacker.

F
OURTEEN HOURS LATER
Tom’s fist squeezed the phone. He’d listened to enough babbling. He was sick of it. “Shut up! I just want to know one thing. Are you ready?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good, because it’s going down right now. Are you sure the west door is unlocked?”

“I checked it myself, an hour or so ago. I almost got caught. I heard somebody on the back stairs.”

“At three o’clock in the morning? Who?”

“I didn’t see them.”

“And they didn’t see or hear you, right?”

“Of course not.”

“You’d better hope not. Call me as soon as you can. Remember, we’re not expecting this to cause any real damage. We just want to convince Stryker that his kid’s not safe there. That news helicopter fiasco should make it even easier.”

He hadn’t missed the significance of the video he’d seen earlier on the local news. The woman who had thrown herself over the child to protect him was
his
Natasha. He had no doubt. He knew that pale hair, the long shapely body, the efficiency of movement. She hadn’t changed, except that she looked stronger, more substantial, than she had eight years ago when she was a teenage runaway looking for a job.

“Did you see the news?” his caller asked. “That was her—”

“I told you to shut up. Concentrate on your job. And let me know everything that happens.”