Fight By The Team (Team Fear Book 2) (13 page)

“Second.” Craft walked to the mini-fridge and pulled out water bottles, rolled them down the table for the rest of the men. “Who are we dealing with? We need a file on every surviving member of Team Echo, but they’re not working alone. They’ve got someone inside the Department of Defense. Who funded the research? Who were the assholes poking and prodding us before they cut us loose? And where the fuck is Captain Johnson? Because I don’t have a clue as to his level of involvement. Whoever is involved, we’re talking high-level black ops shit, and they’d rather bury us than own up to the program.”

Stills sat quietly at the end of the table while they discussed strategy for the next hour or more, watching the interaction in silence, but he leaned forward as Rose finished writing notes on the white board. “You boys have bigger problems than you think. When I crawled out of my very pleasant distraction, I tried to look you up, but no dice. Called on a buddy who was on Team Delta, and he’s dealing with his own shit. These other teams, they’re not all good guys. The ones that are clean are dying off faster than an epidemic. Car accidents, drunk drivers, and a heart attack in a healthy thirty-one-year-old soldier.”

“You know, we always assumed that Lauren’s accident was caused by the guys who kidnapped her.”

“Good point, Rose.” A muscle ticked in Ryder’s jaw. “But it could have been Echo, given everything we know now. Were they trying to draw me back to the local area or kill her outright?”

“Four of them were in the bar that night. They might have taken it as an opportunity and assumed you were in the truck with Lauren.”

“Fuck.” Ryder threw his empty water bottle at the wall where it crashed into the waiting trashcan.

“Three points,” Stills joked.

The room went silent with the implications. Ryder nailed Stills with a glare that would shrivel the balls of a lesser man. “Stills, not that long ago, you told us to fuck off. You wanted to go your own way. There’s no fence to straddle here. You’re either in or you’re out.”

“I humped it down to Texas as fast as I could, which ought to tell you where my loyalty lies.” Stills leaned forward, his eyes narrowed and tight. “But given the fact that these fuckers killed one of my best friends and they’d like to do the same to me? I’m in.”

Ryder tapped a pen against the pad, the only sound in the room the soft whirr of the ventilation system. “We’re on lockdown here until we have a solid plan to take these assholes out for good. Rose, you take point on the scientific aspect. Figure out who and what and how of this designer drug. Craft, you’re on the intelligence gathering. Use your magic fingers to dig into some classified files. Who, what, when, why, where, and how, but especially who. Who funded the program? And if you come across any medical or scientific research, hand it off to Rose and Debi.”

“I’m not sitting on my ass out here in BFE,” Stills said when he didn’t get an assignment. “Give me something to do or I walk.”

“Stills, you have a contact on Delta, so start there. What’s the deal with the other teams? Who is involved? Are there any potential allies out there? Anyone with more information we could use? I want dossiers, locations, pictures. Strengths and weaknesses.”

“You want to know if they’re naughty or nice?” Stills asked, his stern features belying the joke.

“I want to know more than Santa Claus.”

Fowler stood at the opposite end of the table, legs braced apart. “I’ll take point on security. I know the layout and can keep us off the grid.”

Ryder nodded agreement. “I’ll coordinate big picture, reassign personnel as needed, pull in the women for anything that doesn’t require loss of life or limb. And if any of you fuckers tells Lauren I’m giving her light duty, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.”

Craft chuckled. “It’s good to be back.”

Craft was right. They’d all gone separate ways after the Army had discharged them—medically unfit—and they hadn’t accomplished anything on their own but getting two good men killed. They might be in a world of hurt, but they weren’t alone. They were a team. Rose finished writing out duty details and tossed the marker to the table. “Live by the team, fight by the team.”

“Hooah,” the rest agreed.

“Now let’s grab some chow and get a solid night’s sleep.” Fowler led the way out of the room, shutting off lights as he went. “I’ll show you the main tunnel back to the house. We’ve got perimeter guards that roam the property every night. There are alerts in place if anyone crosses the gate, touches the fencing, or comes within fifty yards of the manor or the barn. Electronics alert in the command post, my room, and Janet’s. We’ll know if anyone comes at us tonight. Not that I expect anything.”

“Too soon,” Ryder agreed. “But don’t get complacent.”

“Speaking of complacent.” Rose gestured to the dirty bandage covering Ryder’s palm. “Now that we’re settled, you need to clean that up. Stop by and I’ll make sure it’s clean and put on new bandages.”

“There’s a clinic in the basement of the main house,” Fowler offered. “I’ll show you when we get to the other side of the tunnel.

