He didn't want to think of the other possibility--that Whitney had sent her to spy on him, to report how close to the truth he was in his investigations. God help them both if she was betraying Whitney, yet that didn't feel right to him. She was too close to bolting. A spy wouldn't be running, she'd be trying to get closer to him.
Saber didn't like snow, certainly not to drive in. First a series of bad storms, and the weather would be breaking sooner than usual. Once the snow fell Saber would be less inclined to take off and he would have all winter to tie her securely to him.
The words of his song echoed in his mind, a reality to him.
Oh, but those haunting eyes
They make me realize
The depths of my emotions stirring inside
Haunting eyes, haunting refrain, and all so true. Every time he looked into her violet-blue eyes his heart turned over. This was one woman he would never be over. Every day strengthened his feelings for her, his assurance of how completely he was committed to her.
Saber slept with the innocence of a child. Deeply, quietly, still in her sleep, where awake she was quicksilver. It was dark when she opened her eyes, and he knew the very instant by the way her body tensed, her swift intake of breath.
"You're all right, baby." He breathed it softly in her ear, firmly turning her in his arms. "I've got you. If you open your eyes you'll know you're perfectly safe."
His hands were possessive, his breath warm against her skin, his husky, sexy voice swirling a fierce heat in the center of her body. Saber moved against him restlessly, an unconscious enticement.
"Am I?" She whispered the words, craving the feel of his mouth feeding on hers, needing him there in the darkness.
There was no hesitation. Jess needed her every bit as much. He caught her head firmly in the crook of his arm, fist beneath her chin, and brought his head down to hers. There was nothing of the sweet gentle persuasion he had coaxed her with before. He was too hungry for her. He took possession of her mouth without his usual self-imposed control. Male domination pure and simple. Hot, heated, demanding, an assault on mind and body, his tongue an invasion, mating wildly. It was a turbulent storm sweeping her into a primitive world of pure feeling.
A rush of damp heat, her breasts swelling, aching, her skin ultrasensitive. Jess's hand moved under her shirt, rested on her narrow rib cage, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast, sending a wave of fire darting like tongues across her skin.
Saber wrenched herself away with a little despairing cry, rolling away from him, from his fully aroused male body and hard threatening muscles. "Jesse, we can't do this." It was a heartbreaking moan. Hopeless, forlorn, tinged with desperation.
Jess laid perfectly still, staring up at the thousands of stars blanketing the sky, afraid if he moved he would shatter into a million fragments. His body raged for release, his head pounding savagely. He wanted her with every cell, every fiber of his being. Inside, warning bells were shrieking at him. He could not lose her through clumsy handling.
What the hell was wrong with him? He knew she was afraid. The furthest thing from her mind was any sort of commitment.
He struggled for control, forced a note of amusement into his voice. "Sure we can, honey." He pulled himself into his chair with the ease of long practice. "It's the perfect night for it. You're a woman, I'm a man. Those little twinkling things overhead are stars. I believe it's referred to as romance."
Saber sat a few feet from him, arms across her chest. She was fighting just to breathe normally and there was Jesse, laughing at her inexperienced reaction. She had an uncharacteristic urge to slap his handsome face. Patsy was right. He was a cad. Her body was crying out for his, uncomfortably not her own, and he was calmly gathering everything up, ignoring her obvious distress. She sure as hell wasn't perfect Chaleen whom he had perfect sex with.
Jess watched Saber rake an unsteady hand through her hair and bite at her full lower lip. In the moonlight she looked wildly erotic, impossibly sexy. He had to look away, his jeans so tight they hurt, his body actually trembling.
"I think talking about Chaleen darling and her perfect sex put ideas in your head," Saber grumbled. "Either that or Patsy, with all her talk of bimbos."
"You hardly qualify," he said dryly.
Saber tested her legs, standing up to gather the picnic supplies into the basket. Her blue eyes flashed purple sparks at him. "Is that an insult, Jesse? Because if it is, you can take the big slide."
