Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 12

He slid past, two bags dangling from his hands. "The laundry service will have your jeans ready before morning. But I also picked up some things for you from Wal-Mart."

"Thank goodness for twenty-four/seven hours. Your shirts are a little, uh, roomy on me to wear out in public." Tomorrow she would get her super to unlock her apartment so she could get to her clothes and the spare set of keys to her car. Tomorrow, in the daylight, with lots of foot traffic around for safety. "I hate feeling paranoid."

"It's not paranoia if somebody's really gunning for you. We live in a world of big-a.s.s scary threats." He walked past and tossed his helmet into a chair.

He swept a hand over his head to clear away the do-rag and tossed it on top. Her fingers itched to test the feel of his shaved head.

She pivoted away on naked feet. "Duh, why else do you think I invited myself to stay in your hotel room? I'm pretty tough, but this week has pushed even me to my limit. I care about my safety, and this is about the last place anyone would look for me." The hotel room suddenly felt very empty. Very intimate. She rushed to add, "Besides, it's not like you're going to make a move on me."

"Are you so sure about that?" His voice came from right over her shoulder.

She started. How did such a big man move that softly?

He reached for her. His fingers stopped just shy of her face. Another inch, and he would be touching her. Would he go so far as to cup the back of her head and urge her toward him? She swayed, her bare toes curling into the carpet. A flash of Amber's sad neediness stabbed through her mind, steadying her.

Shay ducked his touch. "You've always had a twisted sense of humor."

"Hold still." His knuckles grazed her cheek, his hands smelling of oil, musk, and man. "You really do need to ice that bruise."

She flinched away. From pain? Or the lure of his touch? Curiosity was a dangerous thing. "I'll live."

His face closed up. "We hope you'll live." He turned away and walked toward the mini fridge. "You stay in that job, even though they try to kill each other, try to kill you, steal from you."

He knelt to pull out the small ice bucket, his jeans outlining his firm b.u.t.t.

She shoved her hands deep into the robe's pockets. "You stay in the air force even though they send you to countries where they keep shooting at you, trying to kill you." She'd fought hard for these kids. She wouldn't surrender now, not even in a discussion. "Nights like this only make me more determined. The clinic and the work here must be making progress for someone to want to destroy it that much."

Vince poured ice into a plastic cup and walked back to her. "What if these kids don't want to be saved? What if the work destroys you?"

He pressed the cool gla.s.s against her arm.

"I won't let it." She glanced down to find a long scratch stretching from either side of his makeshift ice pack. "That's nothing. Must have come from Amber's fingernails when I pulled her out of the fight."

"Or someone had a knife drawn, after all."

Bile burned the back of her throat. "I must have been too distracted to feel it happen."

She refused to accept the alternative, that she'd somehow become numb to pain again. That she would have to push harder, deeper until she felt something. Her knees folded under her, and thank goodness the bed was so close, or she would have landed on the floor rather than on the edge of the mattress.

Vince steadied her at the waist. "Deep breaths. Adrenaline letdown, I would guess."

She dropped her head between her knees, her wrist throbbing with that phantom sting from a long-ago slash. Something she definitely didn't want to explain to Vince. At least her dad had enough respect for a person's privacy to keep that bit of horror in the family. "I resent feeling like a wimp."

He rested the cup of ice against the back of her neck, and G.o.d, that felt good.

Vince rolled the cup lightly against her neck. "My buddy Berg is a hardened combat vet, cool as can be during battle, and yet more than once I've seen him hurl the second he steps out of a plane. You're right about these street gangs being at war."

Her head drooped forward as she sank into the comfort of his care . . . Wait, what was she doing?

Shay straightened, putting a couple of extra inches between them. "Most of the time I try to think of the kids as regular teens so I don't go running for the hills."

"A little more caution wouldn't hurt." He gestured to the long scratch, not touching this time, simply brushing the air over her with the cup in his fist. "At least you weren't seriously cut."

"True enough." She knew just how deep to slice before inflicting serious damage. She had faded scars on the inside of her thighs to prove it.

