Justice Incarnate (17 page)

Maybe not the exact justice Jaden sought, but she wouldn't have to resort to murder. And he wouldn't have to delve into his personal mysteries her claims brought to light.

Flying high on the day's progress, Brian strode off in the direction of the suite, only to freeze in front of a security monitor. A woman was struggling to enter at the back door. A woman with Jaden's hair, clutching her hip and wearing a familiar, though horribly damaged, cow-safe jacket he'd once called his own.

He shot down the hall like a bullet.

Jaden took a slow, measured breath, gripped the panel and tried again to enter the god-forsaken code correctly. The door opened on a rush of air and Brian's cursing voice. He pulled her inside and though she wanted to blame the pain, it was his presence that sent tears of gratitude streaming down her face.

Tears twice in two days. She was going soft.

She pushed at him, in defense of pride if nothing else, but it only added insult to the injury. Feeling small and incapable didn't suit her. She pushed again and he merely murmured soothing nonsense.

"Shut up." The raspy voice was hers. How appalling.

"What hurts? What's happened?"

"Hip," she growled, pointing to the obvious injury rather than the invisible agony of another victim crying a river inside her head.

She paused, felt him take a peek at the bleeding wound, then tried to move along. But he swept her up into his arms and she cursed the part of her that wanted to sink in and stay there forever.

She'd never needed help before and now seemed much too late to break a perfectly good habit. "Put me down. I can make it."

"Sure you can," he agreed. "I just want to get to the infirmary before dawn."

"No infirmary. Suite."

"I am sweet, but we're going for professional help."

"No... Oh!" Jaden started at the slither of a silk scarf across her knees. Except it wasn't her knees she was feeling.

The current object of Albertson's perverse attention was a young girl. Her blindfold impaired Jaden's vision as well and prevented both of them from bracing against the evil torment attacking her.

The intensity of the connection eased with Brian's touch. Her vision wasn't back to normal, but the gradual relief of terror allowed her to begin thinking clearly. "Somehow he knows," she explained. "Albertson knows they can connect with me." She heard a door open and close, then voices and shoes moving closer. "I said suite."

"Overruled," Brian said. "I'm setting you down now."

To her shame, she clung. "Don't let go."

"Just lay back and let them get a look at that hip."

Her free hand searched for clues to her surroundings. Hard, narrow surface, cool to the touch. Definitely the infirmary. Why wouldn't he listen? "I want to take care of this on my own."

"Stop wasting energy arguing."

New hands touched her and she flinched, cowering into Brian. Oh, how she hated this! She'd worked for years to master involuntary reactions. But the child's new terror amplified her own memories making her feel like a fragile victim once more.

Unknown voices swirled around her. Hands she couldn't see to anticipate kept landing on her clothing and skin, kept delving into the wound. Oh, God! She'd be crying again soon, or worse, vacating her body. Then what would happen to her? To the poor trapped little girl?

"Make them stop," she begged. "Make them stop."

Silence.

Praise God!

She felt nothing but the table beneath her.

Hallelujah!

Then a flurry of movement and she was cradled in Brian's arms, his hand smoothing her hair, his lips brushing her eyes.

The horrible connection to Albertson's victim faded to the barest level of awareness. A level she could handle. Jaden tried to feel guilt instead of relief. The blindfold prevented any location clues, making a rescue impossible. And the damage had been done. Only time could help the child now.

"Better?" he asked.

She blinked and filled her gaze with the carved beauty of his face. "Getting there." She reached up to trace his jaw. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed with...worry?

"You were screaming."

Her hand fell. Whoops. "Sorry."

"You will be," his voice rumbled from his chest, "if you claim that was a headache."

"Not here."

"Fine." He shifted to slide an arm beneath her legs. "Hang on."

She obeyed, making an effort to not enjoy it too much when he stood up, clipped out orders for supplies, and left the infirmary.

"I can see why you made chief."

"Flattery won't get you off the hook," he growled.

"You're just mad because I got blood on your jacket."

From her intimate vantage point she caught the hint of a smile teasing his mouth.

"My jacket's a lot better than this rag you're wearing."

She joined his effort to lighten the mood. "Then why's your name in the collar?"

He rolled his eyes, but his mouth curved. "Open the door." She did and he carried her straight to the bathroom, setting her gently on her feet. "Can you strip on your own?"

She could, now. Did she dare ask for help anyway?

A voice from the door announced the arrival of the medical supplies.

He questioned her with only a compelling look, then went to deal with the delivery.

The moment alone seemed unbearable. She wanted him nearly as much as she wanted to run from him. She knew better than to mix it up like this. Their situation was precarious enough already.

"What caused the cut?"

She appreciated his understatement as much as his brisk tone. Sex didn't challenge her–sex with someone who mattered did. And Brian, whose touch restored her balance, mattered a great deal to the success of her mission.

"Hello? Are you zoning again?"

"No. I'm good. I'm here." She eased out of the jacket and peeled the torn clothing away from the wound. Then she took her first real look at the gash making an angry red highlight over the crest of her left hip. "I caught on the edge of something in the alley."

"Ya think? This sucker's ragged. And nearly bone deep."

"Ya think?" she echoed. "Hand me the Biosan."

"We'll sanitize that in a minute." Brian punched buttons on the shower control panel. "Soap and hot water first."

