Rush (Phoenix Rising) (15 page)

G
il Schaeffer pulled a fresh roll of antacids from the outer pocket of his briefcase. The morning’s infinitely boring senate hearing topic—the increasing lack of equal access to higher education in America—drowned out the rip of the wrapper. He popped three of the chalky tablets into his mouth, congratulating himself on having avoided producing a spawn of his own.

His phone vibrated at the same time a staff member approached his row of seats. He glanced at the caller ID first. Gorin. Only the eighth call this morning. Taking on that crazy scientist as a business partner trumped the stupidity of the millions of Americans who’d had children.

He pressed IGNORE and took the note from the staff member waiting patiently at Gil’s side.

Gil’s blood pressure climbed. He gave the attendant a terse nod, crunched another trio of antacids and picked up his briefcase.

In the grand, domed foyer of the Russell Senate Office Building, Owen Young paced between two pillars, hands clasped behind his back, head down. He glanced up just as Gil crossed the seal inlaid on the lobby floor, and the expression on his face told Gil he would need both a refill on antacids and his blood pressure meds.

He glanced at those close by, making sure no one important stood within hearing distance, then stopped two feet from Owen, leaned in and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“They got Legend.”

The words bounced off Gil as if he were made of rubber; still, the shockwave vibrated through his body. “That’s not possible. Where did you hear that? Your intel is wrong. ”

“I heard it directly from one of your four
best agents
—Davis.” The edge in Owen’s voice matched that glint of superiority in his eyes. “They were ambushed by at least nine others, knocked out and restrained. Legend is gone.”

The beat of Gil’s heart tripped and stumbled before recovering at a far quicker pace. Legend couldn’t be
gone
. He had enough information on the Pakistanis’ smart weapons to keep Millennium Manufacturing in military contracts for the next ten years. Contracts that would easily net six hundred-
billion
dollars.

A veil of black darkened Gil’s vision and his head grew heavy.

“Senator.” Owen’s voice sounded very far away. Muffled. A hand gripped Gil’s arm.
“Senator.”

The compression on Gil’s brain released. He shook off Owen’s hand. To keep his voice under control, he scraped words through clenched teeth. “You were supposed to handle that. How could you screw up such a simple job?”

“You pulled me in too late.” Owen’s voice took a tone of controlled condescension. “By the time I sent reinforcements, your team had already been overpowered and Legend was gone.”

Gil had known Owen would be a problem—in many ways. That thought had been among his first when he’d heard of Jocelyn’s probable demise. Gil could have chosen to use someone else to lead this op, but of the available choices, Owen was by far the most experienced, the most focused, and held the best track record. But the characteristics that made Owen so successful also made him difficult to handle—his intelligence, his confidence, his need to be in control.

“Where. Are. They?”

Owen hesitated and stared at Gil as if he were as dumb as a dirt clod. No, this man would not be as easily controlled, swayed or bribed as Jocelyn.

“Are you aware, sir, of Mitch Foster’s resources?”

“Of course, I’m aware—”

“Then you know they could be anywhere in the country by now. And they’ll be guarded by the highest technological devices and the best trained forces, all of whom owe Foster their freedom, their lives, their first-fucking-born, or all of the above.”

“And it’s your job to find them. So
do it.
”

Owen straightened. His hands dropped to his sides and something cold and sharp glinted in his eyes. Gil’s hands fisted in an unconscious effort to grasp hold of his slipping control. He needed to keep Owen on his side, and he preferred not to threaten unless every other avenue had been exhausted. He’d play the patriot card, always a winner with a vet.

“Q has been making headway in uncovering a stash of smart weapons in Pakistan,” Gil said. “Weapons that have the potential to annihilate our troops. We have to get him back to Punjab in two days or all the intelligence, the weapons themselves, and the men who designed the weapons will be history. That’s months and months of work down the toilet and increased risk to our troops overseas. This is totally unacceptable. You’re a decorated colonel, Owen. You’ve pulled off shit far more difficult than finding two men. You’ve got a multimillion-dollar budget at your disposal for Christ’s sake.” Gil’s vision split horizontally, a haze coloring the bottom portion like a red tide rising. “Get. Them. Back.”

