The Ghost lurched in her grip and it was just enough to throw off the razor’s edge of balance they both wavered upon. Kat only had time to register dismay before the two of them launched into space. The ground rushed up from below. She twisted to take the impact on her left hip and shoulder. But then something massively heavy crushed her, and that was the last she remembered.
“Kat. Honey, wake up.”
She vaguely heard the words. Vaguely registered frantic hands running quickly over her body. She managed a groan.
“Don’t move,” the worried voice instructed.
She exhaled, managing with great effort to form words. “Go get him.”
“To hell with the Ghost,” Jeff snapped. “Can you feel your feet? Move your fingers for me, sweetheart.”
Obediently, she wiggled her fingers, although it hurt every bone in her body to move even that small amount. She took as deep a breath as her battered body would tolerate and released it slowly, exhaling the pain as Hidoshi had taught her, closing it off in a remote corner of her mind, far, far away.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
She squinted up at Jeff. The poor guy looked about ready to puke. “Uh, three.”
“We need to get out of here. Those commandos are still behind us somewhere.”
Before she had time to be startled, he’d scooped her up in his arms and stood up. It was a patently annoying display of manly special operator strength that she could never hope to duplicate. Although, at the moment she was profoundly relieved simply to relax in his grasp and let him carry her. Her head was spinning like a top and her body announced in no uncertain terms that it had had enough.
“You okay?” he muttered.
“Uh-huh,” she managed to mumble back.
“Okay if I run?”
“Maybe not.”
“I’m afraid we need to, darlin’. If you’re gonna get sick, lemme know and I’ll set you down.”
Reluctant humor tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
He grinned down at her. “I don’t generally pick up puking-drunk women. I like them reasonably sober and alert in my bed.”
“That’s right. You go for all that sparkling conversation.”
He laughed under his breath. “No. I just like them conscious and able to scream my name.”
“Picky, picky.”
He must’ve heard her fading, because he murmured, “Just rest. I’ve got you.”
Normally, she’d rebel in no uncertain terms if some guy said that to her. She was beholden to no man, thank you very much, and she certainly didn’t need to be patronized by one. But damn, it felt good to close her eyes and let Jeff carry her swiftly into the bowels of the neighborhood. Where he was going, she had no idea. But he seemed sure of himself. And why not? He was a far more experienced operator even than she was.
Had she really run this far? Or was it just that she felt so crappy now that it seemed to be taking forever to get back to the car?
“There’s that damn chicken again,” Jeff muttered balefully. “He’s lucky you’re hurt or I’d stop and make fryer parts out of him.”
She smiled against Jeff’s powerful chest. He smelled salty, but she detected a sour note of fear in his sweat, too. Had he been scared for her? He’d sounded mostly pissed off at her on the radio earlier. She hadn’t meant to ditch him. It was just the only way not to lose the Ghost.
“I got a look at him,” she murmured. “Not a good one, but a look. Thick, dark eyebrows. Narrow nose. Slight droop to the outer corners of his eyelids. Small mouth. Full lips.”
“Could you pick him out of a lineup?”
She considered the question. “Probably. But he’ll change his appearance if he doesn’t leave the island.”
“True.”
Jeff strode on in silence for several minutes. And then all of a sudden he ducked into a dark doorway and let go of her feet so her body slid down his torso to the ground. He glided left to put himself between her and whatever threat he’d seen or heard.
She knew better than to ask what he’d seen. When he could tell her, he would. She felt the zen calm flow over him that operators were taught when they needed to hide. She mimicked the action, too groggy to know if she’d eliminated the intangible essence of her presence or not.
“Let’s move out,” he breathed over his shoulder. “Nice and slow. You stay behind me.”
She gave one tap on his back to indicate that she understood and would comply. Assuming she didn’t pass out, of course. How long they crept down dark alleys, paused before corners and ducked behind various forms of cover, she had no idea. But she did know she ached from head to foot and the adrenaline of the chase had long ago worn off, leaving her nauseous and exhausted.
These were the moments Hidoshi had prepared her for in all those grueling years of training. She called upon his legacy now, and upon the legacy of the Medusas that endured any pain for the sake of the team. It was purely mind over matter. As long as she was conscious to will her body to move, she would keep going, no matter how agonizing.
