Behind Enemy Lines (5 page)

“Wow.” He cleared his throat. “Uhh, okay then, Annie. I guess that counts as all three kisses for today.”

He rolled onto his side, depriving her of his pleasing weight. His arm lifted away from her, freeing her.

She sat up abruptly, her face flaming with scarlet heat. Holy mackerel. She’d just flung herself shamelessly at a badly injured man. Was she so desperate she’d take advantage of a guy in his condition? She moved to get up, to escape from him. His arm snaked out and wrapped around her waist. Even in his weakened state, he pulled her back down easily.

“Don’t go,” he murmured. “Stay for a minute.”

It wasn’t right. Here he was, being nice to her, and he didn’t even know she was the one who almost killed him. She pulled her tattered defenses around herself and reached for a light tone of voice.

“Long assignment in the jungle, soldier?”

He frowned. “Not especially. I just wanted to say thank you for helping me.”

He was thanking
her?
During all those days and nights of watching over him, his pain had become her pain, his suffering, hers. Her guilt at choosing to sacrifice him rather than die herself had been boundless, and it rose up to choke her anew. Tears burned the back of her throat and she swallowed hard. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

His breathing gradually slowed into the unhurried rhythm of sleep. Carefully she slipped out from under his arm. He murmured a protest, but did not wake as she eased away from him.

Wobbly, she stood and looked down at him as he slept. What the heck had just happened here?

She’d been a big-time fool. That’s what had happened. It was all well and good to fantasize about being swept off her feet by some big, strong, macho male, but she knew very well that the reality of guys like him was another thing altogether.

She’d only spent the last eight years in the military fending off guys just like him. Had she learned nothing? Some of them might come disguised in sheep’s clothing like this one, but they were all the same. They wanted a little woman who’d stay home, clean up after them, tolerate their piggish drinking buddies and, of course, be a nymphomaniac on demand.

When she’d first joined the Air Force, she’d been young and naive, relatively inexperienced with men. Her father had been far too conservative to allow any randy teenaged boys to date his baby girl when she was growing up.

And then suddenly she’d found herself in pilot training, surrounded by the fast, confident, supremely arrogant personalities of wannabe fighter jocks. Talk about diving into shark-infested waters.

She’d fallen for a couple of them. But fortunately she’d wised up fast, before she got burned too badly, and before her reputation got shot to pieces.

To guys like Tom Folly the military was their life—their wife, mistress and true love—all rolled into one. They had neither the time nor the inclination to sustain meaningful emotional relationships. They weren’t bad people. They just had different priorities from hers.

If those types of guys found a woman along the way who was willing to spend twenty years stashed away in some cruddy base housing facility somewhere, waiting and worrying over them, the Tom Follys of the world weren’t dumb enough to turn them away. But she’d seen plenty of those relationships head south when the men finally did retire—cynical, psychologically messed up and emotionally fried.

No, thank you very much. She was having nothing to do with a guy like Tom Folly. He might kiss like the Devil himself, but he could keep his priorities and his toy soldier life. She shook off the last vestiges of their kiss.

In the meantime she needed to stop by the embassy and make a few last-minute arrangements. Her boss figured it’d be at least tomorrow before the Gavronese government, which was a veritable model of inefficiency, came looking for her. She had to be in hiding by then.

She glanced around the dingy bedroom. It needed something to brighten it up. She and Tom were going to be stuck here for a while, and this depressing room wasn’t going to help his frame of mind one bit. Oh, and she needed to lay in more food. She hadn’t realized just how big a guy Tom was when she’d been shopping yesterday. He was no doubt going to eat like a horse.

Fortunately, the apartment had a working refrigerator. There’d been several biology experiments growing in it when she rented the place, and it had taken her a whole day to work up the courage to clean it out, but it was spotless now.

She tiptoed out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She took a critical look around the apartment’s only other room, a combination kitchen-dining-living area, cataloguing items she’d need to make the place a little more hospitable.

