Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Awareness came to her like a slow-moving tide in the middle of a dark moonless night. Cautiously. Stealthily. For every inch it advanced, it reeled backward a thousand footsteps before it began the tediously slow process forward again. Teasing with a sunrise of promise, then drowning that promise in darkness and fog. So much fog. Over and over, the tide rolled in and then retreated. So many futile attempts to rejoin the land of the living.

She wanted to run, to escape the endless surge and retreat. At least to wake up. To remember. No sooner thought, than the tide ebbed away from the promise of clarity again, extinguishing her power of reasoning and dashing her spirit. Dousing hope with wave after wave of endless nothingness.

Until…

“Sweetheart?”

That voice. That one word was powerful. It stopped the tide in its tracks. It meant something. It was more than an endearment. It was a promise. A vow. A pledge of forever. Of family and safety and security. Of warmth and strength. Of sizzling warmth and absolute strength. Of… someone.

With a deep breath, the fire in her lungs at last dissipated. She could breathe.

The throbbing noise in her head stilled. She could hear herself think.

Her brain hadn’t failed her after all. Better, a delicious scent teased her nose, daring her to inhale more. It spoke to her of tall cedar trees, smoky campfires, and children’s laughter—of all the absolutes that used to be her universe. Of a man. A single man. Her man. Of his willingness to fight for her, to die for her. He’d taught her how to fight. He’d saved her, showed her how to save herself. And she had. Could do it again.

Just not right now.

Fighting lethargy and a dizzying loss of equilibrium, she dared open her eyes. She wasn’t blind after all. The cold, damp world around her wasn’t the shore, but a hospital room. Its walls and edges blurred and shimmered, came in and went out of focus. The lighting overhead dimmed, offering instant relief. Her pupils widened ever so slightly, as they eased her brain into her new normal.

There he was. The most magnificent male in the world, standing beside her bed. Alex towered like a stalwart redwood above her. Not over her. His eyes were closed. He was obviously in prayer. His head was bowed. His forehead was creased with worry. His lips were thin, as if he didn’t like the answer he’d received.

There was no dominance in her man. Not over her, at least. But she did see lines across his forehead, and a skosh of fear crinkling the corners of his eyes. Her hand was gently held between both of his, as if she were fragile. Which she was, since the hand he held was bandaged down past her wrist and— ouch —a twinge of pain stabbed at her shoulder. That arm just might be fragile, too.

Not like she’d pull her hand back. No way. The pain in her shoulder was nothing compared to the loss she’d feel once he let go. Come to think of it, her chest felt as if it were tightly wrapped. Had she broken a rib? My goodness, what else?

Her man was the fiercest warrior, but also, the gentlest lover and father. He commanded legions with great courage, yet he gave his heart tenderly and absolutely. He served to please. The steadying scent of him reassured her. He was her Alex, and she was his Kelsey. They had five children together, three angels, Abby, Jackie, and Tommy. Two noisy, very much alive, mischievous scamps who filled their home with spilled milk, empty candy wrappers, life, and laughter. Lexie and Bradley.

Kelsey smiled. They needed to stop calling him Baby Bradley. One of these days, he’d be a man like his father, and he wouldn’t appreciate that handle.

Her chest heaved with gratitude. When the tiny movement caught Alex’s attention, she found herself bathed in the purest, deepest, bluest sunshine.

“Kelsey?”

Funny how a woman instantly recognized trepidation in her husband’s tone.

“Alex,” she answered, giving him reassurance and all of her love.

“You’re back.” His voice broke.

She gave his much larger hand a squeeze, signifying a hearty yes! Not that he’d understand, given how limp her bandaged fingers were.

He squeezed back just hard enough for her to know he understood.

Her gorgeous hero leaned his handsome body over hers, slid one arm beneath her, and scooped her out of bed. “Am I hurting you?” he asked as he dropped into the recliner at her bedside and carefully arranged her on his lap. “You’ve been out of it for days, and you’ve got several broken bones. You’re healing and you’ve had surgery, sweetheart. You have to keep that helmet on, and I don’t want to—”

“I have a helmet? Who cares? Kiss me,” she whispered as she looked up at him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He pressed the tiniest kiss into her hair.

“No, here.” She pursued her lips.

The stubborn man blessed her forehead with a softer kiss.

And that would have to do. For now.

“How are the kids?” she asked groggily.

“Missing their mom. Please tell me if I’m hurting you.”

She lifted her bandaged hand. “What’d I do, break a finger?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

The way he asked was telling. Kelsey gulped. “Umm, I guess… no? We were looking at the sunrise up on Mount Rainier and then—” She drew a blank and shrugged. “Nothing. What’d I do? Slip and fall down the mountain? And, oh yeah, umm… where are we? We’re not still in Washington?”

