Shadow Hawk

6

WATKINS STOOD ON THE EDGE of the clearing, feeling the heat of the fire toast his face. The wind lashed at him, the smoke stinging his eyes. He’d directed Gaines’s men out of there now that the explosions had gone off, and the fire was out of control.

Their job was done. Permanently. Most would vanish completely now with the booty Gaines had given each of them, although it was inevitable that some, the greedy ones, would continue with their illegal forays.

Not his problem.

His cell vibrated. He looked down at the readout and grimaced. He debated not answering, but that could be bad for his health. “Yeah?”

“How the hell did Logan get onto a heli-transport?” Gaines demanded. “He’s supposed to be dead. You were supposed to have him killed.”

Watkins closed his eyes. He’d been paid extremely well over the years, and, as a result, he hadn’t had a problem with how tonight was to go down.

But he hadn’t agreed to off Logan.

Nor Abby.

Besides, there wasn’t enough money to look into Abby’s eyes and watch her die. There just wasn’t. “Not my fault. Sam screwed up and didn’t make sure he was dead before he tossed him off the roof. And then Abby ordered me to-”

“Christ. You let a woman run your show? You’re worthless.”

The back of Watkins’s neck tingled. His heart lodged in his throat. He turned in a slow circle, making it halfway around before he came face-to-face with two hooded men.

Gaines’s men. “I thought I told you guys to get out of here.”

“Goodbye, Watkins,” Gaines said in his ear, just as one of the men lifted his gun and pointed it at Watkins’s chest.

J.T. LOGAN WAS DREAMING ABOUT floating on a raft, surrounded by a sea of gorgeous, stacked Playboy centerfolds there to serve his every whim. Even dead asleep he knew the utter ridiculousness of the fantasy, and exactly how politically incorrect it was, but, hey, it wasn’t his fault, he was dreaming.

But it didn’t last long enough. As he came awake in slow degrees, pain spread like knives stabbing throughout his entire body.

Holy shit. With a moan, he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at one of his Playboy centerfolds. Huh? Still dreaming? Hard to tell. She wasn’t picture-perfect like the others nor magazine-cover ready, but there was something vibrant, something extremely real about her.

She wore blue, which contrasted with her siren-red hair, pulled into two haphazard braids on either side of her head. She was watching over him from behind black-rimmed glasses through which a pair of forest-green eyes, outlined by long, spiky lashes, blinked at him. These rather amazing eyes were narrowed, and her forehead was creased into a frown, with one eyebrow bisected by a scar that drew his gaze.

He couldn’t look away. Oddly, he wanted to know what had happened to cause that scar more than he wanted to know why his head felt as if it’d been blown half off his shoulders.

She wore no makeup except for gloss on lips that were still frowning and also moving.

Asking him a question, he realized. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to hear a thing.

Yeah, he had to still be dreaming. But what was this harassed-looking, slightly rumpled Playboy bunny doing in his dreams?

The others had all been naked, and yet here she sat wearing clothes. Scrubs to be exact, which wasn’t one of his particular fantasies, though he was always willing to-

Uh-oh.

Turning his head, he took in the sky. Ah. Not a Playboy bunny but an angel. Yeah, that explained it.

Except he didn’t want to be dead…

Then Logan realized he was looking at the sky from a small window. He was flying. In a pretty damn fine helicopter, too.

Oh, boy. Either he really was on his way to heaven, or he was in big trouble.

He’d take door number three instead, thank you very much.

Too bad that didn’t appear to be an option.

His hearing was slowly coming back, though everything was sounding tinny and very, very faint, as if coming from miles away. And, damn, the pain had him gasping, wanting to curl into a ball.

Or hurl.

“What’s your name?” the angel in scrubs was asking.

“J.T. Logan. Just Logan is good, though,” he answered automatically. Which was good, right? It was always good to know your name.

