Chasing grace a joint ta.., p.16
CHASING GRACE: A Joint Task Team Novel, page 16
“How bad?”
“A bullet that nearly severed her femoral artery during an attack on our pre-positioned forces in Jordan. Happened almost two years ago.”
“Jesus Christ!” That explained the scar on the inside of her upper right thigh. “Where did you find the information?”
“There was some traffic on her phone after the fact, but the details were in the DoD database. They airlifted her out.”
Shit! Chase couldn’t help thinking he’d almost lost her before he even had her.
“You should know it was friendly fire. The colonel went ballistic over it.”
Chase had no trouble picturing Colonel Grayson turning his organization inside out over nearly losing his daughter to a friendly fire incident. It probably had some far-reaching repercussions, which was exactly why Jay raised it. “What’s bothering you?”
Jay shrugged. “Some pieces of the investigation are missing. Not buried. More like they’ve been wiped out.”
“You’ll keep looking.” It wasn’t an order. Chase knew Jay wouldn’t leave any part of a puzzle unfinished. If it had relevance, he’d hear about it. If not, the information would get buried in Jay’s mental vault of privileged information. “How’s the search for Wright going?”
Jay let out a string of curses to rival Gray’s prolific use of the f-bomb. “I swear to God, there’s nothing. Every time I feel like I’m getting close, he vanishes.”
“He’ll make a mistake at some point. You’ll find him one way or another.” Destination reached, Chase hitched Gray a little higher as Jay opened the door.
Tak looked up from cleaning his rifle. “Vodka?”
Chase shook his head. “Tequila.”
Tak shuddered.
“Hey, Mac,” Jay said from the open doorway.
“Yeah?” He surrendered his payload to his mattress. She rolled over and put her back to him in a comatose version of “up yours.”
“Do yourself a favor. Do a YouTube search for crazy American chick deep water soloing in Mallorca. It’ll give you a pretty good idea what you’re up against.”
Despite his off-the-charts intelligence, Jay happened to be as much of an adrenaline junkie as the rest of the JTT. The man liked to go fast, preferably on two wheels. If he found Gray’s apparent knack for throwing herself off cliffs impressive, there must be some spectacular footage posted.
With his own grin taking over his features, Chase hitched his thumb over his shoulder at the crazy American chick passed out on his bed. “Dude, I’ve seen this girl in action. I already know what I’m up against.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Chase wrung the steaming hot water out of the washcloth and used it to wipe his face. He groaned into the pitted square, passing the scratchy fabric hard over his skin and letting the heat sink in. Christ, he was tired. He’d only managed to snatch a couple of hours of sleep here and there in the last four days.
In a hurry, he tossed the cloth into the sink, and flicking the light switch off on his way out, the bathroom went dark. Gray had protested drunkenly but didn’t wake when he’d washed her face and hands a minute ago. Still curled in a ball, she appeared determined to spend the next twelve hours in that position.
Before putting her under his sheets, Chase had done a quick check of her contusions. The majority of them were already turning into a kaleidoscope of healing. Her body a mass of various shades of shit that hurts.
He sat on the edge of Tak’s bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. Forearms braced on his thighs and hands hanging loose, he watched her sleep, relieved he finally had her where she should be. With him. In his room. In his bed. He just wished it were big enough for both of them.
Watching Gray hibernate wasn’t how he’d intended to spend their second night in relative safety, but Jackson biting the bullet had altered his plans. As expected, it hadn’t taken Jay long to locate Gray’s business partner. Unfortunately, the man had already taken up residence in a body bag.
The news broke on CNN an hour later.
Chase had let Gray sleep as long as he dared. Once she was awake, he barely had time to finish breaking the news to her before she’d taken off at a dead run.
Barefoot with tousled hair flying behind her, she’d bee-lined for the COMMs center. Going too fast, she didn’t make the turn and had crashed into the door on her way in. She had a couple of new bruises on her arm for her efforts.
