The Valkyrie's Guardian (10 page)

“Hell,” he mumbled.

“Good enough. Sit.” She draped a blanket across his shoulders and went for supplies to suture a gash running the length of his forearm. A sharp edge on the obstacle course, she gathered from his sluggish thoughts.

“Not. Ringin'. Out.” He tried to shed the blanket and stand.

“No, ensign. You won't ring out.” With a firm hand on his shoulder she pushed him back into the chair. He was too zoned out to notice she had used the necessary 250 pounds of pressure, one-handed, against his resistance. “Let me sew you up and slap a bandage on that cut, then I'll send you back out into hell, okay?”

“Hooyah.” He stared off into space, his shivering almost convulsions.

With a mental salute to Uncle Sam for producing human machines, Cassie went to work anesthetizing an injury that was probably already numb. His fingernails were tinged bright yellow — why? And the black smudges on the pads of his fingers were not bruises, as she'd first thought.

“Ensign, what happ — ”

Cold hands closed over her throat. Cassie dropped her scissors to grab his arm, equally surprised that Ensign Hammond had a fresh burst of energy as she was by his strangling her. His eyes half open and glassy, he didn't even grunt as his arms thrashed side to side in attempt to snap her neck. He backed her into the wall, slamming her head into the metal doorjamb. Her knees buckled and she saw black spots.

Once her training overrode the shock, Cassie broke his grip by jabbing her thumbs between the tendons inside his wrist. She stunned his nerves there and his grip slackened. She followed through with an elbow strike to his nose, the best she could do in such cramped quarters. His eyes watered and his nose poured blood, but still he didn't back away. Cassie shoved hard against his chest, and once his balance swayed backward, she crumpled him with a brutal kick to the groin.

Jack, you busy?

Mile twelve of fourteen. I'm bringing up the rear, and these guys are s-l-o-w.

Cassie coughed and glanced down at Ensign Hammond, who didn't gasp for breath, didn't dab the blood running down his face or cup his groin like any normal man would. His eyes stared blankly ahead. Strange that his brain processed no relevant thoughts, his mentality the same as when he came through the door injured and exhausted, but determined to stay in BUD/S. That's why his attack surprised her.

Something really weird just happened.
She shrugged.
I suppose it can wait. I tried not to hurt him, but I might have broken his nose. And I hope he didn't want children.

Jack's reaction came in a burst of fury.
Who? I'll kill him —
Then he swore up and down in Gaelic.
Cass — are ye okay? Damn, I knew the men here would eat you alive —

No, he didn't try to hit on me. I think you had better see this for yourself. Something's wrong.

His answer was a colorful string of curses, then;
Probably fifteen minutes, okay?

Okay.
Then Cassie was uncertain about what to do with the ensign bleeding on the floor. She found some zip-tie-looking handcuffs and bound his hands and feet, and for lack of something better to do, resumed stitching the laceration on his arm after she healed his septum.

Jack burst through the screen door as though he charged the gates of hell; hair standing on end, eyes sparking green and bloodshot, with a fearsome expression to match. He looked sweaty enough to pose for a beefcake poster and wore only a pair of geeky tan shorts — very short.

Wow, that's a blast from the past. Navy get stuck in the eighties?

Jack shot her a look that made her feel like a four-eyed alien then took in the sight of Ensign Hammond trussed up like a luau pig. He rushed to embrace her and she squirmed out of his hold. She didn't need comforting.

You okay?

Fine, Jack. Just get off me.

She stepped back to lessen the pleasure strumming over her nerves at the contact of his skin on hers. Why did his scent jumpstart her heart? She smelled roasted almonds and leather and fresh-cut grass above something elusive — tangy, heady. It swirled in her brain like a drug, drawing her in, tempting her. By all accounts he should smell toxic.

He reached to examine her throat and she slapped his hands away. They glared a challenge at each other, and Cassie made it clear he was still in the doghouse for his idiocy last night. Then she explained what had happened with Hammond, and his conclusion was the same as hers:

So weird. His mind sounds like those boaters, like static.