“Okay, J.T. Logan, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Now that stymied him, because, interestingly enough, he didn’t see any fingers. Though he did see a lot of that red hair, escaping those messy braids. She had the kind of bangs that swept across her temple and down one side of her face, framing her jaw. Her ears were small, dainty, with two single gold hoops in one ear, and four in the other. Her V-necked scrubs were short-sleeved, revealing toned, tanned arms.

His angel liked to be outside, and she liked to be physical, which in no way took away from the fact that she was nicely stacked.

“How many fingers?” she asked again, bending over him to check one of the pieces of equipment behind him. As she did, her top gaped, revealing a pink bra beneath.

And a heart belly ring.

God bless the belly ring. “Two,” he answered definitively, looking at her breasts. “Pink cotton-clad-ouch!”

His angel jabbed him with a needle, which answered his question about heaven. He definitely wasn’t there. Proving it, she pressed something just behind his ear, which came away bright red.

Blood.

His.

Ah, shit. Pain continued to bloom through him.

“Nice gash there,” she said, still frowning. “You’ll need stitches after X-rays.” Then she set down the blood-soaked cloth and ran her hands down his body, and he wished like hell he could feel them instead of the agony slashing through him because he’d bet her hands were warm and sweet and gentle-

“Besides the possible concussion, I’m going to guess at least two dinged-up ribs-” She paused, probing, while he did his best not to lose his dignity and throw up on her very clean, white athletic shoes. “Make that three.”

“That’s probably going to hurt pretty good when I stop floating,” he said.

Again she leveled him with those green, green eyes. His beautiful, still-frowning flight nurse. “You feel like you’re floating?”

“Better than puking, right?” Logan tried a smile and felt his eyes roll in the back of his head at the movement.

“Don’t move.” She ran her fingers over his ribs and fire burst through his veins instead of blood.

“Holy shit!” he gasped. “What else is injured?”

“I’m guessing some internal bleeding. I think your right leg’s fractured. Not sure about your hip.”

God. He stared up at the ceiling of the chopper and concentrated on breathing. At least he was breathing. And then it occurred to him that he had no recollection of getting there. “What happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

He stared at her as his brain hit Pause, Search and then Play. But all he could summon up were the Playboy models floating naked on the ocean, pleasuring him however he wanted, when he wanted. Somehow he didn’t think she wanted to hear about that.

“It’s okay,” she said, softening, her fingers touching his jaw. “Just relax, and-”

“Enjoy the flight?” He let out a laugh that definitely wasn’t full of amusement. “That depends on what the in-flight movie is for today.” Logan went to sit up, and found his vision hampered by yet another explosion of white-hot pain.

“Yeah, that’s your ribs. Hence the not moving suggestion.”

Got it. Not moving. Very carefully not moving. But as he lay back and went still, he wracked his brain for answers.

None came.

“What’s your last memory?” she asked.

“Floating with the bunnies.”

She arched that scarred eyebrow. “The fluffy white-tail kind?”

“Um…sure.”

She eyed him, and he had a feeling he was slipping nothing by her.

“Huh,” she said. “Wonder what bunnies were doing at your raid.”

“Raid?”

She lifted up the flak vest she’d obviously had to cut off him. The big white letters across the back read ATF Agent.

And just like that, it slammed into him. Separating from Hawk on the roof. Hearing Hawk call out Gaines’s name. Having it all make terrible gut-wrenching sense and then being hit over the head before being shoved off the roof. It hadn’t been Gaines, he’d been on the ground, but one of Gaines’s men. He knew it. “Hawk,” he said hoarsely. “Where’s Hawk?”

His angel/nurse gently set a hand on his chest. Yep, just as he thought, she had a sweet touch. Sweet and unyielding.

Because she wasn’t letting him get up.

“My partner,” he ground out, gasping as he lay back. “Do you know about him?”

Her eyes filled with compassion as she shook her head. “You’re the only one we have tonight.”

“Cell phone. I need my-”

“Whoa there, cowboy.”