He laughed softly, the sound inviting. "You have such a way with words. Here, I'll carry that," he said as she took the basket from his lap. It looked nearly as large as she was.
"Don't start with the short jokes," she cautioned. "I'm not in the mood."
He followed her, keeping up easily with a single thrust of his powerful arms. "You mean like: Hey! I'm sitting down and I still have a couple of inches on you."
She stopped so abruptly he ran right into her, catching her waist, laughing at her squeal of outrage as he pulled her down onto his lap. "What's wrong, Saber, does it hit too close to home for comfort?"
Saber circled his neck with her arm. "Oh, shut up," she snapped, but he could hear the answering laughter in her voice.
She couldn't help but admire the easy way he maneuvered the chair over rough terrain with her added weight and the awkward load of blankets and picnic basket. They were both laughing when they reached the van. But by the time they were home, Jess was quiet, thoughtful, almost remote.
Saber tried desperately to push away the feel of his mouth, his hands, as she dressed for work. It was a good thing she wasn't trying to go to bed. There would be no such thing as sleep.
Elation, euphoria poured through his system along with sheer adrenaline. He was so much cleverer than Whitney's precious enhanced soldiers. He could have walked right up to them and sliced their throats. He'd stalked them, together, and neither had been aware of his presence. He was so good. The best. So skilled and yet had none of the training the two of them had. All that time he had circled them, fantasizing about how he would end them both, laughing to himself, feeling so high. He almost couldn't come down from it. All that money spent, all that training, and here he was, a mere foot soldier without a single enhancement, just brains and skill, eluding both of them.
It didn't surprise him in the least. He'd always been superior to others, but this should prove it even to Whitney. Whitney, who put his intelligence above everyone else, who believed himself a god. How many mistakes had the man made? His pheromone receptor research had made fools of the soldiers and whores of the women. Look at Wynter kissing the cripple when she should have killed him. Calhoun was inferior now. Useless. He should have had a bullet in his head a year ago, but no, they wanted his DNA. He was going to have to take over her training, because Whitney certainly hadn't gotten it right. It was becoming harder and harder to wait, to play the game and play the role of a puppet. He wanted to up the stakes and shove it right under their noses now that he knew he could. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.
CHAPTER 7
Someone was stalking them. Saber slipped into the garage and looked carefully around. Nothing was out of place, yet someone had been there, and they were good, very good, because she had an eye for detail--a photographic memory that alerted her the moment something was even a hair off. It was time to step out of her dream world and confront reality head on.
Jess was a GhostWalker. She was a GhostWalker. He had been recruited and trained as an adult already in Special Forces. She had been taken from an orphanage and raised in a laboratory and then later a training compound. How in the world had they both ended up in Sheridan, Wyoming?
Saber carefully went over Jess's car and then her own, searching for an incendiary device. She needed her electronic equipment to be absolutely certain the cars were free of bugs, so that would have to wait. But as far as she could tell by listening and feeling, both vehicles were clean, and she had always been right. She slipped into her car and sat for a moment, c
ontemplating what to do.
She tapped her fingernail against the dash of her car and stared at herself in the rearview mirror. There wasn't a single line in her baby soft skin. Her too-big eyes were fringed with long feathery lashes and held a look of absolute innocence. She could barely look at herself sometimes. Her innocence had been lost when she was sent out on her first mission at nine years old. She glanced down at her hands expecting to see blood--something--some evidence of the evil that lurked inside of her, but even her hands looked young and innocent.
She looked back into the mirror. She'd made a promise to herself that she would never go back to that life, but she wouldn't--couldn't--abandon Jess. She didn't believe in coincidence, but there was no way Jess could have planned for her to show up at his home. She had wandered down his road, hoping to find a place to camp before winter set in and she had to move on. She had gotten his name off an Internet site for radio station jobs when she'd looked for an opening in Sheridan.