Finally, after an eternity, Jeff murmured, “Here we are.”
“Is it safe to take our car?” she mumbled.
“No. That’s why we’re taking this one. The owner left the keys hanging from the sun visor. I’ll return it tomorrow. But right now, I need to get you back to the hotel and get some painkillers in you.”
How he knew she was hurting, she didn’t bother to ask.
He asked quietly, “Can you climb in?”
Strangely enough, after all the running around she’d just done, the act of bending down to duck into the tiny Peugeot all but made her pass out.
“Allow me,” Jeff murmured as he scooped her off her feet and placed her gently in the passenger’s seat.
Maybe it was the blow to her head that she’d taken in the fall, or maybe it was just her accumulated delirium that prompted her to murmur, “You are one serious hunk, Jeff Steiger.”
He scowled at her. “You picked a hell of a time to tell me that, woman. You’re half conscious and bruised from head to foot, and I can’t do a damn thing about what you just said.”
She grinned lopsidedly at him. “I am a little loopy, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s get you out of here.” He leaned her seat back for her and buckled the seat belt across her hips. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by the faint sigh of pleasure that escaped her as his hand ran across her lower belly. Quickly he went around to the driver’s side and started the engine.
“I’ve got to call D’Abeau,” he announced as he eased away from the curb.
She closed her eyes as Jeff guided the car back toward their hotel, presumably watching their tail for any signs of the commandos. As he drove, he dug out his cell phone and dialed the detective. She’d bet D’Abeau was pretty ticked off right about now. The Ghost was making fools of them all with these repeated and successful robberies.
Jeff identified himself, and through the phone, she heard the agitated sounds of D’Abeau throwing a hissy fit.
Jeff replied calmly. “Yes, I know. The Shangri-La estate. A Turner landscape, yes? We were there. Saw the Ghost break in.”
Even she heard D’Abeau squawk, “And you let him get away?” More shouting ensued.
Jeff managed to interrupt the tirade with, “Can’t come in right now. My associate’s…not feeling well. We’ll come down tomorrow and make a statement, but in the meantime here’s the quick and dirty update.” He proceeded to give a brief summary of what they’d seen and how they’d chased the Ghost into east Bridgetown, leaving out all description of her circus high-wire act antics with the thief.
She reached up to feel for her throat mike. Gone. At one point in the fight, the Ghost had grabbed at her throat and ended up with a fistful of high-tech electronics instead. It had seemed to surprise him. Enough that it had given her an opening to slip his hold and force him to the edge of that roof.
The thought of how badly that fall could’ve turned out accentuated the nausea rising in her gut. She settled into a simple mantra. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t…
Eventually, the interminable car ride ended and Jeff pulled up behind the hotel.
“Can you walk?” he murmured.
“I think so. It’ll draw less attention if I do.”
Jeff grinned. “Either that or you’ll have to act drunk off your ass.”
“Very funny. I don’t drink. I’m allergic to alcohol.”
“Man, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s the surest and fastest way to get a woman into my bed-ply her with enough booze to drop her inhibitions and blur her vision.”
Kat followed him into the service elevator and smiled up at him foggily. She reached a hand out and steadied herself against his chest as the enclosure lurched into motion. “You’re plenty pretty, big guy. No need for the girls not to be able to see you.”
“Glad to hear you think so,” he murmured low. He added lightly, “Especially since you’re gonna be looking at this mug for the next eighty years or so.”
She started to shake her head, but stabbing pain traveled across her skull and down her neck. She settled for grousing. “You and your Cupid’s Bolt. Thing is, I don’t play by Cupid’s rules. I play by Medusa’s.”
“I’m okay with that if she shoots arrows of true love at her followers.”
Kat stepped out into the soft night light of their hallway and murmured, “I wouldn’t know personally, but her track record with my teammates isn’t half bad.”
“Give it time, darlin’,” he murmured, smiling. “Give it time.”