“No, sweetheart, you’re in our critical care unit at TEAM HQ. Libby, Judy, and McKenna have been hovering over you ever since…” His belly expanded against her left side, but it radiated around her back to her other side.

She winced. “Ouch. My side—do I have a broken rib?”

He held up three fingers. “Three broken ribs, one broken hip, clavicle, wrist, and three broken fingers, all on your right side. I don’t want to frighten you, but someone shot you the morning we were up on Emmons Glacier.”

She had to look up at him then, to make sure he wasn’t joking. “We were talking about Mount Saint Helens and… and then… I got shot?”

Alex traced a fingertip over the curl of her right ear. “Give me your left hand. It’s okay. I’ll be gentle.”

She did, and he directed it to her scalp behind that ear. “Stitches? Did someone shoot me in my head?”

“Bastard tried,” Alex growled.

“Did he shoot you?” she nearly screeched.

“Kelsey, yes, but nothing serious. Sit back. Lean into me. Please.”

“You always say it’s nothing serious, Alex. Let me see. Let me take care of you. That’s my job.” By then she sounded hysterical, and Kelsey didn’t know why she’d gone from zero-to-sixty so quickly.

With one big, warm hand, Alex pressed her cheek to his chest. “That’s one of the reasons I love you. Here you are, battered and lucky to be alive, but worried about me. Give me this, sweetheart. I need to hold you more than I need anything else right now. You. Just you, safe in my arms and alive and breathing on your own. Please, give me this. You’re all I need. Just you, back from the dead. I thought I’d lost you.”

She relaxed into his big, warm, muscular body, content to breathe the scent of him back into her soul. Epithelial by epithelial. Cedar and campfire smoke, forever her favorite fragrances. “I have no memory past us talking about Mount Saint Helens.”

“Good. The asshat who shot you didn’t intend to kill you, just nick you. After he succeeded, you slipped and fell into the White River. The bastard also got a shot off at me, but it’s only a flesh wound.”

“Alex,” she said as threateningly as she could manage. “I need to see it.”

“Honest. It’s already healed. I’ll show you once we get home.”

She nodded, willing to compromise for now, because Alex didn’t lie. “Okay then. Go on.”

His belly expanded with another deep inhalation. “There are lots of moving parts to this mission, sweetheart, but it all comes back to Mel and his ties to the Irish mob. Pops Delaney was Lancaster Wirth’s lieutenant, his go-to man for his dirty business in Boston. Delaney wasn’t the true Irish Mafia boss. Neither was his daughter. Lancaster Wirth was, and his son was in it up to his neck, too. It’s a long, complicated story, but the bottom line is you’re safe now, and every last bastard behind your getting shot is either in FBI custody or in the ground.”

Kelsey lifted her bandaged hand to his chest. She wanted to flutter her fingertips over those hard-as-rocks pectorals, but settled for patting him instead. “I’m always safe with you.”

He made an odd choking sound deep down in his chest and Kelsey knew precisely what he was thinking. “Stop it. I’m alive, Alex. Hold me. Never let me go.”

A gruff “Never,” reverberated under her ear.

“Good,” she snapped. “I know damned well I wouldn’t be here today if not for you and your TEAM. Let go of all the what-ifs. I made it. We made it. That’s all that matters.”

“I’ll never let you go,” he breathed into her hair. “Thank God for ice-cold water.”

“Oh!” She bolted upright. “I remember that, but… but…” The memory was lost as quickly as it had come to her. Kelsey sank back against Alex. “Remember what you told me that time you recovered from almost dying?”

“You mean when Harley finished the job I should’ve and sniped your ex before I could?” he replied bitterly.

“Yes. What’d you tell me after I pretended to be your nurse and unwrapped the packing on your eyes? Remember?”

He should. Her ex had tried to kill her, and Alex had survived one hell of a beating the same night. He’d temporarily lost his sight as a result of severe head trauma. The doctors hadn’t expected he’d survive. But he had. Once he’d come to, he’d been an ornery beast and had ordered Kelsey to get away from him. To leave. And she did. But after she’d had time to think, she’d returned on a mission to save him from himself. She’d worked a deal with his doctor and surprised Alex by standing in as his nurse the day the bandages came off those poor, sad blue eyes. She’d been the one who cleaned the medicinal residue from his eyelids and lashes. It was still a very intimate memory. Him so helpless and still so angry. Her so timid, afraid of hurting him. So tentative that she’d known he’d lost patience with her. That was when she’d fallen in love with this grumpy man all over again.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well? What’d you say?”

“Just that I wanted to go home.”

“Me, too,” Kelsey whispered. “I just want to go home, Alex. Can you make it happen?”

Her crazy, bossy man huffed like a spoiled brat who wasn’t getting his way. There was no way he’d be able to refuse her. He couldn’t. Because he’d already made it happen.

Kelsey was home the moment she opened her eyes and saw him.

Home to her was simply—Alex.