Her voice was one of her best assets. Radio stations were the easiest places to find work, and if there was no opening, she could often use her voice to persuade them to hire her anyway. She knew Jess had suspected she was a battered woman on the run. He had hired her for work at the station and offered to let her rent the upstairs in return for light housekeeping. How could someone have manipulated their meeting? And if they had, what was the purpose?
She bit at her lower lip while she sat there turning it over in her mind. She couldn't leave, not when someone was hunting Jess. She was just going to have to be very alert and know that either of them, or both, could be in danger every step of the way.
Jess watched on the monitor as Saber drove her car through the gates and disappeared from sight. He touched a fingertip to the screen, right over the spot where the Volkswagen's taillights had been. He should have insisted on a guard for her. Someone was watching them. Someone who knew how to bypass the kind of security he had, knew exactly where the camera's blind spots were and had utilized them to invade Jess's territory. He had known the moment he'd gone outside. He doubted if the intruder had breached the house, but he'd followed them to the park. Jess knew they were being hunted.
There was no hesitation as he caught up the phone, punching in a number few people had access to. He knew when he needed help. He had to bring in part of the team and spread them out. No matter how much he loved Saber--or because he loved her--he had to notify those he trusted that someone was orchestrating something big.
He didn't like the idea that he couldn't keep Saber safe himself, but he couldn't allow his ego to get in the way. He was still recovering from the operation, and he'd taken too many chances using Zenith in an effort to heal faster. Lily and Eric had counteracted the drug twice and had had to give him blood when his cells went ballistic on him. He'd had the surgery before Saber had come into his life. Maybe he wouldn't have had she gotten there sooner, but his life had loomed ahead endlessly bleak as he'd listened to Eric outline the technology. It seemed possible, more than possible, to not only walk again, but to be of use.
He let out a sigh. Once again he'd agreed to be an experiment. The military was using bionics for soldiers, but they wore outerwear, nothing as advanced or as complicated as what he had inside of him. He did most of his intense therapy at night while Saber was at the radio station. It was safer for Lily Whitney-Miller to visit when no one was around. She always came with her husband, Ryland Miller, leader of the Special Forces GhostWalker team, and Eric Lambert, the surgeon who had saved Jess's life. Eric often was on standby during a mission, ready to fly anywhere in the world to assist a fallen GhostWalker, and he came often to treat Jess.
After talking to Logan and arranging for his team to come quickly, he went to the pool. Standing, he dove into the water and used the bionics, forcing his brain to develop neural pathways needed to command his new legs. Cell regeneration was happening, but at a much slower rate than anyone had anticipated. He had to be careful because one of the drugs they used was so dangerous. It healed--and then it killed.
He swam, trying to direct his body to think through the mechanics of each kick. He stood in the shallow end near the network of bars and performed exercises. The water made him light, so if his legs failed--as they often did because his concentration was not exact--it didn't matter, although he knew Lily would be upset with him for working alone.
When they had operated, he had been so certain he would just stand up and walk. It wasn't anything like that. All of his training in the SEAL program, his GhostWalker training, none of it compared to this. His head ached constantly. His legs shook and were weak. Pain flashed up his thighs and into his hips. He fell constantly, and that was the worst. His legs just went out from under him, refusing to work if he wasn't thinking about the mechanics of how they worked every second. The smallest distraction could bring him down.
He cursed over and over as he forced his brain into the pattern of telling his legs how to work. He visualized each muscle, the pathways he needed, the ligaments and tendons, pulleys to force his legs to take small steps. Sweat ran down his body along with droplets of water when he pulled himself to the stairs and sat, his lungs burning and his head screaming.
He'd given himself another bloody nose, the only thing that made him quit. He didn't want another transfusion. He snagged a towel, furious that he'd ever agreed in the first place. His legs were too weak to hold him up. He exercised twice a day and did physical therapy, but here he was every day, exactly the same, his legs shaking and his head aching and nothing to show for it.