The tunnel was one of those horror movie deals with painted concrete walls and a light every ten feet that flickered. Craft raced ahead, jumped up to
clang
one of the hanging lights so it swung back and forth on rusty, creaky hinges. “Asshole,” Rose muttered. Last thing he needed was the thought of this damn tunnel when he was sleeping in a haunted freaking hotel for the criminally insane.

The tunnel ended in the former root cellar. Fowler pointed the opposite direction. “Clinic’s down that way. If you come down here on your own, keep to the central hallway until you’ve studied the blue prints.”

A short set of steps led to the back pantry of the kitchen. They dished up stew and buttermilk biscuits and sat down for chow like they’d never left the team. Rose scarfed down a bowl before he realized how much time they’d spent on the other side of the compound. He glanced at his watch to make sure the clock was right. Debi was long past due for another pain pill. “Shit.” He scraped back from the table, put his bowl in the dishwasher, and headed out.

Craft intercepted him at the doorway. “Where are you going?”

Hell, he knew that look. Craft was digging in, ready to screw with him. “My room. Move.”

Craft’s forehead wrinkled as he thought long and hard. “Isn’t there someone else’s room down that way?”

“Yes, dumbass, I’m going to check the patient before I hit the rack.”

“Patient? You mean Debi?” Craft looked around Rose to the audience still sitting at the long farm table. “Do you suppose he thinks that calling her
the patient
makes her less hot?”

“I think they’re playing doctor,” Stills suggested from the safety of the kitchen.

“Laugh it up, dickhead.”

Craft shrugged and moved to the side. “I was just seeing what was what. Because if you’re not interested, that bartender is one fine—”

“Shut it.” Rose body checked him into the nearest wall. “One more word, and we’re taking it to the mat.”

“My bad.” Craft raised his hands in surrender. “Rose has called dibs.”

“Can’t call dibs on a person.” Ryder took a sip of sweet tea. “At least that’s what Lauren tells me.”

“Amateur. You can’t tell a woman you called dibs. Defeats the purpose. Take me for instance, if I called dibs on Camy...”

Rose crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t need to threaten. There were rules. Sisters were off limits. Period.

“Why you gotta be like that?” Craft asked.

“Didn’t say a word.”

“Exactly. The eyebrow thing and the arms. A threat was implied.”

“Bet your ass.”

Craft frowned at Rose’s response. “O-kay. Different example. Take Rose here. If he called dibs in front of
the patient
.” Craft added the emphasis to the word and waggled his eyebrows. “She would have him by the balls.”

“Fuck off.” Rose stormed down the hallway to the sounds of the team laughing it up at his expense. He let it roll off, because he had bigger problems to worry about. Craft was right. Rose was a walking hard-on around the bartender, but he damn well knew better than getting involved right now. Anyone close to him was a target. His future was not bright, and Debi was a non-combatant. Still, one look at her and his dick stood at the position of attention. The woman had him by the short hairs. God help him when she figured it out.

D
ebi zoned
out in the dark, not quite awake, not asleep. The giant divot in the center of the bed said some big dude had slept there, leaving a superhero-sized imprint large enough to swallow her whole. She rolled downhill every time she was almost asleep, pulling the stitches and yanking her awake.

A sliver of light under the door widened as Rose peeked into the room. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Debi blinked against the glare. As her eyes adjusted, she pushed off on her good side to sit up, then scooted back to lean on the pine log headboard. “Lauren and I are planning an all-nighter. Booze, friends, a couple strippers.”

“Why is every answer sarcastic with you?” He stepped inside and closed the door, leaving them with only the sliver under the door for light.

“Sarcasm works for me.” The inability to see his face brought out something unexpected. Honesty. Maybe it was the pain pills. “Because the truth is often hard, and most people are looking for an easy answer. Sarcasm lets them laugh and move on without getting involved.”

“Your father?”

Well, wasn’t he a perceptive one? “No. Every drunk who ever walked into my bar.”

“Your old man a drunk?”

“I have no idea.” She’d never seen him outside of the university. Never been to his house. There was no fake family Christmas. They didn’t even share a last name. “Sarcasm is my native tongue and the world has given me a plethora of material. Hate to waste it.”

“You’re not as tough as you want to believe.” His voice sounded nearer, but the deep darkness made it impossible to see the outline of his large frame.

Her heart beat against her chest, which was still bruised from the panic attack. Every breath hurt. “I’m not as weak as you think.”

“I don’t think you’re weak.” The bed dipped under his weight.

“No?” Her voice came out breathy. She lifted her knees to rest the sling against. “I do. Think I’m weak.” Damn, the truth spilled from her mouth like coins from a slot machine. She’d sought out her father, because she hadn’t been enough on her own. She’d wanted, needed maybe, her father’s approval. And that ship had sailed. The panic attacks that had haunted her youth had only gotten worse around her father, and in the end, the attacks were one more reason he despised her. Her screwed-up parentage was a Freudian wet dream.