His eyes held her intently, firmly, until her chest went tight again as if squeezed by a strong embrace. What was going on here that she couldn't even freaking breathe around this man? Was she just caught in a time warp of unresolved feelings from their teen years? Or simply feeling sorry for herself because her father didn't care enough to call and her mother had been so hysterical Shay had ended up comforting her?

Or did she want Vince now in a very adult way?

Regardless, she may have made a big mistake in coming with him. "Should I call the front desk and ask for another room?"

He blinked. Just a simple blink, but enough to release all the oxygen that had somehow been held hostage from her. He looked away, rattling the ice in the gla.s.s for a second before setting it on the bedside table and standing. "I'll find a plastic bag for your ice pack."

She struggled not to gasp for air. Simple breaths. In. Out.

He dumped his purchases out of the Wal-Mart bag: sandals, sungla.s.ses, a hat, and a frilly shirt. "You're easier to watch over here. No arguing about another room or the sleeping arrangements." He picked up the ice bucket, poured the rest into the bag, and tied a double knot at the top. "I'm on the sofa bed since it's closer to the door."

She decided to ignore the dictatorial tone rather than risk more sparks. "You won't hear me arguing over taking a comfy bed."

"Good." He pa.s.sed her the ice bag and a hand towel.

"Thank you." She lifted the bag in salute, but she really meant so much more. Like thanks for not pushing her to admit how much she wanted to be there.

He clicked off the lights, plunging her in total darkness, alone in a hotel room with Vince Deluca. She burrowed under the downy comforter. The sofa bed creaked under his weight, covers rustling for what seemed like forever.

Totally surreal.

And totally agitating.

Which left her totally awake.

Where was that ice pack? Oh, in her hand. She pressed it to her overheated face.

"Why did you shave your head?" she blurted.

The sofa bed squeaked from what sounded like Vince turning away from her. "Go to sleep, Shay."

"I seriously want to know." Knowing suddenly seemed so important she couldn't possibly sleep until he solved the mystery for her.

He sighed, mattress groaning again as he rolled onto his back. "I started going bald at twenty-two. I trimmed it short for a while, but that meant I had to go for haircuts all the time. It was easier just to shave it."

"I didn't recognize you at first." He'd scared her then. He scared her now in a completely different way.

"It's been seventeen years."

"For some reason it doesn't feel that long."

"Working with the teens brings back lots of memories." Some of those memories were actually good.

"So you mentioned earlier. Those kids do make everything feel more immediate."

Silence settled again, her eyes growing accustomed to the dark until his bulk took shape across the room. "Thank you again for your help."

"I would have done it for anyone in the same position."

Her BS-ometer started niggling again. "I appreciate you're interested in what I do, and I'm thankful for the help you've given, even if you make me crabby while you're doing it. But I still don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Why you're here, hanging out with me during your vacation. And please be honest." She rolled to her side, plumping the pillow. "I spend so much time with these kids I've developed an internal lie detector. I call it my BS-OMETER."

He hesitated.

A horrible possibility blindsided her. "Are you dying?"

"What?" He sat up, his big body a blur in the dark.

She held herself completely still, not sure how she would deal with the worst kind of answer. "Do you have some kind of terminal disease, and you're on a pilgrimage to make peace with your past? I thought maybe the bald head could be a result of chemotherapy."

"Shay, you always did have a wild imagination."

To go with her wild side? "Am I right or wrong?"

"I absolutely promise I do not have a terminal disease, and my head is shaved completely by choice."

She exhaled. Hard. "Then I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish with these catch-up sessions."

A thought scampered through her brain, every bit as outrageous as her a.s.sumption that Vince had lost his hair from chemotherapy. What if he'd come to Cleveland because of her? What if he had as many unresolved feelings from the past as she did?

Her stomach tumbled. Too much.

He reclined back on his two stacked pillows, his arm under his head. "Everything will make sense soon. I promise."

Another no answer, and one that sure didn't lead her to believe he had feelings for her. Especially since she'd given him a gold star opening if he'd wanted to confess some kind of lingering affection.

