Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4 (23 page)

The connection they had as longtime friends, who’d literally learned to entrust each other with their lives, spilled over into this exchange. Privileged to observe their bond growing and morphing in front of her, she leaned forward and tried not to blink.

While they might have suffered one or two clashes of their teeth as they wrestled for control, they quickly developed their own pattern of thrusts, parries and dodges that enthralled her. Through it all, affection and a level of comfort—which she hadn’t yet quite developed with them—escalated into something amazing that transcended physical expression.

When she thought they might have forgotten about her existence, Matt lifted his hand to Clint’s face, held him still, and withdrew just far enough to nip the other man’s slightly swollen bottom lip. Clint grinned as he shook his head, breaking free.

“Who knew? You’re actually a pretty good kisser, Ludwig.” Clint hopped up, giving Matt ample opportunity to slap his ass with a resounding smack that echoed through their oasis.

The crack was almost as loud as the guy’s whistling as he headed for the bathroom to clean up.

Matt crashed to the mattress, his arms and legs splayed as if he couldn’t hold himself up a moment longer. He laughed and laughed. The ringing of his delight melted her from the inside out.

Jambrea crawled to his side and snuggled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, sheltering her. With these two men in her life, she knew nothing could hurt her again. Loneliness and doubt were things of the past.

“Thank you for being so brave.” She kissed the spot over his heart.

“Thank
you
for refusing to let us run. You gave me the courage I couldn’t find myself. To take a risk. To jump.” He squeezed her so tight her eyeballs nearly popped out, but she didn’t care.

Never would she prefer him to let go.

For the first time, she believed he wouldn’t.

None of them would.

Chapter Eleven

An hour or two later, they’d recovered enough to start eying each other like a tasty mid-day snack. Jambrea crossed and recrossed her legs where she lounged on the couch with Clint, her head on his shoulder. Her fingers walked up and down the tail of his dragon tattoo, which peeked from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.

It made her smile to feel like she had the right to touch him. No more keeping her hands in her pockets when she was around the guys for fear of offending one or the other, or both.

On the TV, the anchorman droned on about the positive identification of a mutilated heart that had been mailed to the White House. DNA testing confirmed it belonged to Rudolph Small, the presidential hopeful who’d gone missing almost a full month ago. She shuddered.

“Is this too gross for you?” Clint pointed the remote at the screen, which flashed blurred out images of what could only be gruesome shots of the decomposed organ, maggots and all. “I can change it.”

“Nah. I’ve seen a lot worse at work.” She still didn’t have to like it though. “I’m more disgusted by that wax-lip grin on the opposing candidate’s face. That’s Bertrand Rice, right?”

“Yeah.” Clint wrinkled his lip. “And I agree with you. What kind of idiots does he think we are to be droning on about remorse for the victim’s family when last week he attempted to smear good ol’ Rudy from Virginia to Hawaii and back? It’s pretty convenient timing if you ask me.”

“No kidding. He’ll probably tap dance on Mr. Small’s grave before long. I have to admit, I’m not a huge fan of politics.” She sighed. “Or violence. It makes you wonder about what kind of person could do that to another human being. That’s not the product of self defense. It’s cold, calculated and intended to terrorize someone other than the victim, right? The poor guy would have died before he knew what was happening if such a traumatic chest wound was the fatal strike. Probably they didn’t butcher him until long after he’d already croaked. If they’d wanted to make him suffer, they’d have opted for something a lot more…survivable. At least for a while.”

“You’d make a fine cop, Jambs.” Matt smiled at her. “I was trying to figure out who that was actually a message to. The president seems like a stretch. He’s already in his second term and wasn’t supporting this candidate anyway. More likely they pulled that stunt to make sure it was broadcast to the intended audience, whoever that might be. The media should know better than to air that shit.”

“Except it makes for good ratings. More money from advertisers. I hate when I click on a news story online and some cheery jingle for dishwasher detergent plays before a clip of tornado destruction or war updates. It doesn’t make sense to me that they smear their products with such vile atrocities. But I guess a captive audience is a captive audience, so why not exploit it?” She sighed. “I spend a lot of my time patching up wounds inflicted intentionally. It’s been getting kind of hard lately to remember the majority of people hold life in higher regard than that.”

“Tell us about it.” Clint rested his chin on the crown of her head. “It’s one reason I love spending time with you. Compared to most jerkoffs we deal with on the job, you’re a welcome relief. Kind, sweet and innocent.”

“Less naive now than I was a few days ago.” She smiled up at him with equal parts minx and maiden.

“We’ll have to work on that some more soon.” Clint laughed. “But no matter how many new and inventive positions we contort you into, you’ll still be a damn fine person. And that’s what I appreciate most about you.”

“Thanks.” She beamed up at him.

Matt paced the floor beside them a few more times before he ran his hands through his hair. None of them did well with being cooped up. Even Parker swam laps in his travel bowl, which had a place of honor on the coffee table, instead of residing over his aquatic kingdom from the comfort of his pink porcelain castle.

Fortunately, she had some ideas about how to burn off their excess energy.

Apparently so did Matt, and their solutions had nothing in common.

“I’d better take a walk,” he said in a rush, ruining her daydreams with a reminder of the world—and danger—outside the walls of their refuge. “The library is about six blocks away. That’ll be the best place for me to contact the rest of the guys. I’ll check in and see what’s up.”

Clint looked between his partner and Jambrea three times before Matt made up his mind for him. “You can’t come. We’re not going to leave her alone. And all three of us out in the open is too much of a risk.”

“Then let me go.” Clint presented his arguments. “You’re more conspicuous than me. Even random people remember someone as big as you strutting past.”

“I do
not
strut.” He crossed his arms, doing nothing to invalidate Clint’s concerns.