“You’re not weak.”

The tone flat warned her not to argue, but the darkness pulled the truth from the depths of her soul. “I’d have done anything to win his love.” To her, that was the definition of weakness.

Rose ran a finger along her good arm causing a shiver to run through her body. “It should have been the other way around. He should have moved mountains for you.”

The knot in her throat was too large to speak around. A single tear dripped down, but she didn’t swipe it away, because it would mean losing Rose’s gentle touch. She could smell him now, masculine and sexy. She’d never been closer to another human soul, or more certain that she didn’t deserve it. A dozen sarcastic comments crawled up her throat to push him away, but she swallowed them along with the lump that never truly left.

She twined her fingers through his and held on, because she needed his warmth, his touch. She needed him. They stayed that way, holding hands across the big bed, until a nap jerk twitched her body and yanked their hands apart.

“You should get some sleep,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

Her body said yes, while her mind said hell no. She couldn’t be alone with her thoughts right now. “Rose, will you sleep with me?”

Crickets.

“Oh, God, I didn’t mean...” She smacked a hand on her forehead. At some point she wanted the soldier in her bed for something more than sleep, but tonight she simply needed company. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” The box springs squeaked when he stood. “I’ll make you a deal. Take another pain pill, and I’ll stay and keep the pressure off your injury.”

“Another pain pill. Afraid I’m going to take advantage of you?”

“Don’t fall back on sarcasm.”

But it was the one thing she was really good at. “Look, the last pill made me the most morose human being on the planet. Another one might turn on the waterworks.” And the last thing she wanted was to cry all over Rose. She wasn’t a pretty crier.

“Tears aren’t a weakness. Take the deal.”

The image of him standing over her, bulging arms crossed over his massive chest was born out by his shadow at the end of the bed. “Fine, but if I cry on you, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“I’ve got six sisters. Tears stopped scaring me years ago.”

“Oh.” That made sense. He’d probably seen some ugly tears, too. She reached out a hand toward him, a risky move since she could have touched any body part, but finally found his hand. “I’ll take it if you stay.”

The rattle of pills forecasted his movements before he handed her a pill and a bottle of water. She swallowed it while his clothes hit the hardwood floor. The sound was quite possibly the sexiest thing since a striptease. He settled into the center of the bed and eased her next to him. Quick moves had one pillow rolled under her sore arm to take the weight off. One of his arms curved under her head while the other cinched around her waist drawing her close to his tight body. The musculature against her back was the stuff of dreams and she was too sore to take advantage of it. The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

She wiggled to get her body into place, her legs brushing against the cotton of his boxers. “Are you wearing the green and blue paisley?” She licked her lips. “Those are my favorite.”

“Go to sleep.”

“If you insist.” She didn’t need the pill. His body wrapped around hers and her eyes blinked closed. “Rose?”

“Hmm?” His breath fluttered in her hair, raising goose bumps.

“Thank you.” It helped hearing the words from a man. Her father should have moved mountains to win her love and affection. A fist unknotted in her chest as she drifted to sleep. She wasn’t as strong as she wanted to be—yet—but she wasn’t defective either. There was still time to fix her mistakes.

The basement hallway stretched like an abandoned subway station with benches set into alcoves. Rose didn’t want to think about who had sat on those benches and what they’d waited for. Thick beige subway tiles covered the walls and floors, and the same drab hanging lights from the tunnels flickered every ten feet. Narrow archways turned off at random intervals, rabbit holes Fowler had warned, so Rose kept going forward, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous basement. The hall turned off to the right and landed without ceremony in an open room the size of the upstairs great room. On the far side were closed doors leading to a hospital clinic. The cool air stuck to Rose’s skin, reminding him of a morgue.

Debi yanked supplies from a box on a counter under three windows cut into stone at ceiling height.

“You should have waited for me,” he said, stepping into the room.

Petri dishes clattered to stainless steel. The crash echoed like waves through the interior space. “Crap.” Debi leaned heavily on the counter. “You scared me.”

He moved closer to help her place everything in order. “I can’t imagine why.”

She lifted her head to peer around the room. “I’m convinced Fowler hates me. Of all the places to put me...” She pointed across the room, deeper into the dark. “Can you believe this place?” A portable hospital bed was parked against the far wall, tucked neatly into place and left to gather dust. Restraints dangled against rusty legs. “I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits or energies, but this place flat unnerves me.”

“Seen any ghosts yet?”

“Honey, if I see ghosts, Echo won’t have to find me, because I’ll have a coronary on the spot.” She turned back to the box and grabbed out something with her good hand.

