Ky (In the Company of Snipers Book 13) Page 7

  The tight-quartered tent and the audacious woman in it set his blood to thrumming, racing through his veins like molten lava. His fingers physically ached to smooth over that tempting rump. Caress the bare skin beneath her jeans instead of just looking at her denim pockets. Listen to her squeal. Or moan. Oh, shit. I’m screwed. At least I want to be.

  He dropped his hand, clenched his fingers, and kept this physical examination professional. “I’ve done some triage in my time,” he declared through a voice turned tight and hoarse and too damned achy sounding. “Plugged a few bullet holes. Set a broken arm once. Removing this little thing shouldn’t be a problem.”

  She sniffed the air, still on her knees and still as tantalizing as hell. Did she have a clue how she affected him? “I’m quite lucky, aren’t I? I’ve been saved by a chef and a cute doctor.” Her eyes widened. She gulped like she wanted to call that word back. “I mean, umm, oh snap. I didn’t really say that, did I?”

  He grinned, flustering her more. Her lashes lowered. Twin wrinkles converged over her knitted brow. Damn, she was—cute. It wasn’t often a professional sniper got called cute, especially not by an FBI agent who, by all rights, should’ve been as lethal as he was. Yeah. She might look tough, but he got the feeling that Agent Stark was as unskilled at this sexual game playing as he was. And who said ‘oh, snap’ anymore?

  He let her off the hook, mostly to save face. His. “Food’s on. Let’s eat and drink. Then I’ll cut that thing out.”

  Chapter Six

  “Don’t hurt me,” Eden ordered, sitting with her back to Agent Winchester, her head tilted forward. The battery-operated lantern from the Cessna lit the interior of the tent. She’d loosened her jacket over her shoulders and stretched her sweater away from her neck just enough for this minor surgery. It shouldn’t take long, and she didn’t want to get any colder.

  Ky had placed a call for retrieval, but the pilot couldn’t return until morning and then, he wasn’t sure of the weather. For now, they were on hold.

  She knew now why she’d passed out before. No brainer. She’d been dehydrated and famished, literally running on empty after she’d survived the rollercoaster ride out of the sky, then buried Charlie. Anyone would’ve fainted after that kind of a day.

  But now, with one bowl of hot stew and two bottles of melted snow in her stomach, she was back to normal. Confident. An expert in her field. Having these two guys from Alex Stewart’s TEAM in camp with her didn’t hurt, either.

  Stewart was an anomaly in the world of covert surveillance. An ex-USMC scout sniper, he actually knew how to run a successful business and not just kill things. The man was a hard ass, but he took on the tough jobs no one else wanted, and amazingly, his men seemed to love him. They seemed ready to follow him anywhere. Her own director, Zachary Strong, respected him. Some of her fellow FBI agents didn’t, but Eden had no quarrel with the guy. She’d only met him once, but he seemed to know how to hire good guys and get the tough jobs done.

  Like Agent Winchester. Coming to in his arms hadn’t been so bad. Embarrassing, maybe, but she’d been deliciously warm for the first time since she’d literally, hit Canada. The guy radiated heat like a toaster, and he smelled good. A little sweaty, but mostly of wind, snow, and the great outdoors mingled with a musky hint of aftershave. For the first time since she left D.C., she’d felt safe, so she willingly held her hair in a loose ponytail to give him room to play with that six-inch knife of his.

  “Did you really think I’d really use my hunting knife on you, Agent Stark?” he asked slyly.

  “Umm, yeah.” What else? She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. He’d made such a production of sharpening the blade before he’d set it to glowing over the campfire, like he couldn’t wait to start carving on her.

  He’d taken his goggles off. At his right lay a small white cloth the size of a large napkin, along with a couple of medical instruments wrapped in sterile plastic wrap. A scalpel. An already threaded suture needle. Good to know. Like she said, Stewart’s TEAM was comprised of anomalies. The man was prepared to do this right. “Are you a medic?”

  “No, ma’am, just a Marine who’s seen his fair share of crap. Rest easy. I’ve got this.”