His surgical removal of her clothing stifled her protests about waste and necessity. Of course the heat of his hands pushing her under the delicious fall of real water, real hot water, made her positively giddy.

She couldn't recall ever feeling giddy.

Not even the brutal sting of water sliding over open flesh dimmed the thrill.

"You're a saint," she moaned.

"Hardly."

Oh, God. He'd climbed into the shower with her. His broad palms skimmed rich lather across her shoulders, down her arms, then back again. Her body responded with a hot, wet surge that had nothing to do with water.

"You've seen your share, haven't you?" he said as he washed her back.

She felt his gaze on each of her visible scars from various blades and bullets. Different battles, some practice, but all for and from the same root: protect, defend and destroy evil.

"I mean to achieve my goal." She didn't have to add 'with or without you'.

Those big, warm hands turned her, tipped her head under the spray to work on her hair. Her lids drooped in rapture, but she studied his face from beneath her lashes, then let her gaze wander lower.

He'd been formed by a masterful sculptor, she decided. Though the gorgeous expanse of torso showed evidence of his own close calls. She followed a crease of a bullet's path along his ribcage, pleased with his reactive twitch. "Why'd you let this scar?"

"Chicks dig it."

She snorted, then hissed as soap bit at the wound she'd put out of her mind.

He snatched her close, and the magnificent press of breasts to hair-roughened chest dulled the pain. She fused her mouth to his, teasing those firm lips open with her tongue. Between them, his powerful erection pulsed its primal invitation.

"Let's fix you up," he said, drawing away.

"Um. Sure thing." She licked her lips, savored the taste of him, unsure if she should feel relief or despair. Did it matter? The moment was gone thanks to the man's astonishing control. Accepting the towel he offered, she began to dry off.

"Think Micky charges extra for trashed towels?"

She glanced down to where her blood still oozed from her hip. Watched as Brian applied tender pressure. "It happened in the line of duty, so he'd better not."

"Word in the shop is you really 'whaled' on the guy."

"I was pissed," she admitted.

"Why?"

"I like Lorine."

"Me too. And?"

"She has a cute kid." She couldn't believe him. Them. Clad in thin towels, after the best shower of all her lives, medic and patient conversed as if her world wasn't spinning off its axis.

"And?" he prompted again.

She sighed. "And he was wearing what's left of your jacket."

"Remind me to thank you. Ready?"

She nodded and set her teeth against the assault of antiseptic. The first half of the Biosan treatment didn't hurt and supposedly contained numbing agents. She'd decided long ago the numbing thing was a marketing placebo to boost Biosan sales. The second phase burned like hell itself. She swore.

"I'm impressed."

"With?"

"Your creative use of the language. Expressive and to the point." He stood up and kissed her nose. "Though I worry that you eat with that mouth."

"I do other things with it too." The seductive purr hung between them in the steamy air.

"Oh, yeah?"

That he needed to clear his throat charmed her. Who the hell had invaded her body and ripped out her ability to think rationally?

"Well," he continued, "those other things can wait until you put this back together." He skimmed a finger just above the wound.

She closed her eyes at the mixture of bliss and agony, then took a deep, bracing breath. "All right. Let's get to it." She found a laser similar to the one she'd used on Katie on the tray of supplies he'd brought into the bathroom. Uncomfortable, yes. But a huge step up from the archaic method of stitching skin together. She handed it to him. "Go for it."

"You want me to do it?"

"You've got the better angle." She hoped she sounded casual. Not like a woman ready to slap on a band-aid and jump the nearly naked hunk in front of her.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Aw, you are sweet." She smiled when he grimaced. "But I can take it, really."

"Then take it on the bed."

She felt her mouth drop open.

"Better angle," he said coolly.

"Right." She stretched out the word since it was the only one she could think of. Then she stretched out her aching body, keeping all her more important parts covered with the towel.

To her further surprise, he draped her with a blanket before he began sealing the gash. "It's set to infuse a tetanus booster as we go."

Brian watched her jaw clench against the process and he forced himself to continue. Bruises were blooming all over, marring the silky perfection of her skin.

"You took a beating," he said, more to himself than her.

"Other guy's worse." The strain scraped her voice.

He was making progress, but it was slow. Even slower over the deep parts. The area closest to the bone would be the worst. He searched for a distraction. For both of them. "Lorine said you shot him. I didn't think you carried."

"His gun."

Steady. "You kept it?"

She nodded. "Prints. Ow!"

"I know. We're over the bone. Don't talk. Just listen." He concentrated on knitting her flesh. "About earlier. I found a medical expert to contradict the juicing tests. I don't juice. Never have." He stopped and pulled his brain out of his raging hard-on. They'd dodged that bullet, barely. The woman didn't need sex, she needed to heal. On a variety of levels. He tried again. "I found some useful dirt on Kristoff and Albertson."

Her body sagged as the laser moved beyond the bone. He'd never known anyone to stay conscious through a laser treatment of this duration and delicacy. "All down hill from here. We'll look at the research tomorrow on the way to Gary. It might serve your purpose." And solve my dilemma.

Her eyes were closed, her brow smooth and her breathing even. Finally.

She needed rest, so he moved to clean up and think through the options. Rested, she might be more receptive to his news, though she'd likely argue more about taking the el.

He came to the bedroom doorway. Her peaceful sleep gave him hope there was a softer side of her in there somewhere. He wanted to believe she'd settle for Albertson behind bars rather than Albertson in an early grave.