Noticing that the water in the pool bubbled in reaction to his anger, he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was mostly angry that he couldn't tell Saber. That she wouldn't tell him about her life. They lived in the same house. He'd seen love in her eyes, tasted it on her lips, yet they couldn't talk about who they really were.
Cursing, he caught the bars and pulled himself to a standing position. It always amazed him how everything looked so different when he stood up. It amazed him how different he felt. He was a strong man with an amazing amount of upper body strength, his thighs were strong, but the weakness in his calves could send him crashing to the ground in a heartbeat.
He was going to walk to his chair. His fingers curled into two tight fists and determination molded his mouth. He would do it this time. It was only a couple of feet. It was a matter of visualizing the way a leg worked and giving the information to his brain to carry down his body to his calf and foot.
He took a step. Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes. He forced air through his lungs. Jackhammers drilled at his temples and pain shot up his leg. He held the picture in his mind, everything working in tandem, his muscles contracting and expanding. He took a second step. He was so close to his wheelchair, only a scant two feet. A part of him wanted to try to sprint and another part wanted to lunge, keeping his feet in place so he wouldn't have to use his brain anymore.
His legs shook and he went down hard, crashing to the cement before he could stop himself. He banged his head and one elbow against the ledge as he sprawled awkwardly on the ground. Hell, he couldn't even fall right anymore. The legs just went with no warning, not giving him enough time to roll or simply brace himself with his arms. He lay there, furious at himself, slapping the cement with his open palm, alternating between swearing and trying to breathe.
The telephone rang, but he was too far away to reach it. He swore again and dragged his body using his arms over the cement tiles. He left a streak of blood behind as the rougher spots took skin. Patsy's voice came on, ordering him to pick up. He caught at his chair and just lay against it, resting for a minute. Finally, using his upper body strength, he managed to crawl into his chair. By that time Patsy had given up and left him alone. He was grateful. He didn't want to talk to or see anyone. For just a few moments he had felt totally helpless.
He rolled into his office and slammed the door, locking it, although no one was there to interrupt him. He stared in the mirror
at the blood running from the cut on his head and sighed. It was going to be a long night. Technically he should call Lily and report the injuries. With even a small amount of Zenith in his system, he was at risk for bleeding out from even a minor lesion, but he'd be damned if he'd tell her or anyone else he fell.
"Holy crap, Saber," Brian said. "You really know how to stir the boss up. He's cut you off for the rest of the evening. And he's angry. Really angry. I'm not certain you're going to want to go home tonight."
Saber leaned her chin on her palm and eyed him with suspicion. "You didn't by any chance call him and tell him to tune in to the broadcast, did you? Because I don't think he usually listens to it."
Brian put his hand over his heart dramatically. "You're killing me."
She fanned her lashes at him, struggling not to get up and kick him. "You should have a little loyalty, Brian. Someday you may need a favor."
The smile faded from the soundman's face. "He's my boss too. He'd fire me over that stunt you pulled--not you, me. Everyone at the station knows he's gone on you. And he's protective as hell. Sending out an invitation to a crazy man is over the top, Saber, even for you. You can't talk in that voice and not expect to get a million whacked-out or drunken callers. One time and look, the board's lit up like a Christmas tree."
"You didn't need to tattle on me. We're grown-ups for heaven's sake."
She pushed her hands through her hair in agitation. She'd used her enhanced voice to lure the man who had been calling the station into calling again. She had sent her soft, sexy voice with that buried compulsion out over the airwaves. "To that special someone out there so anxious to reach me, I'm waiting for that call. For my romantic listeners we have a little mood music."
Brian had thrown his arms into the air, furious with her. "Calhoun is going to murder you," he mouthed through the glass.
And the tattletale had called the boss. If Jess had heard that recording, he would have known instantly she was using an enhanced voice. Any GhostWalker would. It had definitely been a calculated risk, but she'd just lost if Jess had heard her. She could have strangled Brian for his interference.