The commotion had six sets of eyes checking her out in Tak’s boxers. Minus one, because Z was still MIA, it had been a full JTT house this morning. And they’d all gotten an eyeful of just how long Gray’s legs were.
The assorted looks of appreciation, the colonel being the one exception, had Chase wanting to give out punches to the face like Halloween had come early, and he was handing out candy.
She’d spent the rest of the morning wrapped in a blanket on her father’s couch, blaming herself for Jackson’s death and missing the fact he’d put her in the line of fire in the first place.
It drove the colonel mental, and he’d questioned her roughly, one rapid-fire question after the next. Either she was the best damn liar Chase had ever come across, or Gray truly didn’t know anything about the operation that had been her father’s, her brother’s, and the JTT’s entire lives for the past two years.
They were missing a connection somewhere. Clearly, the man they were after wanted Gray in the crossfire. Why else would he use Jackson to put her up on that ledge? They just needed more time to figure out the link between Wright and Gray.
The fact she was the colonel’s daughter didn’t bode well for the covert aspect of their mission either. The members of the JTT were all thinking the same thing. Wright knew a hell of a lot more about them than they did about him.
By four in the afternoon, Gray had buried herself under a pile of Kleenex and wouldn’t let anyone come near her. Watching her suffer the loss of Jackson alone had damn near killed Chase. He’d wanted to comfort her. She wouldn’t allow it.
Fucking Hoyt.
Shaking his head, Chase sighed and rubbed his hands hard over his face. He’d explain himself to Gray tomorrow. And as soon as he could, he’d go back to Seattle and do what he should have done a long time ago. He was an asshole for letting the situation with Holly drag on. She was a good person. No question, she deserved better.
He checked his watch. Time to catch some z’s. He needed his brain to shut down, but sleep meant taking the chance Gray would wake and try to bolt. His heart constricted. Jesus, she was so close, and yet, still so damn far.
Not needing to, he stood to turn off the light between the small beds, and looking from Tak’s to his, he made his decision. He shouldn’t be doing this. It wasn’t fair to Gray. And he really needed a good night’s sleep. But for safety’s sake, he decided to do it anyway.
Pulling up the sheet, he slid in behind her, and wrapping his arm around her waist, he snugged her body to his. He needed an anchor so he wouldn’t fall off the bed. Also, that’s where his arm happened to naturally fit.
She sighed and settled her butt against his balls. His cock took notice and immediately stood at attention, his need for her a sweet misery. Lost in her again, he breathed her deep and felt his soul settle.
She belonged to him. She just hadn’t accepted it yet.
Oh God. Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Don’t—
Gray cracked one eye open the width of a hair. She needed to get her ass out of Chase’s bed. Unfortunately, the room had started to tilt-a-whirl like she’d bought an unlimited-rides pass of the carnival-in-a-box variety.
Fuck. Bad idea. Her eyelid slid shut. Yeah. Way too soon for her to be awake. Not like she had much choice in the matter, though. Her body had decided to reject her attempt at finding comfort in the bottom of a bottle, and unhappy with her choices in life, the tequila gods intended to make her pay.
Five more minutes. Please. Just five more minutes.
About to fully appreciate the consequences of her stupidity, Gray swallowed the alcohol-flavored spit collecting in her mouth.
Fucking Jackson.
She didn’t have any tears left. She’d shed them all yesterday in an agave-fueled meltdown. Gray still couldn’t believe it. Jackson had always said he lived on borrowed time, and she’d teased him endlessly for being a pussy.
Cautious beyond measure, he’d been more than willing to let her take all the risks. Stupid beyond measure, she’d been more than willing to dodge bullets and free-fall off cliffs. It’s probably why they’d worked so well together. They were perfectly mismatched.
It also had the bonus benefit of driving her father completely nuts.
They’d met at a party her final year at NYU. A smooth-talking idealist, Jackson had her in his bed before morning and off to her first assignment by noon the same day.