  Rest easy? How? Not with him sitting cross-legged behind her, so close the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in anticipation of his touch. He flustered the heck out of her, mostly because he hadn’t touched her yet, and she very much wanted him to. Only that wasn’t going to happen. Intimacy with a stranger was completely out of character for the highly decorated FBI special agent she was. Completely. She avoided relationships. Didn’t need them. Didn’t go looking for them, not girlfriends or boyfriends. Nada. Zip. Just plain no.

  But maybe... after all this was Ky. Her Ky.

  He chuckled as he straightened one leg and stuffed a sterile cloth into her shirt collar. “This will catch any blood that gets away from me. There. Are you ready now?” he murmured, his voice deep and low and bedroom-easy on her virgin ears.

  Prickles of desire lifted her neck hairs up higher. Goose bumps lifted up with them. “Sure, why not?” She mustered an indifferent tone. He was a professional, the same as her. This little procedure should be done in no time. She had nothing to fear.

  Agent Higgins still rummaged through the Cessna, and why that popped into her mind at that precise moment annoyed Eden. She didn’t care if Higgins crawled into the tent and watched Winchester operate. Not at all. Why should she? Let the whole world watch. Nothing was going on in this tent. Absolutely nothing.

  Winchester’s latex-gloved hand gripped her sweater-covered shoulder like he needed to steady her before she bolted. She wanted to, but not out of fear. More out of shock that it felt so good having this particular man reconnect with her and take firm hold of her. This man. The same man she’d dreamed of and yearned for since the first day she’d seen him all those years ago.

  She closed her eyes and savored the electrifying sensation of this first physical contact. It seemed different from waking up in his arms, though that had been pretty hot, too. She liked the way Agent Winchester had held her. Tight, but not too tight. Like she was delicate or something, which she wasn’t.

  Heat surged up the inside of her thighs at the notion of being breakable in his big, manly hands. Of being manhandled. Heat throbbed where it had no business throbbing. Want to or not, she licked her bottom lip and trembled. She tried hard to be stern, but her stomach muscles clenched, and she ended up whispering a breathy, “Tell me when.”

  “Don’t worry, I will. I’ll make tiny stitches when I’m done carving on you, and I won’t leave a scar. Promise.”

  That was another thing. This guy was a walking supply cabinet. He carried a first-aid kit in one of his many pockets, along with hand sanitizer, sterile gloves, and no doubt, a grenade or two. She hadn’t seen them yet, but they had to be in there somewhere.

  His fingers worked through her hair and over her scalp with firm strokes. A woman could get used to being handled like this. He parted her locks and dabbed an alcohol wipe over the site of the implant. “There’s another bump back here and a small cut. Some blood. You must’ve cracked your head during the crash landing. I’m surprised you don’t have a killer headache by now.”

  “That might explain my migraines.” Only it didn’t. The headache had started when she left Hawaii.

  Agent Winchester didn’t respond, just kept up a running circle around the implant, probing for what she didn’t know. “I need to shave a one-inch square, maybe more so I can see what I’m doing. Hold still, okay?”

  He took hold of her clenched hand, the one holding her ponytail, completely dwarfing her grip inside of his and... Oh. My. God. If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to need a cigarette and a cold shower.

  “Umm, sure. It’s just hair.” She trembled. Latex or not, having a big male hand in charge of her smaller one heightened the ache in her belly. She swore she could feel the whorl of his fingertips through the surgical gloves. The
lifeline running down the inside of his palm to his wrist. The echo of his pulse in time with hers.

  Using her hand and hair like a handle, he tilted her head, exposing more of her neck, but—gah! This little nothing-operation morphed into a living, breathing thing with him sitting so close to her ass and handling her body like he did. The man oozed confidence. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t seem to need to think first. Just did. While he cut a small swatch of hair, then traded his scissors for a razor, she was fast losing her grip.

  Just. Gah.

  A small puff of his breath whispered across her neck, like an intimate secret that only he and she shared. Oh, I wish. He’d turned her into putty, and the dumb jock probably didn’t realize he was the reason for her shivering, not arctic Canada. A frantic bevy of butterflies beat their wings against her ribs and she Could. Not. Think.

  “Tiny cut,” he breathed in warning, his breath warm on her neck.

  Before she could offer one more speck of false FBI bravado, he’d made his incision, and—snap! That did hurt. He swapped the scalpel for a handful of cotton packing. Still in control and gripping her ponytail handle, he swabbed then pinched the incision, then pinched a little harder. She winced, but kept her mouth closed.

