All for You (14 page)

“I’ve never done it in the backseat before,” she whispered against his mouth.

He grinned and it was feral and hungry. He urged her into his lap to straddle him. His big hands found her hips then he slid off the back of the truck and climbed into the backseat. “I’m sure we can figure it out.” He lifted his lips toward hers, his gaze on her mouth.

There was something powerful about her position. She slid her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his soft, short hair. She brushed her top lip against his, a tentative gesture. His mouth opened but still, he let her retain control.

She flicked her tongue out, tracing the line of his lips. A shudder ran through him and his fingers tightened on her hips. His tongue met hers, a gentle caress between their lips, and excitement purred through her. She swallowed and eased back, enjoying the way he watched her. His wide full lips were parted.

Patient.

Waiting.

Letting her take control.

She licked her lips then leaned in to press them against his. Felt him shudder beneath her touch. Cradling his cheeks, she angled her mouth over his. His lips parted beneath hers, opening beneath her touch. A click of teeth and his tongue slid along hers, a sensual dance.

He was dying. A thousand slow deaths as she kissed him. He fought the primitive urge to drag her out of those sexy running shorts and slide into her. She was driving him insane with her sexy kisses and sensual sounds. He gripped her hips and she winced, a gasp that was not pleasure against his mouth. “Sorry. Hip still sore?” he whispered.

“It’s better than it was,” she murmured.

“I’ll be more careful.” He leaned up, capturing her mouth before she could get too far away. “But we’ve got to get you out of those shorts.”

“I’d much rather get you out of those pants.” She reached between them, fumbling with his uniform belt until it slid free. She flicked open the buttons on his pants and paused, her eyes widening. “No underwear?”

He shrugged, his lips parted, his eyes heavy with the anticipation of her touch. “Laundry day.” His voice was hoarse. “Touch me,” he whispered when she hesitated.

He guided her hand to his aching cock and almost died of pleasure from her gentle grip. He squeezed her hand tight around him and showed her the rhythm. He started to release her hand and let her stroke him.

“Don’t let go,” she said. He looked up to find her watching their hands intently. She lifted her gaze and their eyes collided. He’d never seen anything so fucking sexy as he guided her hand over his erection. The way she watched him, like this was the first time she’d ever done anything illicit. Anything without permission.

“Honey, if I don’t let go, we’re going to have a hell of a mess on our hands,” he murmured against her mouth. “Pun intended.”

“Oh.” A gasp, filled with arousal and heat and longing.

He kissed her then, pulling her close so that he could feel her heat against him.

He thanked the new truck fairies that he’d had the foresight to get a full-sized pickup, one with a backseat that had room in spades. He pushed the front seat forward as Emily shucked out of her shorts, then pushed his pants down as she crawled back into his lap.

“Condom?” she whispered. Her body was taut against his. He reached between their bodies to find her soaked. Swollen, so swollen.

He shifted and urged her to rub against him. Her heat surrounded him, caressing his cock until he thought this was going to have a disappointing ending for them both. Instead, she shifted unexpectedly and slid down his length with an audible gasp.

“Fuck, did I hurt you?”

Her breath came in short quick bursts. “No. I need…I…” She pressed against him, her body shuddering around him. “This. I need this.”

He shifted then and arched his hips into hers. She cried out then started to move. Slow and deep, she took him, clenching around his cock until he thought he’d die from the simple pleasure of watching her move.

He leaned his head back and half-closed his eyes, letting her move, letting her find what felt good. And when he reached between them to stroke her softly, she whimpered but kept moving, riding him deeper. And then a little harder.

He stroked her until that first shudder broke over them both. She lost the rhythm and he found it, gripping her hips and holding her as he slid deeper, deeper into her. The cascade of emotion started with the tiniest wave of her shuddering pleasure. It continued, stronger and stronger until he clutched her to him and surrendered a piece of his soul.

H
ow much trouble are you in at work,” he asked as he parked behind the clinic.

“Nothing drastic,” she said. “I just have slight perfectionist tendencies and I don’t like screwing up.”

He leaned toward her then, threading his fingers into her hair. He urged her to look at him. “You’re not screwing up. You’re trying to do a good job,” he whispered against her lips.

“I’m not being very successful at it,” she said, blinking rapidly.

“Yes, you are.” It was weighing on her, more than she’d admitted at the lake. He brushed his lips against hers. “What are you doing later?”

“Working.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then nodded. She was dodging him. And normally it wouldn’t bother him except that now he wanted to know what she was hiding. Why had she gone for a six-mile run in the middle of the workday if she was just blowing off steam?

Reza looked longingly at the glove box as he drove back toward his company operations area. After-lunch traffic on Fort Hood sucked balls on a good day and today was not a good day. He’d already inched past three fender benders and at least two civilian cops handing out tickets.

Why couldn’t people just put the phone down and drive? Hell, he couldn’t fathom not paying attention to the roads as he drove. He clenched the steering wheel with his left hand as he flipped through the radio stations. A tight band squeezed around his chest until he realized he was holding his breath.