“Here, let me.” He slid the box closer and started pulling out parcels and envelopes and wrapped supplies. “I’d have carried this down for you. Helped you set up.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to wake you. You were sound asleep when I woke at the crack of dawn.”

Not asleep. He’d needed time to get his head on straight and convince his body that the soft woman in his arms wasn’t meant for his morning pleasure. The six hours wrapped around her made up both the longest and shortest night of his life. Debi had fallen asleep instantly and he hadn’t wanted to wake her, which was a damn lie. He’d wanted to keep her up all night, and not by holding her hand. The silky strands of her hair had wrapped around his arm, filling his head with the smell of strawberry shampoo. Add the curve of her fine ass against his skin and he’d been sunk. Desire was a cruel bitch. He wasn’t a monk, and after so many nights of sharing the same motel room, knowing the little hum she made as she drifted, knowing she woke when the sun peeked through the curtains. All of it added up to temptation incarnate. None of which he could tell her, so he grabbed a microscope from the box and set it on the counter. He had no idea what equipment like that cost, but it was a good bet they wouldn’t find a replacement out here.

Debi pushed the microscope several feet down the counter. “Anyway, I didn’t carry it down. Craft hauled for me and helped me set up.”

Craft. Asshole. Rose just bet Craft was helpful. A surge of anger flooded his veins at the mention of Craft. Rose wanted to deck him for no good reason other than what the other man had said about Debi the night before. Yes, she was hot, and no way in hell was Craft good enough for her. Neither was Rose. “Where did he run off to?”

“Training. Apparently there’s a schedule.”

“There always is. PT first thing in the morning.” He spiked his fingers through his hair, still damp from the post-workout shower. “Puzzles the rest of the day.”

“Will there be croquet later?”

“This isn’t summer camp. The sooner we solve the mystery of Team Echo, the sooner you get your life back.” He hoped for her sake, for all the women, that they could solve the problem, but the idea of Debi leaving put a hurt on his chest. “Dr. Branson called earlier. He wants me to take a look at your stitches and see if you’re ready to start moving the shoulder more.”

“Does that mean I’m joining the ranks of PT in the morning and hand-to-hand in the afternoon?”

“Not yet, but if there’s no seepage and no sign of infection, you can start physical therapy today. The clinic is down here. We should take a look.”

“That’s a very disgusting image you put in my head. Seepage. I think we can skip the wound check.” Disgust turned her frown into a grimace.

“No. We can’t. Into the clinic, Debi.”

She set the petri dishes near the microscope and a tower of bins. It was the second time she’d stacked and unstacked them. “The light’s good if I work during the day, but we’re going to need better task lighting at a minimum.”

He recognized avoidance when he saw it. He set a hand at her elbow and slowly turned her toward the clinic. “We can probably make the lights happen. I’ll talk to Fowler. But for now, let’s go into my office and look at the stitches.”

“I’d rather learn hand-to-hand. One handed.” She dragged her feet as they neared the back.

“Come on.” He led the way to the closed doors that supposedly housed the clinic. “If you’re good I’ll give you a Hello Kitty sticker when we’re finished.”

She stopped dead at the door. “I’m holding out for two Hello Kitty stickers and one My Little Pony.”

“Sure, but I’m all out of stickers. How about a rain check? I’m good for it.”

“I charge interest.”

“How much?”

The edges of her lips curved into a smirk. “Depends on how bad this hurts.”

The reply spilled from his lips without talking to his brain first. “If it hurts, I’m doing it wrong.”

Surprise widened her eyes before mischief glinted there. “Then I guess we’ll have to see if you deliver.”

“Oh, I’ll deliver.” Shit, what the hell was wrong with him? She was a patient. He opened the door and ushered her in front of him.

She stopped cold in the doorway. “Well, this is unexpected.”

Rose eased in behind her. The room looked like an actual clinic, complete with examination table, supplies, and a locked medicine cabinet. Debi open the opposite door and it linked to an identical room. Beyond that was another exam room with a portable x-ray machine. “Shit, he really has been preparing for Armageddon.”

“Do you think he has a doctor on staff?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. My bet is Dr. Branson. Explains why he was willing to help and keep things off the books.” Rose led her back to the first room and patted the paper covering the table. “Hop up. Let’s take a look.”

She climbed up using the little stool, putting her eye-to-eye with Rose. The velvety brown of her doe eyes gazed with longing at the back door and the rooms beyond. “Fowler really does hate me. Putting me out in a dim, creepy space with torture devices—”

“There’s only one torture device.”

“That you saw. I’m out there in the dust and dirt, with or without torture devices, and he’s got all this antiseptic, well-lit space in here. I have room envy.”

“We can move you into one of these rooms if you want. If we need three exam rooms, there won’t be enough of us left to fight anyway.”