“I need to-”

“Breathe,” she said firmly, nodding when he gulped in air. “Yeah, just keep doing that.” She was leaning over him again, hands on his upper arms, holding him down. “That’s it.” She looked behind him to the pilot. “Ethan, ETA?”

“Twelve minutes.”

“Almost there,” she told Logan, stroking a hand down his arm and back up again, in a manner that was incredibly calming. “You’ve had quite the night, haven’t you?”

“I need to call in-” He broke off at a wave of dizziness. “Shit, this sucks.”

“Tell you what. You lie really still for me, and soon as we land, I’ll find out about your partner, okay?”

He wanted her to call now. But there were spots swimming in his eyes and he thought maybe he was going to puke after all.

“So, do you remember how you got so dinged up?”

“Took a hit to the head.” Which had hurt way more than he’d expected, but not as much as, say, taking a flying leap off a roof. “Then I took a tumble off a roof.”

“You fell off a roof?”

“Not fell.” His jaw throbbed with tension and all the pain. “I was pushed.”

She shook her head. “And I thought my job was hazardous.”

Logan let out a low laugh, which had him groaning in agony. Again she bent over him.

“Keep breathing,” she whispered, eyes on his.

Yeah, he’d keep breathing, soon as he was done throwing up. He would keep breathing, just as long as he could keep looking at her…

HAWK WAS STILL HOLDING ONTO Abby, who was staring in horror at the handcuff on her wrist. He had to admit to feeling a little bit of horror himself, but he had to keep her safe, at all costs. Because that’s what he did, he upheld the law, he kept people safe…

And she needed to be kept safe, whether she knew it or not.

God. He’d handcuffed her to him. And somehow he didn’t think it would help to explain to her that sometimes to do the right thing you had to cross the line. Especially when he hadn’t just crossed it, he’d stomped on it. But, God, she’d tasted so sweet, so hot, he wanted to stomp on that line again…

No. Bad.

Focus.

He was going to keep her safe, at any cost.

The wind had kicked the flames so that they were surrounded, as if in their own, intimate hell. They stared at each other, her glaring, him stunned. Kissing her had been everything he’d ever imagined and more, so much more, because the reality of her willowy body against his had been better than any fantasy. If he hadn’t been bleeding all over her from the cut on his head, that is.

Oh, and if he hadn’t cuffed her. Yeah, that had been the golden touch right there. Really, it was shocking that she wasn’t falling all over herself to be with him.

She’d been right after all; he was an idiot, and an ass.

Abby tried to jerk free, and she was strong for such a little thing. He hadn’t realized that about her. He’d known she was strong-minded, driven, that she enjoyed work, that she had a pair of eyes that cut through all his crap and saw the real him. Oh, and that she’d taken an instant dislike to him from day one.

Under normal circumstances, Hawk might have simply turned up the charm and tried to figure out where he’d taken a wrong step, but Tibbs had warned him way back on her first day to leave her alone. And he had.

Now he was extremely sorry he hadn’t cultivated more of a friendship with her regardless because he sure as hell could use her on his side at the moment. Big time.

“Abby, you have to listen to me.” Grabbing her shoulders, he backed her to a tree and peered into her face. “You’re in danger. We’re both in danger. I need you to-”

“Uncuff me.”

At the tension in her voice, he eased back. Normally she avoided him like the plague, but she did so with an indifferent disdain that was designed to turn him off, even though for some sick reason it always had the opposite effect.

But there was no disdain now. No, she had a look in those kill-me-slowly baby blues that spelled complete and abject terror.

She really believed him to be the bad guy.

Unbelievable. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, I only need to-”

“Let me go, Hawk.”

Her fear cut through him and broke his heart. “I can’t do that.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I hear you, believe me,” he said with real regret, protecting her with his body when a blast of wind brought hot ashes drifting down on them. “But I can’t do it, I’m sorry.”

“Won’t, you mean.”

“Okay, yeah. Won’t. Not until you listen to me.”