It took less than a year for him to figure out she had emotional intimacy problems and for her to discover he sucked at being faithful. But as bad as they were as a couple, they were great as freelance partners.
Jackson’s articles and her pictures were an award-winning combination. Despite their many faults, they both excelled at what they did. Jackson had a way with people. A gift of the gab she didn’t possess.
He could convince almost anyone to spill their secrets. And he was always at the ready with his recorder and keyboard. Jackson had spent years cultivating his sources, and they trusted him.
On the other hand, all she had to do was point and shoot. She let her camera do all the talking, and the only thing she’d cultivated was an appreciation for some of the finest vodkas in the world.
Oh God. This was going to suck. Gray’s head swam in a sea of methanol fumes, and she pressed her face into the pillow, hoping to delay the inevitable outcome. The cotton smelled like Chase. He’d spent the night wrapped around her, probably thinking she was too smashed to notice a two-hundred-pound portable heater planted on top of her.
Persistent fucker.
She’d have to deal with him today. He wasn’t about to leave her any choice. Recognizing she wasn’t equipped with the brain cells necessary for planning a countermove, she put the matter aside and focused on the pressing issue at hand.
Her upchuck reflexes kicking into overdrive, she rolled out of bed, burst into the bathroom, and vomited violently in the sink.
Chase peeked out from behind the frayed shower curtain. “That’s sexy, Gray.”
“Shut up, dickhead.”
He disappeared behind the curtain and started singing the chorus to “You and Tequila” in an off-key voice.
Gripping the sink like it was the only thing between her and the ripped linoleum, which in this case, it abso-fucking-lutely was, she vomited again. With her whole body getting into the groove, her entrails made a concerted effort to become her extrails.
Chase poked his head back out. “That sounds painful. I hear there’s a twelve-step program to assist you with that problem.”
She didn’t bother taking her head out of the sink. “AA’s for quitters, asshole. Right now, you should be more worried if I give up drinking, I’ll take up murdering. Seriously, Chase. You don’t want to inspire my inner serial killer because I’m not equipped to deal with her at the moment and can’t be held accountable for her actions.”
Oh God. This was going to suck. Sweat breaking out on her forehead, the remaining contents of Gray’s stomach revealed themselves to the porcelain, and her knees just about gave out with the effort of trying to vomit quietly.
When her senses returned, she realized Chase was singing a new tune “…and I drink to myself…what a wonderful world.” Positive he planned to continue with his particularly unpleasant brand of post-alcohol pain-in-the-ass disorder, Gray turned the water on full blast to rinse her mouth—and the sink.
A startled string of yelps resulted as he tangled himself in the shower curtain. Happily, there was no way for him to avoid the spray as the water went from lukewarm to hypothermia-inducing in the span of half a second.
She left the tap running and returned to bed, covering her head. She woke hours later, feeling equally as bad as she had hours before. But for the time being, she was alone. Swearing off hard liquor—again—she downed the two Tylenol Chase had left beside a bottle of red Gatorade on the bedside table.
Before her brain could convince her a shower wasn’t a requirement after an evening of power drinking and a morning of power puking, Gray stumbled to the bathroom. With shaking fingers, she stripped in the tub and cranked the hot water.
No need to check the temperature. She already knew the water never made it above lukewarm. The sink, however. Another problem altogether. It didn’t matter which tap was used. The water always came on hot enough to scald. It made brushing teeth tricky, which explained why the tub sported a selection of toothbrushes, along with a tube of Minty Fresh Crest.
While she scraped the fuzz off her teeth with her own toothbrush, Gray contemplated revenge. If she’d known which brush belonged to Chase, she would’ve used it to clean her toenails. Since she didn’t, she let the urge pass without acting on it.
A wave of nausea came over her, and she had to spit the toothpaste out fast. Dry heaving until her stomach muscles had twisted into a mass of knots, she watched the Tylenol circle the drain before disappearing.