She took a last peek at Tom before she left. He was sleeping soundly, one arm flung wide and dangling off the side of the bed. Satisfied he’d be unconscious for several hours, she eased out of the apartment, locking the door carefully behind her.

Tom woke up to the feel of an unfamiliar weight covering him. He blinked open his eyes and was startled to see a cheery quilt lying on top of him. Yellow tulips and dark green leaves twined over its white background. It looked like something his grandmother might’ve made.

A cool breeze blew across his shoulders, and he pulled the quilt up higher. A breeze? He opened his eyes again. The two tall casement windows stood wide open, admitting fresh air to the room. Between them, tottering on a rickety ladder was Annie, paint brush in hand.

Two of the filthy, grayish walls already sported a brand-new coat of yellow paint. It was nice—a bright, lemony color. A jar on the table beside his head was filled with daisies, their clean white heads nodding a greeting to him. Yards and yards of gauzy white cloth draped over a chair, and two iron curtain rods lay across the fabric, waiting to be hung.

The room already looked completely different.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he growled.

Annie lurched, startled. The ladder wobbled and gave an ominous squeak.

Crap. His reflexes took over and he leaped out of bed. In slow motion, the ladder gave way while Annie flailed her arms, trying to maintain her balance.

He caught her as the ladder toppled over. Her weight knocked him to the floor, and they landed with a thud. Paint splattered beside them.

She scrambled off of him. “Oh, my gosh! Did I hurt you? Tom, are you okay? Talk to me!”

“What do you eat, anyway? You weigh a ton.”

“I do not. I weigh 125, and that’s pretty good for a girl my height.”

“You’re 130 if you’re a pound.”

“Well, maybe I am, but it’s rude of you to say so. I can’t believe you did that! I’d have been okay, you know. I’ve had skydiving training, and I know how to do a parachute landing fall. Are you hurt anywhere?”

What was she mad at him for? He was the one who saved her butt.

“I’m hurt in a number of places, as I recall. But no, I don’t have any new injuries. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

She scowled. “Thanks for the macho display, Tarzan. Now, let’s get you back into bed.” She stood up and began hauling on his good arm.

“Ouch! Stop that.”

“You walk around on two broken legs without a whimper, but you complain when I pull on your completely uninjured arm?”

“It hurts my collarbone.” He eased himself carefully to his feet. “While I’m up, I think I’ll mosey into the bathroom—and no, I don’t want your help.”

“Fine. I wasn’t going to offer, anyway. Besides, I’ve got to clean up this paint before it dries on the floor.”

He looked at the yellow splat on the curling, filthy linoleum. “It’s an improvement over the existing floor. Leave it.”

He left her staring at the yellow spot while he made his painful way to the bathroom. Damn. He felt as if he’d been run over by a Mac truck. He’d been like this ever since he woke up in the hospital. Shouldn’t he start feeling better soon? What if he didn’t get better this time? Was this it? Was his career finished?

He stared at his beard-stubbled reflection in the cracked, faded mirror over the bathroom sink. In a moment of bleak honesty he studied himself.

He wasn’t getting any younger. Fine wrinkles were showing up around his eyes, and worry lines were permanently etched on his forehead. He was still hard and fit, but at what cost? It didn’t come easy to stay this way anymore, and he sure as heck wasn’t bouncing back from this injury like he used to.

He’d always known the day would come when he had to hang it up, but he wasn’t ready for it yet. An unpleasant sensation tightened his gut. Surprised, he identified the feeling. Fear.

Dammit.

He stared himself down in the mirror, daring himself to be a coward and look away from his own hard-edged gaze.

An errant thought struck him. How had he been getting shaved for the past two months, anyway? He ought to have quite a beard by now. Had Annie been doing it for him? Maybe she had a razor and some shaving cream hidden somewhere.

He searched the bathroom, but the place was bare. He relieved himself and went back into the bedroom. Annie was already back up on the ladder, painting around the window. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Our cover story is that we’re a married couple staying here until I’m recovered enough to go home, right?”

She stopped painting and looked over her shoulder at him. “That’s right.”