Yes, I know. That's why I didn't kill him. I don't think he meant to do it. And look at his hands.

Jack lifted Hammond's arms behind his back, and the ensign made no complaint of his rough treatment. Jack sucked in a breath as he saw the stains on Hammond's hands. Then Jack had a story to tell.

“So Hammond vandalized your team's office? Do you think he even remembers doing it?” Cassie cut the ties on his wrists and ankles, and still he did nothing. “Jack, try giving him an order.”

“Ensign! What the hell you doin'? Get on your feet, worm!”

They both heard his mind snap back to order, and Hammond scrambled to his feet, looking dazed. “Hooyah, sir.”

“What happened to your face, cadet? You look like a meatball.”

“I … ” his brows furrowed. “I — don't know, sir.”

“What's wrong with your hands?”

Hammond held out his hands, blinking as he examined his palms, then his nails. “Uh, I don't know, sir. Sorry sir. Permission to join the evolution, sir.”

Cassie and Jack exchanged glances — the ensign was truthful. He had no recollection of either attacking Cassie or of vandalizing the office, even though the evidence lingered on his hands. He just wanted to be a Navy SEAL and somehow got played as a pawn. To Cassie's relief Jack let him go.

“Automatons? Hypnosis?” Cassie turned to see Jack relax his posture and rake a hand through his hair. He paced the floor, and Cassie let her mind wander, studying the spattering of freckles across his shoulders while he gathered his thoughts.

Finally he turned and speared her with intense, narrowed eyes. “Three points, two of them bad: Whoever is behind this knew Merodach — trained by him, his protégé, whatever. He sent me two messages today; to prove he can hack my security and that he knows I brought my woman. He's threatening me. We're in the crosshairs.”

Cassie rubbed her arms, trying to smooth over the goose bumps. Nothing she could do about the small hairs tingling on the back of her neck. Creepy. “I hope the last one is good.”

“Hell yeah.” The green light behind his eyes sparked. “He obviously has no clue what you can do.”

Jack's mouth curved in a dirty, sexy smile, and Cassie felt ten feet tall and bulletproof. If he thought she was a force to be reckoned with, it was almost enough to believe it was true.

“So now what?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It's goin' just the way I want.” Then his smile changed into a reckless grin that sapped most of her glowing confidence — the smile of a madman.

“That's a nice dress.

It would look great crumpled on my floor.”

—Jack MacGunn, King of the Bad Pick-Up Line

“What are ye watchin', Cass?”

“Something without ninjas, bikinis, or explosions. You wouldn't get it.”

He wrinkled his nose at the screen as a weepy Victorian countess clasped a burning love letter to her bosom. “Dunno. Does her dress catch on fire?”

She heard his next thought, and he opened his mouth to dub over the movie dialogue. She reached to pin his lips shut. “No Mystery Science Theater Three Thousand.”

He shrugged, letting her keep her grip on his lips. The tip of his tongue pushed through and licked slowly down her finger.
You have a nice firm grip, lass.

Perv.
She let go and wiped her hand on her belly as she sat, scowling as she summoned every ounce of last night's anger to keep from smiling. Cassie was determined to stand her ground, even if her heart danced a boogie every time he came near. How dare he act cute and funny when he had been a first-class jerk last night?

“Hey Cass, will you trim my hair? I like how you make it do the swoop-thingy on both sides, but now it's gettin' in my eyes.”

She shushed him and leaned to watch around his hulking frame. “Can't see through you, Jack.”

“Ooh, baby, but you could,” he purred in his sexy chainsaw voice and pumped his hips once in her direction.

She hurled the remote at his head and felt a little satisfied when he flailed to catch it. Helped that she threw it 160 miles per hour. “Jack, sometimes I think you have no clue what your pick-up lines mean.”

“Just tryin' to make you laugh.”

“You should get out. Men are not allowed in the women's quarters.” She scowled then turned back to her movie. “Men, even defined loosely, probably includes you.”

He cocked his head in nonchalance then plopped down next to her on the sofa, which creaked ominously in protest. “Want to go jam until my shift starts?”

“Didn't bring my guitar.”