He pulled a piece of paper from the outside pocket of his briefcase. “This is the name of an asset I’ve used in the past. He’s good. And discreet. I dispatched him yesterday to locate O’Shay. But since we suspect O’Shay and Legend are together now, update him on the situation.”

One side of Owen’s face scrunched in distaste as he read the information. “Asset? You just said—”

“The others on their team will never let them go. If they’re taken and the others are left, they’ll never stop searching. The asset will capture O’Shay and Legend and eliminate the others without a trace.”

“Now hold on, senator. You’re taking this awfully far, awfully fast. It’s a little soon to be setting up assassination orders. Give me a couple days to—”

“No. We don’t have a couple of days.” His face felt like it was too close to the sun. Sweat leaked from his hairline. “As I said”—Gil shook out his shoulders and pulled at the hem of his blazer—“in a couple of days, Legend needs to be back in Punjab. The asset has already been activated. Just tell him about Legend and let the man do his job. That’s an order, Owen.”

 

Q hit another shallow pocket of consciousness and clawed closer to the surface, desperate to hear her, see her, feel her. He’d bubbled up from that abyss several times, though he didn’t know in what span of time. It didn’t matter, because Jessica was always right there. Always touching him. Or kissing him. Or lying against him.

The last time he’d surfaced, she’d been wiping his body with a warm, wet cloth and some kind of clean, spicy soap that made him feel refreshed. She’d dawdled over every inch of his chest, arms, neck, face, dipping and wringing the rag dozens of times, inspecting every surface, every hill and valley. At some point, she’d even shaved his face. She often trailed kisses over his skin after she’d cleaned him, sending him into wild fits of pleasure he couldn’t act on because he was still trapped in semi-consciousness.

Now, he brushed the surface and found her right where she always was—by his side. Her warm hand lay against the center of his chest, her hip against his side. Whispers touched his ears, but she wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to another woman. The other voice was also familiar. From the vehicle that had brought them here.

Wherever the hell here was.

“You need to rest, Jess,” the other woman said. “You’re going to get sick. Then you won’t be doing either of you any good.”

“I’m not going to be gone when he wakes up.”

He was close. Almost there. At the surface and ready to break through.

“Will you eat something?” the other woman asked. “It’s after lunch and you didn’t touch your breakfast. Kai has been making these crazy custom power smoothies for everyone—”

“Not right now.”

The other woman sighed. “Need anything?”

Her fingers closed, scraping gently against Q’s chest. Sensation skipped across his skin. Caused his hands to flex.

“Just for him to wake up,” she said softly. “And remember.”

“Give him time, honey.”

The room fell silent again. He felt Jessica’s stare on his face. Fought to open his eyes, but only got a flutter of lashes.

He pushed his mouth and tongue around. “Jess . . .” Came out in a rasp. He cracked his lids as she pushed up on her knees.

“Right here.” She reached for something beside him. Slid one hand behind his head and lifted, bringing a straw to his lips. “Take a sip. It’s orange juice, your favorite. We need to get some sugar into your blood.”

Q sucked at the straw. The tangy, sugary liquid hit his tongue and lit off an immediate unquenchable thirst. As if he’d been fueled with instant energy, Q opened his eyes.

“Hey, there.” Her voice was so soft, so sweet, it made his chest ache. “Are you really awake? Or is this just another temporary visit?”

The straw dried up and a slurping sound came from the glass. She set the empty drink on the ground, laid his head back carefully on a pillow and remained leaning over him, her hands caressing his face.

“Feel like heaven,” he managed, finding it easier to talk with a moist throat, though his voice didn’t sound any smoother. “So beautiful.”

A slow smile turned her lips. Her eyes grew wet.

He managed to get one of his hands up and over hers. The orange juice seemed to be hitting his bloodstream. “Missed you so much. Don’t leave.”

“Never.” Her whisper sounded rough as she shook her head. Tears dropped from her eyes and hit his cheeks. “I’ll never leave you again.”