By noon the next day when Kat woke up, Medusa had definitely tossed a whole bunch of arrows at her, and they’d lodged in every part of her body, radiating waves of pain. Carefully, Kat climbed out of bed and headed for the hottest shower the hotel could offer up. She stood under the steaming jets until her muscles unwound a little and the pain had subsided from excruciating to merely miserable.
She took stock of her injuries. She had a spectacular bruise on her left hip, and the one on her upper left arm wasn’t far behind. Her neck hurt, and she was generally stiff and sore. Although she had a smashing headache, she’d didn’t have the blurred vision and piercing pain of a concussion.
The Ghost was no doubt fine. She’d cushioned his landing to the extent that he’d walked away completely unfazed from that fall. After all, he’d fled the scene quickly enough that Jeff hadn’t been able to give chase. Or maybe Jeff had chosen not to give chase. Hmm.
She dressed carefully and made her way out to the spread of fresh fruits and pastries Jeff had obviously ordered earlier.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked with concern.
“I’ll live.”
“That was a spectacular fall you took. I’m amazed you walked away from it.”
She glanced up at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I was pretty out of it, but the way I remember it, I didn’t walk away from it.”
Jeff shrugged as if slightly embarrassed.
“Not used to carrying your teammates home, huh?” she asked lightly.
That put a smile on his face. “Not unless they’re pretty drunk, no.”
She gave voice to her curiosity. “Why didn’t you go after the Ghost?”
“You were down. No way was I leaving you if you were seriously injured. That was a rough part of town, and there was no telling whether or not anyone would’ve come out to help you. Besides, I couldn’t take a chance on those commandos finding you while I was off chasing the Ghost. Our thief can wait. We’ll get him next time.”
“I can’t imagine there’ll be a next time,” she retorted. “Surely, he’ll jump the first plane out of here.”
Jeff shrugged. “I dunno. D’Abeau and his boys have the airport locked down tight. Your description is enough for them to work with.”
She shook her head and immediately regretted the move. “He’ll change his appearance radically. They won’t recognize him if he decides to leave.”
Jeff sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“Now what? How aggressively does General Wittenauer want us to pursue this guy?”
Jeff frowned. “We’ll stay on it a little while longer before we give up and go home. At a minimum, we can keep an eye on the other pieces in that catalog. If one of them turns up missing, we’ll know (a) that Viper’s theory on the collector wanting the paintings in that catalog is right, and (b) we’ll know the Ghost has cojones the size of an elephant’s and is still here in Barbados.”
“I’m sorry I lost him.”
He stared at her in shock. “You nearly died trying to catch him. You went above and beyond the call of duty.”
“But I failed.”
“You can’t win ’em all, Kat.”
She flashed him a wry smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
He laughed at that. “Spoken like a true Special Forces operative.”
She fiddled with a croissant, shredding it into flaky pieces on her plate. “We may have a small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Not only did I get a good look at the Ghost, but he got a good look at me, too.”
Jeff asked quickly, “Did he threaten you while the two of you were grappling?”
“No. He didn’t speak at all.”
“Did he pull a weapon on you? A knife or a gun? Brass knuckles?”
“Nope. He fought me bare-handed.”
“Sounds like an old-school art thief.”
She frowned. “And that’s significant why?”
“Used to be that art thieves weren’t violent criminals. They didn’t injure anyone in taking their prizes. In turn, the police usually didn’t shoot them. They might end up in jail for fifteen or twenty years, but they didn’t end up dead or sentenced to life in prison.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “Times have changed. Art thieves won’t hesitate to kill guards or bystanders nowadays. But if this guy’s old school, I doubt he’ll come after you for knowing what he looks like.”
“Gee. That’s reassuring.”
Jeff grinned at her across the table. “Hey. I’ve got your back. Nobody’s killing you on my watch.”
She smiled back at him. She knew it already, but it was nice to hear him say it. In fact, it made her feel a little embarrassed all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous. All special operators looked out for their teammates as a matter of course. It went without saying that he had her back and that she had his. Must be the blow to the head making her go all sappy and sentimental this morning. It couldn’t have a thing to do with the memory of his worried voice when he’d reached her, or his protective arms cradling her close as he’d picked her up, or his gentle consideration getting her back to the hotel.
Frustrated with her train of thought, she asked briskly, “What’s on the agenda today?”