“I packed it. It's back at my place.” He thumbed over his shoulder and Cassie nodded without taking her eyes from the screen.

He yawned and stretched theatrically then rested his arm above her head, in the classic adolescent gesture of covertly holding her shoulders. His other hand reached into her lap to raid her bowl of snap peas. In minutes he decimated three pounds of peas, husks and all, while he scowled at her costume drama. He smelled like Christmas Eve, with pine-musk cologne on his collar, a faint dirty smoke smell in his hair, and a nutty apple-cinnamon flavor on his breath. Breakfast oatmeal, probably.

His lips brushed her temple, then he spoke in her ear, “I'm sorry I belittled you in front of Kyros last night. You know I don't believe any of the things I said.” She scoffed and he added, “It was the only cover I could think of on the fly. He wasn't supposed to catch us.”

“You threw me under the bus.” Her voice rose despite her will to stay calm.

“Kyros would have locked you in a tower if he knew you were running away with me.”

“And you weren't up to the challenge?”

Jack snorted. “Kyros could stuff my head and mount it on the wall. He'd hang my ba — ” she covered his lips with her fingers, but he said around them, muffled, “ — lls from his rearview mirror.”

“I thought you were on my side.”

“I am. We're a team, you and me. So last night, you took one for the team. Okay?”

“That's the problem, Jack. I thought we had something more than just teammates going on.” He didn't look away, so Cassie studied his expression, willing him to be direct.

He stared her down and slowly closed the space between them, then his eyelids dropped as he pressed his lips to hers.
Fire!
Heat singed her blood. The muscles low in her belly clenched in agony-sweet pangs. Even though his mouth parried hers in leisurely strokes, she thought she would burn to ash. His fingers stroked down her neck, coaxing her to relax, his lips following the same rhythm. Her grudge melted away, and Cassie was about to lie back on the sofa and pull him on top of her when he leaned back with a short, hard kiss.

“I can't. But you know I wish I could, lass.”

“We should discuss that. I have something I want to tell you — ”

“We need to clear out before your bunkmate comes back.”

Smooth, Jack, change the subject.
“We?”

“I can't leave you alone on base while I'm off duty. Not after what happened today.”

“No thanks. I can take care of myself.”

“No.”

“
No
? No, the answer is ‘Yes, ma'am.' You can't — ” Her breath left her in a gust as Jack rose and slung her over his shoulder in one motion.

“Yes, I can. You're moving into my condo in San Diego. That's final.”

Jack made for the door and Cassie smiled from her position low on his back. Now there was an idea she liked. “Okay, you creep! I'll go, if you put me down.”

He spanked her backside and she shouted in protest, but he finally set her down so she could pack her luggage. He carried it out to the Camaro and complained as he set the bag in the trunk, “Only you would bring Versace on a military operation.”

Cassie snaked her arm around his waist as though she meant to flirt, instead she snatched the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged the elastic. “Oh? What's this embroidered on your underwear? ‘D&G?'
I don't think that stands for Down and Grungy.” She dropped the elastic with a snap.

He turned and trapped her against the car, caging her between his arms. She yelped and dodged, pretending she wanted to escape. “Ooh, ribbed spandex. In black. That's
hot,
Jack.” She bared her teeth and growled suggestively.

He caught her by the waist, laughing in a husky low-throated sound. Jack dug his fingers into her ribs where she was ticklish, and she collapsed into his arms giggling like an idiot.

“Uh, Doolittle?”

Cassie paused with her hand caught in Jack's armpit, about to exact some revenge on his ticklish spot. His hands stilled on her backside but didn't retreat. Cassie turned to see a Val Kilmer lookalike dressed in civvies but still wearing the demeanor of a soldier. His longer hair and earring meant he was some sort of super-spy-SEAL, with relaxed grooming standards for blending in with the locals. It occurred to Cassie that she and Jack were messing around just now the way he typically flirted with women. She hoped it meant he saw her as an adult and took her seriously.

“Hey, Memphis. Can't ye see I'm busy?” Jack groused, pulling Cassie tighter against his chest.