  “So why you?” he asked.

  “Why me, what?”

  “Why’s this nut job after you?”

  Eden sighed. “I already told you. I have some, umm, abilities Zaroyin thinks he can capitalize on.”

  “Be more specific. Like?”

  A tiny giggle escaped. She knew it. Agent Winchester hadn’t heard a thing she’d said earlier.

  “What’s so funny?” Oh, snap it to heck and back. He let her ponytail loose and unfolded his other leg, but only to pull her closer. His hand on her hip. Her backside to his, umm, front side. Not good, but at the same time, so-o-o good.

  A lightning-fast sizzle fried the last circuit working to her FBI logic card. The synapses in her brain quit passing logical messages. An image flashed to her dizzy mind of her on her knees in front of him with him leaning his full weight into her and...

  Maybe I did hit my head when I crashed.

  Agent Winchester retrieved his handle—her hand and ponytail—like he owned her. “What kind of abilities?” he prompted.

  Once again, his words fell onto her overly stimulated neck. Darn, it had been a long time since a man had been tender and firm with her at the same time. Okay, so make that never. Stan hadn’t been into gentleness the few times they’d snuggled. Not that this was snuggling, but he’d never tarried over her needs. Only his.

  And why am I thinking about snuggling and my needs? The warmest shiver raced up her spine. Because I do have needs, that’s why. Unmet and probably unrealistic needs, and maybe never-to-be-met needs, but yes, I have needs enough to last a lifetime.

  “Hey, did you fall asleep? Are you dozing off on me?”

  She blinked, tempted to doze off on him, but trying to remember what he’d asked. “I’m sorry. What’d you say?” She’d been sitting with her legs flat to the ground and out in front of her, but she crossed them now, needed them closed as tight as her eyelids to contain the fire creeping through her veins. Opening every nerve ending. Every pore. Teasing the chilled, forgotten tinder inside her inexperienced body into bright, brilliant, crackling life.

  Her body had never been so revved up for sex like it was. Or so wet. If this wasn’t the same Ky... Never mind that foolish notion. It had to be him. Why would she be so drawn to him if he wasn’t?

  “You were saying Zaroyin wants you for your abilities and...” He drew out his words, waiting on her.

  “I’m psychic, okay? I can see things. He wants to capitalize on my second sight. He says it’s for the good of the nation, but he’s lying.”

  “Psychic, huh?” Ky murmured as if he wasn’t really listening this time, either. The man was obviously not great at multi-tasking. Good thing, too. Revealing her second sight never failed to make her sound like a crazy lady with a house full of cats, one who read tarot cards and smoked clove cigars.

  “Hmmm. I thought I could express this thing from under your scalp by just exerting pressure, but it’s not moving. Am I hurting you?” he asked, his face tilted to the side to look at her better, his tone filled with genuine care, and the subject of her crazy abilities off the table for the moment.

  She couldn’t risk looking at him, couldn’t risk him seeing the heat on her cheeks, so she kept her face lowered. “Umm, yes. A little, but it’s okay. Don’t stop.”

  “Good. I couldn’t stop now if I wanted to—not with you bleeding like this.”

  Did his voice just drop an octave into incredibly sexy? Her brain filled with fog, steamy fog. It must have come from the inferno bubbling to life in her nether regions, because bleeding or not, she knew he’d take care of her. Good care.

  What the heck is going on with me? He’s just a guy. He’s performing the minorest kind of surgery. It’s not like we’re necking or petting or—

  His gloved-hand slid to her bare neck. A tingle galloped away with her last best rationalization. Oh, snap. Maybe we are petting. At least, he is.

  He pinched her scalp a third time. Despite the tiny stab of pain, a delightful shudder overwhelmed Eden. No man had come this close to her body in a very long time. No one at work had dared. She was the ultimate hands-off FBI asset. Her management kept close watch on her, and until then, she hadn’t minded the over-protected lifestyle.

  “This is odd,” he murmured, his breath whispering over the curl of her ear, the one with goose bumps popping up around it like popcorn.

  She tipped her head farther to the left, exposing more of her neck. Oh honey, it’s not odd. It’s so-o-o nice. Do it again.