Matt impressed her, especially now that she knew more of the man behind the muscles. Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist and his tight ass filled his jeans to perfection. The gun strapped to his hip added just the right hint of no-nonsense.

Jambrea remembered the first time she’d seen him, dwarfing one of the waiting room chairs in the ER as he hung around for a suspect who’d gotten knifed a couple times in a drug deal gone bad. It hadn’t taken her more than five minutes to find Lacey and ferret out his and his partner’s identities, though they hadn’t known she existed for another couple of months at least.

Once the shit hit the fan with Razor and he’d been assigned to her ward, they’d gradually taken notice of her too. At first she hadn’t believed either of the pair could possibly be as interested in her as their mutual friends believed. Finally, she was starting to think Lacey, Lily and the rest might not be totally insane.

Still, yeah,
her
guys would stand out anywhere.

“Hate to break it to you, but neither of you are wallflower material.” She shrugged. “If you wanted to be smartest, you’d send me.”

“Hell no.” They shut her down as one.

Clint gained his feet. “No fucking way. Are you nuts? You already got shot once. Did you forget about the stairway incident too? Whoever we pissed off knows how much you mean to us. They know you’re special. I refuse to give them another opportunity to steal you. Not happening.”

They were saved from a full out argument—one where she would try to get it through their thick skulls that she would rather die than be left behind again—by an odd knock on the door. One tap, a pause, then two more quick bangs.

The pattern repeated a second time, followed by a familiar voice. Lucas. “Hey kids, put some pants on and let me in.”

Jambrea couldn’t help it—she blushed. Because despite the regular teasing of their friends, this time the sly insinuations were true. And the whole group of Men in Blue knew it. Nothing was kept secret in their pack. Even if she hadn’t scored her bullet wound running from Gunther’s Playground—scantily clad, with the pair of cops hot on her heels—they would have somehow known by now.

At least the hotel staff had left their clean and dry clothes outside the door at some point.

Matt checked the peephole. Then he slid the chain off the door and flipped the lock. When he admitted their ex-military pal, Jambrea was surprised to see he wasn’t alone. Though it took several seconds for him to hobble all the way into the room—as he’d switched from his cane back to his crutch—he eventually revealed the woman following close behind him, as if to catch him in case he fell.

Ellie’s wavy gold hair didn’t do much to brighten her expression. Jambrea hated the taut lines at the corners of her blue eyes. So she got up and circled around the guys, who all started to talk at once, to give the woman a hug.

“Thanks,” Ellie whispered. “It’s his leg. It’s worse. Killing him. But he won’t let anyone help. He keeps taking more pain pills, though they’re not helping anymore.”

“I’ll try to talk to him.” She squeezed Ellie, then moved away before Lucas could catch on. Their concern would be mistaken for pity. His pride would rebel, she was sure of it. After all, she’d treated a shitload of patients with the same mentality. The only ones worse were the dirty old men who thought they were entitled to a dozen sponge baths a day.

“Have a seat.” Matt didn’t give Lucas an option. He clapped the guy on the shoulder hard enough to unbalance him. His choices were sit or fall on his ass.

Jambrea flashed her lover a thumbs-up from behind Ellie’s back.

The skittish young woman waited for Clint to slide all the way to the other end of the couch before she took a place near Lucas, giving them a glimpse of her own battle scars. Despite the closeness they all shared, she never allowed herself to be penned in or get too close to a man. Other than the one she now held hands with.

That Lucas didn’t shake her off shocked Jambrea.

“You two might want to do the same.” Lucas looked tired when he glanced between Matt and Clint. “I have some info for you. None of the other guys wanted to jeopardize your cover by meeting in person. But Ellie and I don’t have any ties, really, to your bunch of cops.”

“So spit it out.” Matt’s patience had worn thin. It had to be important or the Men in Blue would have emailed, sticking to their plan.

“Seriously, get your girl a chair. It’s not good news.” Lucas rubbed his forehead.

In a flash, Matt whipped a leather seat on wheels from the desk on the side of the room. Jambrea lowered herself when her jellified knees wouldn’t support her anyway. Matt laid his hands on her shoulders, never leaving her side.

“We’ve ruled out a lot of suspects on our initial list.” Lucas began.

“That’s great. A narrow field should help.” A sigh of relief came from Clint, who never took his gaze off her face.

“Actually, we think we’re going at it wrong.” Lucas paused when he caught Jambrea’s riveted stare. Intuition, or something else, stirred in her gut. He couldn’t be about to say what she thought. “After investigating the scene at Jambrea’s apartment, JRad and Razor went back for some more pictures. Someone’s been through every inch of her place. They upended the furniture, tore out the carpet, hacked her mattress to shreds, and ripped everything out of the kitchen cabinets. No stone was left unturned.”

“What?” Jambrea swallowed hard. There went her deposit. Who would do this to her? Why? “I don’t have anything valuable. No real jewelry or fancy electronics, and I don’t keep money in my apartment. Hell, I use my credit card for everything so I can get fuel perks and cash back and crap.”

“It’s not us they’re targeting, is it?” Matt’s deadpan tone scared her.

“No. Someone’s after her. Either she has something she doesn’t know she has or they think she has something she doesn’t.” Lucas shifted his gaze to the pile of boxes in the corner.

“I-I have no idea what it could be.” She shrugged. “You guys saw the best
stuff
already.”

Despite the tension, Clint released a strained snigger. “I don’t think they’re interested in your pornos, wild thing.”

“I might be.” Ellie tried to defuse the tension. “Have anything good I can borrow?”

Lucas swiveled to face his decoy companion so fast it might have been funny under different circumstances. When he caught her devilish smile, he shook his head.

Back on track, he cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind, Jambrea. But I was curious. I looked into your military history. Did she tell you guys what she got that Silver Star for?”