“We need to visit D’Abeau. I did promise him we’d come in and make statements. If we hang around for a few more days and the Ghost doesn’t strike again, then we’ll head back to the Bat Cave and wait for something more to turn up on the guy.”
She made eye contact with him across the table. It clearly galled him to think of going home empty-handed. Their kind didn’t suffer defeat easily or well. She smiled bravely at him. “Maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.”
“In the meantime, we get to spend a few days in a beautiful tropical resort on Uncle Sam’s dime. Gotta love this job.”
She’d spent plenty of ops in below-zero temperatures or sweltering heat, had gone for weeks without a proper bath, had crawled through slime and muck and manure and suffered about every form of misery possible for a human to experience in her work. This elegant hotel and her lethally attractive companion weren’t half bad. Not half bad at all.
The interview-or thinly veiled interrogation, as it turned out to be-with D’Abeau took most of the day and was a royal pain. After four grueling hours of browbeating, only flashing the detective her massive bruises seemed to convince him that she and Jeff had not been the thieves themselves. Never mind that U.S. government officials had verified that Jeff worked for them and that she was who she claimed, also. In fact, General Wittenauer personally told D’Abeau he’d assigned Jeff to investigate the Ghost. Interestingly enough, D’Abeau never challenged her affiliation with Lloyd’s. She’d have to thank Michael again the next time she saw him-hopefully at his wedding to her teammate, Aleesha, later this year.
The sun was low in the sky and Kat was tired, sore, hungry and cranky by the time she and Jeff were allowed to leave police headquarters.
Jeff grumbled. “You hungry?”
She replied, “Starved.”
“Want some seafood?”
“Perfect.” Heck, shoe leather and wilted lettuce sounded delicious right about now.
They veered into the first authentic-looking place they came to-a pub crammed with cricket memorabilia and advertising the “Best Fish and Chips in the Lesser Antilles.”
They ordered two plates of the house specialty, which turned out to be excellent. They spoke little. Not only were they in public, there wasn’t much to say about the afternoon’s waste of time. They’d told the truth, stuck to their guns, and no matter how suspicious D’Abeau was, their story had held up.
Kat found herself examining every patron who walked into the bar, comparing facial features against her indistinct impressions from last night. No sign of the Ghost. Of course, if she were the guy, she’d be hiding under the darkest rock she could find and trying to figure out the fastest way off this island. Frankly, she expected he was long gone. Bankrolled by someone rich and shady as he was, surely the Ghost had access to private transportation. She grimly recalled the long row of swanky charter jets parked at Sir Grantley Adam Airport when they’d arrived.
After the meal, Jeff asked, “How about a walk on the beach-or are you too sore for that?”
“It would probably do me good to work out a few of the kinks.”
And so it was they came to be down on the waterfront, reveling in the pristine white sand as the moon rose, casting a pearlescent glow across the serene ocean.
Jeff smiled at her. “Pretty romantic, huh?”
She quirked an eyebrow back at him. “Are you fishing for me to fling myself into your arms and kiss you senseless?”
He regarded her much more seriously than she’d expected. He answered slowly, “No, I don’t think flinging will ever be your style. You’re more subtle than that. More sophisticated. In public, at least. I confess, though, that I am hoping you like to cut loose in private.”
“What if I’m the world’s worst kisser and terrible in bed? It would surely suck to be saddled with me for eighty years then.”
He chuckled and closed the distance between them, bringing him squarely into her personal space. “Most skills can be learned. At the end of the day, it’s all about how you feel, anyway. If you really care for someone and try to express that, nothing you do in bed is wrong. But if you’re worried about it, I stand ready to give you expert instruction.”
“You’re incorrigible.” He was so close she could breathe in his intoxicating scent. Since when had sniffing some guy made her head spin like this? Maybe it was left over from the blow to her head last night. But somehow, she didn’t think so.
He murmured, “I prefer to think of myself as single-minded.”
“Obsessed?”
He leaned even closer. The broad silhouette of his shoulders blocked out most of the ocean behind him. “Focused.”
“You are tempting,” she murmured reluctantly.
“Go ahead. Try me. I dare you.”