  “I can see most of the device. It’s dime-sized and flat, shiny, but it’s got silvery threads extending from it. Like spider legs, only flat and thin. Eight of them. I’m not sure how long they are or how deep they go.”

  Eden blinked at that bucket of cold water splashed on her libido. A spider? Under my skin? Who the heck put it there? It had to have been inserted during her last physical, but she had no recollection of Dr. Penn touching her head, much less sticking anything sharp under her scalp. “I don’t care. Pull it out.”

  Winchester hesitated. “I’m not sure I should, Agent Stark. This thing looks like it was surgically installed. I’m not seeing stitches, but there’s a definite puncture mark where it went under your scalp. I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”

  “Will you stop it already? I think we’re past rank and protocol. Call me Eden, okay, Ky?”

  “Sure thing, but pulling this device out may not be the best solution. These tentacle things are still moving and—”

  Ewww. Tentacles? Still moving? Why did it have to be spider-like? She quivered. Spiders reduced her to squeamish. No, make that scream-ish. Just the thought! Her quiver turned into a full-on shiver that made her legs and butt wiggle—like that helped, pressed against him like she was and wanting to press closer. “Get it out of me,” she bit out, hating that she sounded like a petulant little girl.

  “Hey, settle down. I won’t hurt you,” he soothed.

  “It’s not that. It’s... oh, I don’t care. You’ve already cut me open and I’m bleeding. What if it is a tracking device? Go on. Pull it out and stitch me up.”

  She could feel his hesitation, the way his thumb massaged circles at the nape of her neck as if he wanted her to calm down. It didn’t work. That creepy thing had to go before she climbed out of her skin.

  “Well, okay.” He paused. “Hold on to something.”

  He didn’t wait for her to grab anything, just ripped it out like... ouch. Shit! A Band-Aid. A really deep Band-Aid. It felt as if he’d pulled a handful of her hair out by the roots. How long were those tentacles anyway?

  “Got it. You okay?”

  She nodded quickly because she couldn’t risk speaking.

  “See what I was talking about?” He presented his findings a
t the end of the tweezers, the large kind that looked more like a pair of pliers holding a thin, bloody disc in their pinchers. Tinsel-thin wires, some as long as three inches, dangled from a dime-shaped device.

  Not like she cared at the moment. She was too busy summoning her tough persona, blinking her tears away, not going to fall apart in front of this guy. Real FBI agents didn’t do that. “Great. I’ll study it after you stitch me up,” she murmured in her deepest, more serious FBI voice.

  He set the pliers and device on the napkin, then tipped her head and smoothed another antiseptic wipe over her scalp and down her neck. It must look like a bloody mess. Eden cringed, wanting this procedure done so she could gather her courage again. Her foolish, romantic side had left her high, dry, and chilled.

  “Tiny prick,” he warned while the first stitch pierced her scalp. For a private contractor, Ky had a great bedside manner. She’d expected more of a Wyatt Earp, shoot-’em-up-ride-’em-cowboy kind of a guy. But Ky seemed—level. Real. Just like the man she remembered.

  She didn’t even flinch, not once during the five or so stitches he sewed. She just held very still, hating that when this encounter ended, Ky Winchester would be done touching her, and her chance to bear her soul would be gone. He’d go back to being just another agent. Like her. They’d do their jobs. He’d get her back home and—then what? Too tired to think, she let a sigh escape and the moment pass.

  “Hey. You good?” he asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “Don’t go passing out on me.”

  She could only nod. He didn’t have a clue that they’d met in a psychic sort of way more than two years ago. That their minds had linked, how, she couldn’t explain. That she’d been there through all he’d suffered at Nizari’s hands. That she’d suffered with him. But that was then and this was now, and Eden Stark was on the verge of exhaustion. Or tears. It had been a heckuva long, hard day. She hadn’t broken down since her mother had passed away, but she felt close to it now.

  Darn, she hadn’t been able to read Ky since he’d shown up, and she didn’t understand why not. How could Mother Nature allow her nearly full access to his heart, mind, and soul at a distance of what? Several thousand miles? But not now when he sat inches away? When he was finally within touching distance? Nothing. She couldn’t validate what her heart kept telling her. Unfair!