She eased up-abandoning the ice pack before her face went numb-and hugged her knees. "What aren't you telling me?"

Tension hummed from him almost as loudly as the air conditioner on full blast. "You were right about tonight being a b.u.mpy trip down memory lane."

Her BS-ometer didn't miss his abrupt subject change. He was definitely hiding something from her. If her stomach fluttered much more, she would levitate off the bed. "I look at each one of them as an opportunity to rewrite history."

"Have you had any luck with that yet?"

"I see some glimmers of hope here and there, but the jury's still out. I have to admit Amber's pregnancy struck me hard, but I still have hopes of getting her settled into a dental hygienist training program with on-site babysitting. It'll take time to see how much of what we've done at the center has stuck. One thing's for certain. We need more help."

"More people like Officer Friendly?"

"I a.s.sume you mean Jaworski."

"None other."

"He's, uh . . ."

"Arrogant?"

"Brusque." She smiled, her first of the night. A short-lived levity. "Since I've been sitting on the other side of this situation, I've seen how easy it is to grow a hard sh.e.l.l. It's a tough balance between caring and caring too much. The people that care too much end up self-destructing or slapping up walls so thick, nothing can get through."

"Like Officer Friendly."

"Exactly." Her arms tightened around her knees. If she could keep herself from flying apart, maybe . . . "Five Mercenaries caught him outside his apartment. Their bra.s.s knuckle beat down left him covered in FEAR bruises."

"d.a.m.n," he whistled low and long. "That explains a lot about the guy. Back in the day we may have resented cops, but we never took it to that level."

"We pushed it close, though, that night Tommy died."

After a Civil Air Patrol meeting, Vince and Tommy had been fighting, the cops caught them, and Tommy pulled a gun. Bullets started flying. Bodies falling. Dreams dying.

A friend dying.

"I really am grateful you saved my life that night." But if she hadn't played them against each other, would that fight have even started? "Even if you did it for my father, I should have thanked you back then, rather than scream at you to go away."

Vince swung his feet off the bed, sitting on the edge, unmistakably studying her in the dim shadows. "Is that why you came to the hotel room tonight? To thank me the old-fashioned way?"

His words slapped her. She might be curious about the new Vince, but that didn't mean she intended to jump into bed with him. She'd changed, too.

She grabbed the ice bag and pitched it toward his shadowy shape. The sack settled beside him with a rattly thud. "I'm far past the age of offering s.e.x in lieu of grat.i.tude."

"d.a.m.n shame." He scooped up the ice pack and pressed it to either side of his neck slowly before tossing it in the trash. "G'night, Shay."

What the h.e.l.l was she to make of that?

She suspected she would spend most of the night awake trying to figure it out.

With a flick of his foot, Vince downshifted, slowing the motorcycle on his way past the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Shay perched on the seat behind him, still not touching. Tourists rubbernecked at a snail's pace past the row of overlarge sparkling guitars out front.

Would Shay remember rides they'd taken years before, their hormone-revved teenage bodies hepped up by close contact? The memories may have faded for her but he knew d.a.m.n well the attraction hadn't diminished.

Only an idiot would have missed the awareness snapping between them the night before. He could blame it on adrenaline and circ.u.mstance, but he wasn't into lying to himself. This woman had always stirred an unwise-flat-out dangerous-craving inside him.

Except in less than an hour, things would become all business, and there would be no going back.

He wanted her in the loop. He'd lobbied for this when he'd left her alone in the hotel room the night before. She knew these kids in a way n.o.body else did. Her insights could be invaluable in getting to the root of who else might be involved.

Yet he found himself wanting to roar off with her, tucking her away until the congressional hearing pa.s.sed. Now how would that desertion play out? Landing him in a questioning room like his dirtbag father? But that wasn't who he was anymore, a rule breaker. He worked every day to leave that jailhouse legacy behind.

So after they went to her place for clothes and keys, he took the long route to the command center where the briefing waited. But even the long route ended eventually.

He slowed the bike into the small airport parking lot where the military Pilatus painted in civilian colors waited inside an open hangar, hiding in plain sight.