Relief and excitement surged like a tidal wave and rocked him. No words could ever bring him this much joy. She lowered her head and kissed him. Just a touch of her lips, but Q needed more. He strained toward her, waiting for her lips to come back, but they didn’t.

Need gave him the strength to slide the hand covering hers around the back of her head. Gravity did the rest. When her mouth met his, he took as much as he could, unsure of how long he’d have her. She gave with generous lips that caressed and sucked his in ways that made his mind twist and his body want. The sounds she made, emotional, heart-wrenching sounds, shivered through his mouth and ignited need throughout his body.

She tasted sweet, so sweet. Or maybe that was just the orange juice he’d been drinking. But she was fresh, warm, succulent. She was a drug. But nothing like the drugs those bastards used on him. She didn’t suppress him, she lifted him. She was ecstasy. He was completely high. His entire body buzzed with excitement. Bright white light pulsed in his chest.

He felt alive.

Finally felt
alive
.

He rolled toward her and tried to wrap his free arm at her waist, but it was his bad arm and he didn’t have the strength. He managed to fist the fabric and drag her with him as he rolled back. She moved easily, sliding on top of him and aligning their bodies. And, oh, she was so much more than he’d dreamed. Soft and strong. Lush and lean. Alive and pliant and warm. She was heaven. Absolute heaven.

His hunger intensified to starvation and he tasted her with a stroke of his tongue. She immediately responded, and the sensation of tongue against tongue diverted blood from Q’s brain straight to his cock. The pressure was so intense he lifted his hips and rubbed against Jessica for relief.

She groaned, long and deep, before lifting her head and breaking their kiss. Tears shimmered in her eyes. They were so big. Such a soft, warm brown. Her rich, tawny hair spilled around her face, silky against his bare shoulders.

She gazed down at him, her lips turning in a tentative smile. “Am I hurting you?”

“Only if you stop.” His voice sounded so hideously rough compared to hers. “I can’t tell you . . . how long I’ve dreamt of this.”

He raked his hand through her hair gently, absorbing the feel of it between his fingers. She closed her eyes, those long lashes, which were the same gorgeous color as her hair, curved gently against her cheeks. A soft spray of freckles lay beneath, barely visible.

His chest had grown so incredibly tight, ribs squeezing his lungs until every intake of breath burned. Emotion welled inside until it overwhelmed him. Thoughts swirled in his mind without consent. Words pushed at his lips.

The realization floated close as he held her face in one cupped hand. Fear encircled the warmth and excitement. How could he love her? How could he feel so overwhelmingly attached to her? And if Gorin found out how he felt . . .

Years of self-preservation and logic battled with the new and powerful emotions. His mind drifted to the man in the desert with the weapons and the hostages. Q still didn’t know what that had been. A test? And this, was this a test?

Or now that he’d escaped, was this a
trap
?

The word vibrated in his head. Internally, a thin, cold veneer slipped into place, pushing his emotions into the background, bringing instinct and intellect to the foreground. The orange juice? Had it been drugged? Was this some new experiment? Something they’d been prepping him for? Something they’d implanted in his subconscious for years in case they ever needed to pull it out and use it as a weapon against him?

“What’s wrong?” Her voice brought his eyes up to hers. They were worried. No . . . frightened. They were definitely frightened. “Quaid, honey? Are you o—”

Muscle memory took over. Q had no idea where he found the strength or the coordination, but he flipped her and closed his hand over her throat.

“Stop,” she rasped, clawing at his fingers. “Quaid, please. Stop. You’re hurting—”

“Why are you calling me Quaid?” And why did holding her down like this make him want to put a gun to his own head? “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“Quaid!” She turned her head and dragged in air, squirming beneath him. “I can’t breathe!”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The deep voice sounded in the doorway. Q’s body reacted again, thought only a hum in the background. He jerked Jessica off the floor and pulled her in front of him with an arm around her neck. The man at the door was big. With an authoritative presence. But he wasn’t holding any weapons.