Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) (23 page)

Beck managed to squeak in the door at the edge of acceptable. She hustled past the young receptionist, Reye, who sat chatting on the land line phone, doodling on a notepad.

When Reye spied her, she said, “Hey, I have to go,” hung up the phone and whirled to face Beck. “That was my mother,” she said, pointing at the phone, as if in answer to an unspoken question—either that, or to assuage her guilt. “Dr. Johnson wants you to join him in the big therapy room. He’s got some more overflow from the base today he wants you to observe.”

“Okay, Reye. He’s been getting a lot of their patients, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, well, the staff here are the best around and the VA hospital is busy. It’s wartime, as we all know, in various parts of the world. Those poor soldiers.”

“I know, right? I thought my heart would break when we got that young guy who lost both legs. Barely twenty.” She shook her head. “He had to comfort
me
, if you could believe it. He seemed to accept it as the price he paid for serving his country. His whole life, boom, gone from hale to helpless thanks to one IED.”

“He had a great sense of humor, though. Always made me laugh,” Reye said. “I kinda miss him,” she added wistfully, like a girl with a crush.

“Same with me,” Beck agreed. “Super attitude. Guys like that make me feel petty sometimes, like I’m paying attention to the wrong things in life.”

“I know what you mean,” Reye said. “Oh—watch out for the guy in with Dr. Johnson. He’s way too good looking. Seems pretty sure of himself. He limped in here all cocky, like I should bow down before him.” Reye twirled a strand of brown hair around her finger. She always seemed to be in a state of fidget. “Made me nervous.”

“Honey, I can handle guys like that, believe me. I see them as a challenge who should be chopped down to size. Men like that are no match for Beck Tosetti.” She flashed a wicked smile at the younger woman.

Reye put her hands up in surrender. “Oooh, believe me, I’ll never tussle with you.”

“You’re not a guy. Don’t worry.” When she entered the therapy room, she barely glanced at the equipment, work stations and exercise machines placed throughout the large space. Instead, her focus ran up and down and back up the “off the charts” good looking male. One of those dazzling, “it doesn’t get any better than this,” specimens of male perfection.

He stood tall, precise, like a good soldier, both hands, enclosed in black workout gloves, braced on the parallel bars, wearing shorts and a gray T-shirt. His left knee wrapped in a brace, the same-side ankle in a walking-cast boot, his blue eyes caught hers. He briefly appeared startled, then gave her a knowing, predatory look, followed by a huge, white-toothed grin.

She frowned.
Something about this guy disturbs me. I’m not easily disturbed.

“Ms. Tosetti.” Dr. Johnson beckoned to her.

She sauntered over, looked at the blond Adonis, and said, “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he purred.

Beck felt the familiar stirs of seduction rolling off this guy like a wave. “Well, we’ll get to know one another inside and out in here, at least as far as your body’s capabilities and progress is concerned.” A professional smile formed on her face and she turned toward Dr. Johnson.

“I look forward to it,” the male said, as if the two of them were the only people in the room. “My body has
all kinds
of capabilities, some known, some untapped.”

Ugh.
She flinched. Beck experienced strange stirrings inside, sort of like she sat in the dentist chair awaiting a root canal and the dentist held the laughing gas mask over her nose in an attempt to make her feel really, really good. She directed her attention to the orthopedic surgeon. “So what are we doing today to assist this soldier on the road to recovery?”

Dr. Johnson scanned the computer screen in front of him, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Look at this X ray. He’s got a possible stress fracture in the metatarsals. It’s a ‘may or may not’ be kind of thing. The pain he’s experiencing is real, though, right, son?”

The male shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“His knee took a twist trying to escape an IED, which, thankfully, he managed to do.” The doctor smiled at the male. “How are the rest of your injuries healing?”

“Scrapes and scratches, Doc, nothing more.” He beamed.

“He’s being tough. He took quite a hit in service for his country.” Dr. Johnson looked as proud as if he were the male’s father.

“I guess there will be no triathlons for me any time soon.”

Beck felt a chill crawl up her spine, like an ant trail army made its way up her back.

Dr. Johnson looked up from the computer. “Were you thinking of it?”

The soldier lifted his muscled shoulder in a shrug, the tattooed words of U.S. Marine Corps, the bottom of a globe and part of an anchor, peeking out from under his sleeve.

His biceps appeared as large as one of her thighs. Beck stared at the chiseled muscle until the guy noticed, the corners of his lips lifting in a satisfied smile.

“I was. My nephew’s trying to save a sea lion. Someone at his school organized the race to raise funds for the Marine Mammal Center. I’ve changed my mind about the race, though, what with the injury and all. I can participate in other ways.” He winked at Beck.

Beck thought she might faint. She swallowed in an attempt to force moisture into her mouth.
It’s him.

“Damn fishermen shouldn’t be shooting at sea life. If they do, they shouldn’t miss. I know I wouldn’t have missed.” He lifted his arms as if holding a rifle, squinting, as if looking through a scope, pretending to aim and shoot. “Clean kill or don’t bother with the shot.”

“The sergeant here is a sniper in the Marines,” Dr. Johnson said.

“Was a sniper,” he corrected. “Former enlisted.” He sighed.

“But there’s no one here to shoot,” Dr. Johnson added with a chuckle. He pushed his index finger and thumb over his small, trim mustache. “Just us chickens here.” He turned his attention back to the X ray.

“Ninety-eight confirmed kills, all bad guys.” The masculine blonde smirked.

What about the Marine you killed? Was he a bad guy?
“Huh. How about that.” Beck felt the urge to run. She forced her eyes to stare at the screen.

“No breaks here, but torn ligaments. Those can be the toughest to heal.” The doctor tapped the ghostly gray and white knee image, wrinkled his nose and peered at the screen, rubbing his chin.