“Then where’s all your stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Your female stuff. You know, makeup and lotions and annoying soaps.”

“Annoying soaps?”

“Those frilly things that don’t lather up and leave you smelling like a flower.”

“Sorry. I’m an Ivory girl.”

“If the government was suspicious enough of me to bug my hospital room, they’re gonna search this place if they find it. We need to make it look like we actually live here. Speaking of which, where’s my stuff?”

“Your stuff?”

“Surely I didn’t go on a mountain climbing expedition in South America without bringing a couple suitcases of clothes and doodads. And where’s my climbing equipment?”

Her voice was dry. “I imagine it fell off the mountain when you did.”

“Then where’s the gear I had on me? I must have been wearing a climbing harness. And I’d have had extra rope, a hammer, maybe some crampons in my pockets.”

“Okay, I get your point. I’ll go shopping for some mountain climbing gear this afternoon.”

“And speaking of equipment, where’s my pack? The one I was wearing the night I got hurt.”

“I suppose it’s still at the embassy.”

“I need it.”

“Why?” Suspicion blossomed on her face. “Are you planning to mount a covert operation from your sickbed?”

“No. I just want it.”

“Yeah, right. I wasn’t born yesterday, soldier.” She scowled at him. “Far be it from me to argue you out of doing something insane. I’ll see if I can find it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He grinned at the grudging tone in her voice. He sympathized. Growing up with good manners stunk sometimes. He had the same affliction. Like the time he thanked the drug dealer who’d just beat him up for wiping the blood out of his eyes. His guys had given him grief over that for months. Ah, well. So what if they were known as the most polite Special Forces squad in the U.S. Armed Forces? They also got more women than any other squad.

He eyed the woman on the ladder in front of him. From this angle, he could see several inches up the cropped T-shirt she wore. Her stomach was tanned and firm. She might be a curvaceous woman, but she was also in good physical condition.

As she continued to paint in silence, he gazed idly around the room. Slowly something disturbing dawned on him. He hated to make his angel mad, but he owed it to her to burst her bubble before it grew too big.

“Annie, would you mind coming down from that ladder for a minute?”

“Why? I’m almost done with this section of the wall.”

“I’m going to say something you’re not going to like, and I don’t want you to fall off the ladder again.”

Frowning, she came down.

“Would you mind setting down that paintbrush, too?”

She glanced down at it and smiled wryly. “You don’t want me armed, either, huh?”

“Nope.”

She set the brush down.

“Look. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“But…”

“But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“About what?” she asked curiously.

Long experience with women had taught him to be direct and brutal when it was time to let them go. “Annie, I’m in the middle of a mission. I don’t have time to play house with you. All this…nesting…you’re doing is sweet, but I can’t let you get involved.”

“With you or with your mission?”

“Either.”

“Too bad. I’m already involved whether you like it or not.”

“How so?”

“Tom, I’m an attaché. It’s no secret to the Gavronese government that I’m trained to do simple espionage work. I just spent seven weeks by your side day and night, and you disappeared out of the hospital this morning. Don’t you think they’re going to come looking for me?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and looked up at her bleakly. “I really wish you hadn’t jumped into the middle of this.”

“Don’t. I am a military officer, you know. I knew what I was getting into, and I can handle it.”

“But you’re a woman.”

“So?”

“A woman can’t handle what my men and I have to do.”

Her voice took on a distinctly belligerent tone. “And why not?”

“Look, Annie. I’m not some chauvinist pig who thinks women are only capable of cleaning house and making babies. But what we do takes enormous physical strength and endurance.”

“I’ll grant you men are stronger than women, but that doesn’t mean we’re less intelligent. In my experience brains can usually accomplish just as much as brawn.”

“Women are an unnecessary and dangerous distraction in the field.”

“Oh, please. I’ve worked with mostly men for eight years, and I’ve managed not to fling myself at any of my co-workers so far.”

“How many of them have flung themselves at you?”

That shut her up.

“I’m not going to debate the pros and cons of women in combat with you, Annie. The point is, I don’t want you involved with me or my men.”