She glared at him with so much emotion spitting from her eyes, he nearly did as she asked and let go of her. Usually put together, she now had dirt streaked down a cheek and along her jaw, and her shirt was torn. So were her pants, from knees to thigh, exposing one of her world-class legs and the scratches she’d sustained.

She looked like a wreck. A furious, undone, adorable wreck. And he wanted to kiss her again. God, he’d give a limb to do just that.

Scratch that.

He just wanted to hold her. Hold her tight until she was safe, and no longer scared.

Yeah, explain that.

“You’re a wanted man,” she said. “It changes everything, Hawk.”

“Wanted for what, exactly?”

“For turning rogue!” Abby arched up with each word, bumping some interesting female body parts into many of his favorite parts. “For running the Kiddie Bombers! For shooting Gaines! Pick one!”

“I would, except for one thing. I am not running the Kiddie Bombers.”

“But I saw you shoot him.” Her voice quavered though her eyes did not. Nope, they were cemented to his, shiny with emotion and a self-righteousness, which normally made him want to wrestle her down and mess up her hair and wrinkle her clothes.

But she was already ruffled, which was just as well because he couldn’t summon even a shred of playfulness or his legendary calm, not with his heart lodged in his throat. “You have to trust me,” he said quietly.

She stared at him, then slowly shook her head.

Fine. Christ. Hawk was not a man used to explaining himself, but he gave it a go now, he had to. “Okay, I shot him, yes.”

“Oh, my God.”

“But it was in self-defense. This was all a crazy setup. Gaines has been running the Kiddie Bombers. He’s been re-selling the confiscated weapons, putting them back on the streets, probably at a pretty profit. But I got too close, and now I’ve become a problem to him. He decided to lay the blame on me and then fake his death.”

She stared at him like he’d lost it, and truthfully-he had. He totally had. “He’s still very much alive, Abby. I didn’t kill him, I swear it.”

He didn’t realize how much he needed her to believe him until she stared up at his face, her heart in her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered. “He can’t be dead because he called me.”

“He what?”

“He wanted to tell me you were the bad guy.” She stared down at the handcuff linking them.

“I’m not,” he promised. “But he’s feeling closed in by all the loose ends now.” He touched her face. “You’re a loose end, Ab. You’re in danger. He means for me to die here tonight, and now, I think he means the same for you. Please, let’s not let him win.”

Abby swept her gaze down the length of him, and he knew what she saw. Blood. His. Gaines’s. “I swear it,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Then uncuff me.”

“Do you promise to come with me, so I can keep you safe?”

“I’m not ready to promise you anything.”

This evening was not going his way. “Where’s Logan?”

“He was air-lifted out.”

That stopped Hawk cold. “What? What happened?”

“He fell from the barn roof.”

Christ. “Listen to me,” he said, gripping her shoulders and giving her a little shake. “Logan didn’t fall from any roof, he would never have fallen. Don’t you get it? He’s fucking with us, Abby, like we’re toys.”

“Then come in with me, and we’ll figure this all out.”

“By in, you mean turn myself in?”

It was all over her face, and he shook his head.

“Hawk-”

“I need to get to Logan, wherever they took him. He’s in danger, too.”

“Fine. After we go back, we’ll-”

“No.” He laughed harshly. “Let me save you some bullshitting time, okay? I overheard you and Watkins. If I go in, I go in charged for Gaines’s murder. Even though you and I both know he’s not dead.”

He watched her eyes once again lock on the blood splattered down the front of his shirt. Watched as she stepped close to set her hand on him. The warmth from her body seeped right through to his chilled flesh, and he nearly shut his eyes, but then he realized she’d slipped that hand around him, reaching for the rifle he’d swiped from her.

That settled it.

Time for Plan B. And though his muscles screamed in protest, and every inch of him hurt like hell, he pressed her back against the tree. “Don’t even think about it.” Before she could find another way to kill him, he took off running, forcing her along with him.

“Hey!” Abby tugged, trying to slow him down.

“Later.” He’d talk her into believing him later. He’d have to. “We’re going on the run. Together.”