“Shouldn’t he be resting? Why is he standing at the parallel bars? You don’t want to walk a fracture.”

“It’s been a few weeks since the accident.” Dr. Johnson glared at the tall male. “He’s not supposed to be walking. But you can’t keep a good man down. He made his way in here and refused to sit down.”

“I’ll sit, I’ll sit,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. He laughed, as if it was no big deal, just proving what a badass he is.

“When Meghan gets back, she’ll have the new X rays she took this morning and put him through his paces. I’d like you to observe and assist.”  The surgeon craned his neck to scrutinize the images more, minimized the screen and logged off. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got surgery in an hour and have to get over to the hospital. Sergeant Farrell, it’s always a pleasure to meet one of our own.” He nodded, leaving Beck alone with the sniper.

She felt a surge of panic, her adrenaline kicking up to a six cup espresso high.

“So,” the male said, giving Beck an easy, affable smile. “What’s got you hanging with my brother? Does he need some kind of therapy?” He smirked as if the answer was obvious, and not merely physical.

She blinked. “How do you know where and with whom I hang?” She logged back into the computer, pretending to scan his records—the medical records of former enlisted Sergeant Lawson Farrell, age thirty-three, USMC. Her mind became numb, completely unhelpful, as she sought ways, ideas, anything meaningful for dealing with Lawson.

Lawson’s lips curled into a cunning, calculated, secretive smile that made her want to either gasp or burn his smug smile from his face with a blowtorch. “My apologies. We weren’t properly introduced. Sergeant…” He smiled and shook his head. “Ah, I’m going to have to start getting used to my new title—
former
enlisted Marine Sergeant, Lawson Farrell.” He extended a beefy, glove covered hand in her direction.

A tiny star tattoo, no bigger than a beauty mark, had been scribed on his neck. When she ignored his intended handshake, staring at the computer, he scowled and said, “Once a Marine, always a Marine, though. There’s a considerable measure of earned respect.”

She wanted to say, “Once a Marine, now a murderer,” or “you lost my respect the minute your brother told me what you really are.”  She didn’t want to piss him off, however. She needed to play this right. “What?” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard him. “Oh, my apologies. I’m so engrossed with your records, I spaced for a minute. What did you say your name is?”

“Former enlisted Marine Sergeant Farrell Lawson, at your service.” Again he proffered his hand, pasting on his most brilliant smile.

“That’s right. I thought that’s what you said but I wasn’t sure.” She reached out to shake his hand, but instead, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her fingers.
Ew.
His lips reminded her of lizard skin, dry and scaly.
Too much time in the desert.

“It’s a pleasure.” He looked into her eyes with a practiced gaze, meant to coax her panties off her recently waxed legs.

“Mm hmm,” she said, as brusquely as she could manage, tugging her hand free.

“And…” He lifted his eyebrows, grinning expectantly. “Your name?”

She cringed, not wanting him to know anything about her. “It’s Rebecca Tosetti.”

“How is it an Italian has such beautiful red hair?” He limped over to a chair and sat down.

“She just does.” Her eyes darted toward the door, hoping Meghan would return soon. “Let’s see your range of motion on this knee. We need to record a starting point.”

He gave her an amused look. “It’s in my records. Today’s not my first day in PT. It’s merely my first day with
you
.”

Duh. Get it together.
Heat rolled off his virile form like a furnace. 
More like a cremation oven,
Beck thought, her cheeks beginning to burn. “Of course. I simply want to record today’s range of motion. Sit over here on this exam table, please.”

“Are we going to play doctor and nurse? Role playing can be fun with the right person to play with.” He stood up, looming over her. “Like you. You’re tall. I love a tall woman, especially someone as gorgeous as you are.”

“We’re not going to play anything,” she said, ignoring his come on. “Sit.”

“
I’m pretty sure I saw you.
Wasn’t Zed training at the high school we attended?
Pretty sure I saw you.
Had a hard on for days.”

“What, you just happened to turn down the dead end road?”
Shit, I just gave myself away.
More chills raced up and down her spine.
That was the day Zed blacked out on his bike. He thought he saw his brother with a rifle.

“Nah, more like out for a joy ride, looking for something to do. Only reminiscing. Remembering old times. It gets boring being away from combat. I’m used to constant action.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy yourself.”

“I’m sure I will.” Another practiced grin formed on his face. “You could help me, what do you say?”

The door swung open and Meghan strode in, saving Beck from having to answer.
What did I mention to Reye about ‘guys like this?’ Something about how I can handle any guy?

Lawson immediately changed personas to that of a polite marine, not a rabid seducer. His face softened, his posture became rigid and he even added a touch of “wounded soldier,” wincing for good measure.

The quick, thorough, “nothing out of place” transformation, gave Beck the heebie-jeebies.

Meghan said, “Okay, soldier, let’s see what the range of motion is like. I managed to snag Dr. Johnson for a quick look-see on your X rays before he leaves for the hospital. He’s conferring with the radiologist as we speak.”

“Okay, Meghan,” Lawson said, looking every bit the cooperative marine. “I’ll try. It hurts, but I’ll do my best.”

Oh, puhlease.
Beck started to roll her eyes.

“Fetch me the goniometer, will you, Beck?”

“I thought you said you were called Rebecca,” Lawson said.

“That’s my name,” Beck replied. “Even on my birth certificate.”

“Beck,” he repeated.

He seemed to dirty the name, making it sound tawdry.

“I’ll start calling you Beck, too.”

Beck gritted her teeth. “It’s reserved for friends.”

“I’d sure like to be,” he said in a “gee, gosh, golly” manner.

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” Meghan said, once Beck handed her the testing device. “She lets everyone call her Beck.” Meghan flashed her dimpled smile.