Goddamned tequila.
After the production of showering and dressing, Gray remained alone with her thoughts. Most of them were self-loathing and vicious to the core. But once in a while, an odd helpful kernel popped in. One of those popcorn thoughts had her realizing there might be a cure for what ailed her in Doc’s office.
Relief in sight, she put on Chase’s aviators, and throwing the door open, Gray came to a sudden stop. Her brain slammed against her skull, the collision causing her to see stars that glittered in the bright sunlight.
She gripped the doorframe to keep from tipping over.
Unmoved, the soldier watched her performance, his expression unreadable. Sitting about ten feet away from where she emerged, the man’s bulk filled the plastic chair he sat in. With fingers linked together, hands resting on his stomach, and legs stretched out with ankles crossed, he looked like he had nothing better to do than work on perfecting his poker face.
Unnecessary, in her opinion.
“Ah, hi?”
He dipped his head at her in acknowledgment but otherwise remained seated, his dark eyes fixed on her, his expression impassive. His face carved from black marble, his skin was smooth and shiny from the top of his dome to the burn scar running down his neck on his right side.
He wore a black T-shirt, the fabric stretched to maximum capacity over biceps that could do damage just by flexing. Black tactical pants, belt loaded with standard-issue sidearm, and scuffed combat boots completed his look.
Chase was right. The man they referred to as Z looked like one scary-ass mother. And not because he was Black, or scarred, or built like a brick shithouse. His intimidation factor came from the fact it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking.
By his expression, he could be contemplating bunny rabbits and rainbows. Or, and this was the more probable of the two, he was deliberating on the best method to disappear your ass, so no one ever found the body.
“I was, ah, going to see Doc.” She pointed lamely at the main camp, popping a finger gun like she was a badass and not the victim he’d been looking for. Wordlessly, Z separated himself from his chair.
Assuming his being vertical indicated acceptance of her final destination, she managed to put one foot in front of the other. He fell into step, shoulder to shoulder beside her. The journey across the yard was a quiet one. Fine by her. Gray wasn’t much in the mood for, or even capable of, conversations about murder and mayhem.
They found Doc in the kitchen, along with everyone else. A stack of pizza boxes and the aroma of melted cheese made her mouth turn sour, and her stomach threatened to flip inside out. Not yet past the door, she backed out fast and leaned her back against the wall for support, sweating like she’d run a mile to get there.
She ignored some general discussion she assumed was about her, and then to her immense relief, Jamie Snow appeared.
“You looking for me?”
He brushed his hair behind his ear with the thumb that wasn’t balancing a drooping crust under his chin. Not having the mental faculties left for anything else, Gray came straight out with it. “Can you hook me up, Doc?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sitting on an outcrop of rock, Gray heard Chase coming. It had to be him because who the fuck else would it be? As soon as the saline bag had pumped the last drop of instant sobriety into her arm, she’d taken the needle out, left another message for Tara, and run for the hills.
Rehydrated and able to function on a level slightly closer to normal, she assumed Chase and the rest of the JTT had let her go, knowing she wouldn’t get far. And she hadn’t, only to the top of the closest mountain, which was laughable. She’d climbed mountains. Palo Pinto’s claim to fame consisted of a cluster of hills and an hour hike at best.
On arrival, Chase made himself at home behind her. His legs wrapped around hers, he brushed her hair over her shoulder before his strong arms circled her waist, pulling her away from the edge to lean against him.
He pressed a kiss to her temple as he settled his back against the rock behind them. Tired, she let her head fall against his shoulder. Up here, a cool breeze blew, but as usual, Chase’s temperature ran hot, so the chill she’d been fighting gave over to his heat.
She sighed. Despite the sadness still weighing her down, the stress of the last days dissolved at his touch, and she felt boneless and content in the circle of his arms.
It was a problem.
“You do this a lot, you know.”