A single hard breath and the band released. “Stairway to Heaven” came on the radio at the same time as his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and put it on speakerphone. “Sarn’t Ike.”

“Sarn’t Ike, it’s Foster. We’ve got a small problem.”

“What’s that?” Lovely. He was stuck in traffic and they had a small problem. The day was shaping up to be a real winner at the rate it was going.

“Sloban is missing. And his roommate says he may or may not be riding around with a pint of Patrón and a nine mil.”

“Tell me this is some kind of joke.” The tension around his heart was back and it brought friends, stabbing his heart with a thousand tiny nails. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, gearing up for action.

Because if Sloban had a gun, there was going to be high adventure somewhere on post.

“Apparently, he got the notification that his medical evaluation board results denied he has PTSD. He’s getting thrown out of the army with nothing.” Foster’s voice held a hard edge, the kind of edge Reza was used to hearing when the shit and the fan were making babies. “Are you near the R&R Center? You might want to head back there. His roommate said he was going off about the psych docs.”

Reza glanced around him at the traffic. He was pinned in on three sides but if he went over the median and busted a U-turn, he could get back there easily.

To hell with it. He’d deal with the cops later.

“All right. Have you called the MPs?” Reza swore under his breath. “Never mind. Just get some guards posted on the building so he can’t get in if he shows up. I’m heading back to R&R.”

“Don’t get shot. I’m going to be pissed if I have to deal with Marshall and friends by myself.”

Reza grinned. “I’ll do my best, honey.” Reza dropped the phone into the center console of his truck and waited for the car in front of him to inch forward a little bit more. Scanning his surroundings, he offered up a prayer to the traffic gods that there were no cops around. Flipping on his four-way flashers, he eased the truck over the median and then gunned it once he was in the opposite lane, cutting off a Humvee.

The Humvee’s horn blared but he ignored it. His blood pounded in his veins as he mentally started running through the various scenarios. Sloban could already be inside. He could have a gun.

Reza really didn’t want to get shot. Not today, anyway, and for damn sure not by one of his guys.

At the R&R Center he pulled into one of the handicap spots. Screw it; the cops could ticket him if he didn’t get blown halfway to hell. He scanned the parking lot quickly, looking for Sloban’s shitty white Bronco, and didn’t see it.

Wishing for his body armor, he walked through the front door of the clinic. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The receptionist had the same blank stare that she’d had earlier when Reza had tried to get information from her about Wisniak. At least, that was until she looked up. Her eyes widened once she recognized Reza. “Sergeant—”

“Ms. Walters, I’m not here to argue with you. I need you to clear the lobby of folks.”

She stood, canting one eyebrow, hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Iaconelli, but you don’t get to give orders here.”

He slammed his palm against the counter. “Listen, lady. Someone in this clinic just told one of my joes he’s not getting a medical discharge from the army. We suspect he’s got a weapon. So you can stand here and argue with me or you can clear the fucking area. Your choice.”

Her dark skin paled. She grabbed her purse, her movements jerky. “Don’t forget your ID card,” he reminded her.

She scuttled out the back door silently. She hadn’t breathed a word to any of the troops in the waiting room. Coward.

“All right, listen up. I need all of you to grab your gear and head out of here.” He reached out, stopping a young female private who looked like she was about twelve from walking out the front door. “Head out the back.” He had no idea if Sloban was going to come in the front door or the back but Reza figured it was a better idea to ship people away from the front door. Sloban wasn’t smart enough to conduct an actual assault on the building if he was coming here.

Reza waited until the last soldier had departed the waiting area, then started back toward the front door.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Reza glanced over his shoulder to see one highly pissed-off Emily. If they didn’t get shot, dear Lord was he in trouble.

Reza’s features were stretched tight, his breathing quick. She was close enough to see that his nostrils flared with each breath. He looked tense and alert.

Just like he had at the shoot house.

“You need to clear the area.”

She raised both eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

His fists clenched at his sides. The movement drew her gaze and she noticed how big his hands were. Hands that had been on her body less than an hour ago. Veins crisscrossed the dark skin. Her mouth went dry and she told herself it was from the fierce anger looking back at her.

“Someone in your clinic decided that Sloban’s PTSD was caused by the drugs he was smoking instead of his time in the combat zone, and now he’s pissed. He could be heading anywhere but I’d bet my life he’s coming here.” There was censure in his voice and Emily flinched. “Someone should have probably broken the news to him a little more gently. Now we’ve just got to keep him from blowing the place up and we’ll be good to go.”

“Tell me you’re joking?”

His smile was grim against the dark of his skin and he glanced at her slick right sleeve that sported no combat patch. “You should worry when I’m not making jokes,” he said, leaning back to check the door.

He pulled a vibrating phone from his left shoulder pocket and peered out the front door. “Yeah?”

Emily stood back, unsure of what to do. She’d never been in combat and she hadn’t really paid attention in officer school when they’d done the combat training. Reza pushed the door open a little.

“Yeah, I see the truck. MPs are en route. Got it.” He scowled and slipped the phone back into his pocket and pushed through the door. Over Reza’s shoulder, she could see an ancient white Bronco yank into the parking lot. A minute later, the door opened and Sloban tumbled out, at least halfway to wasted, gun in hand.

He was tweaking on something. His movements were jerky and quick.

“Wait.” Reza stopped and turned back at her movement. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go talk to him. What’s it look like?”

“You realize that is massively stupid, don’t you?” She took a step forward. “Last time I checked, I was the doctor here.” Her skin tightened over her bones and she fought the fear that crawled up her spine to wrap around her throat. She was afraid. She should be better than that by now. She expected him to look at her with disdain but instead, something softened in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Emily,” he said softly. “He’s one of mine. I’ve got this.”

He stepped into the bright Fort Hood afternoon.

What kind of a man walked toward the threat of violence instead of away? Everyone else she knew would have smartly left and let someone with a heck of a lot more skill handle the situation. But the big sergeant she’d made love to less than an hour ago headed out to face down a soldier on the edge.

She blamed the little flip in her belly on nerves as she crept toward the door. She couldn’t very well hide in the corner while Iaconelli did this on his own. She was a doctor. This was what she did. It took her thirty seconds to find her courage. Then she followed him into the light.

Sloban walked slowly toward the front of the clinic. He was using. Reza could tell instantly by the way his hands were in constant motion, especially the one holding the nine mil. Sloban’s eyes were sunken and hollow and rimmed with red.

He felt her presence behind him as he stepped from beneath the shade tree overhanging the front door. Emily had been white as a sheet only seconds ago when he’d told her he was going out to talk to Sloban. He’d figured her natural fear would keep her inside and out of his way.

Apparently, self-preservation was not on her list of strong points. Second only to domestic violence situations, dealing with a strung-out druggie was the worst type of situation to go into. Well, except for house-borne IEDs. Those were always fun, too.

“Dude, this isn’t the way you want to go out,” Reza said quietly to Sloban. He wanted to turn around and shout at the dumbass captain behind him. Why the hell hadn’t she stayed inside and let him handle this? Did she think this was some kind of friggin’ game? The kid in front of him, who had once been a decorated combat veteran, was twitchy and strung-out. His face was pockmarked with sores—some scabbed over, others still fresh and raw. Reza’s soul ached at the emptiness that looked back at him. Sloban had been part of Reza’s platoon once upon a time. He’d been a fucking warrior on the streets of Baghdad and had gone house to house with him in Sadr City.

But one too many nightmare scenarios had twisted something inside the shadow of the man looking back at him now. One too many explosions that had left him covered in his buddies’ blood. One too many sleepless nights in the bunker as the world blew up around them.

Reza knew full well what it felt like to want to numb the pain. But he’d never resorted to meth. That was just stupid. Here Sloban was, destroying himself, all because he was trying to get away from the assault from his own brain.

“Sarn’t Ike, the army fucked me. Totally fucked me.” Sloban gripped the nine mil in his hand like an old-school mobster, waving it for emphasis as he spoke. “
She
fucked me. Her and all these goddamned doctors who think they know what we do.” He jabbed the gun over Reza’s shoulder in Emily’s direction.

Reza stepped to the side, blocking Sloban’s view of Captain Lindberg and moving directly into the path of his weapon. “You don’t want to do this, Neal. This isn’t the way to get them to listen to your case.”

“They’re not going to listen to me!” Sloban raked his hand through his stringy hair. “They said I’m an addict. I won’t get shit from the VA now. I can’t get the fucking memories out of my head. They broke me, Sarn’t Ike. I begged not to go on this last deployment. You know what Captain Marshall said? Suck it up, pussy.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I am not a fucking pussy.” His eyes filled. “I did everything the army asked me to do,” he whispered. “Everything.”

“I know, buddy.” Reza took a single step forward. “I know. And we’ll get it figured out. I’ll help you write to your congressman. I’ll take you to see the Corps commander. We can figure this out, okay? But this isn’t the way to do it.”

Sloban shook his head, his dirty hair falling across his empty eyes. “There’s nothing else to do, man. They don’t want to pay for what they did to me. They don’t want to talk about how fucked up this war is. They just want people like me to go away.”

“That’s not true.”

“We can fix this.” Emily’s voice was soft though filled with terror. She was directly behind Reza. Fear pitched in his guts. “I’ll go back and re-look at your file.”

“I am not a file!” Sloban screamed, raising the gun at the woman now standing at Reza’s side. “I am a person. A fucking person! I’m not a number. I’m not a file. I’m not something the army can just throw away!”

The world slowed down and ground to a halt.

Sloban flicked the safety off.

Reza dove.

The echo of the nine mil shattered the afternoon.