Tempting Faith. Susan Mallery
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but behind his deep blue eyes lurked the mind of a computer and the temper of an injured panther. Faith knew she should be intimidated by Jeff, but she’d known him too long. She trusted him—and the knot in his gut.
“It’s your call,” she said.
She turned back to the two-way mirror. This was no ordinary hospital. No mothers-to-be came here to give birth, no child had broken bones set. This secret facility, concealed behind high fences and guards with dogs that attacked on command, catered to those without identities. Shadowy figures who lived in the dark, who disappeared at will and carried out elaborate operations in places with names she couldn’t pronounce.
“He’s not like one of those wounded strays you take in, Faith. He’s the best I’ve got, but he’s damned dangerous, too. Be careful.”
Faith glanced at her companion. “Because he knows fifty ways to kill me with his bare hands? Give me a break, Jeff. Use the scare tactics on your green recruits. They’ll impress easier.”
“You think you’re so tough.” His good humor faded into regret. “I wish we had time for dinner.”
“I’ll take a rain check. Next time I’ll pack something nice to wear and you can take me to an expensive restaurant.”
“You’re on.” He squeezed her arm and left the room.
Faith stared after him. He’d already forgotten her, except as she related to his operative. She smiled to herself. Operative. She was starting to talk like them. She fingered the tag at the end of the chain. Jeff saw her for what she was: a nice person, competent at her job. She sighed. At one time she’d hoped for something more than friendship, but it wasn’t going to happen. No great surprise. Her luck with men had never been the best. But there were compensations, she told herself. She had a fine life, a career she loved. She didn’t need anything else to feel fulfilled. Yeah, right, she thought. Now who was trying to convince whom?
She turned her attention back to the two-way mirror and the man on the other side, in the hospital room. He stood next to his window, the one that looked out over the grounds. Instead of a hospital gown, he wore a T-shirt and jeans cut off on one leg to accommodate the thick bandage around his calf. There was something tense and watchful in his pose. Ever alert, he scanned the open area. Perhaps it was the set of his head, or the way he kept glancing over his shoulder toward the mirror, as if he sensed someone watched from the other side, but he intrigued her. He reminded her of Sparky. She smiled, wondering if he would care for the comparison to her favorite cat.
His lips moved, but the two-way glass didn’t allow her to hear his words. With a quick twisting motion, he picked up the crutches that rested next to the window and slipped them under his arms. Despite the bandage on his leg, and the crutches, he shifted his weight with graceful ease and began to pace the room. From end to end he moved, swinging his useless leg along, mumbling phrases she couldn’t make out.
On his third pass, he paused, then turned toward the mirror. He looked directly at her. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she backed up instinctively, as if he’d threatened her.
Light hit him full in the face, sharpening already gaunt features. Was the thinness the result of his injuries or the mission he’d been on? The cut on his chin looked raw. Tiny stitches held the skin together. Fading bruises darkened his left cheek. Tawny hair, more gold than blond, fell over his forehead. But it was his eyes that captured her attention and held her immobile.
Dark brown irises glittered with suppressed rage. A trapped animal. The predator had been captured and wounded. Jeff was right: this man was dangerous. Without thinking, she rubbed her right hand against her upper arm. It wasn’t until her fingers felt the ridges of the four long scars there that she realized what she was doing. Marks left by another predator, the four-legged kind.
The man blinked and turned away. She followed the movement and saw that the door to his room had opened. Jeff appeared and spoke to the man. Faith stared at their mouths, trying to lip-read, but it wasn’t any use. From their angry gestures, she knew they were arguing. The injured man stood eye to eye with Jeff, and neither gave an inch. Jeff wore a suit, but he still looked muscular and dangerous. Two lions fighting for their pride. If the stranger weren’t injured, it would have been an even match.
For the second time, he glanced at the two-way glass. Faith felt a flash of guilt. Eavesdropping, even without sound, wasn’t her style. She turned and walked out of the observation room. It was almost eleven in the morning. She had a six-hour drive ahead of her, plus supplies to pick up. She was leaving within the hour, with or without Jeff’s wounded man.
* * *
“I need to know, dammit.” Cort Hollenbeck grabbed the crutches and leaned on them. “And you’re going to tell me.”
His boss sat on a corner of the hospital bed. “The doctor said—”
“The doctor can shove his advice.” Cort swung around on the crutches and glared. “There are things I can’t remember. I spent three weeks in South America on a mission. I don’t know what happened there.” Sweat popped out on his back. His leg throbbed from the surgery two days before and his head pounded. “For all I know, I went on a killing spree and shot up an entire town. So you’re going to tell me what the hell happened down there!” He raised his voice until he shouted the last few words.
Jeff didn’t look the least bit intimidated. He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
Cort tightened his hands on the crutches. He wanted to force Jeff to answer. Not a chance of that. Between his bum leg and his aching head, he would barely get off the first punch before Jeff nailed him. He swung the crutches forward and eased himself into the plastic chair in front of the window.
“The doctor said you would remember on your own.” Jeff leaned forward. “I understand what you’re going through.”
“Like hell you do.”
Jeff ignored him. “And I sympathize.”
“I liked you better before your promotion,” Cort snarled.
“I didn’t think you admitted to liking anyone,” Jeff said calmly. “Professionals don’t get involved. Aren’t you the one always preaching that?”
Cort didn’t bother answering. He dropped the crutches onto the ground and leaned his head back in the chair. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember. There were bits and pieces of conversation. A word or two in Spanish and Portuguese. The flash of a face, then nothing. Three weeks of his life gone. He remembered leaving the States on a private plane. He remembered waking up in the same craft, only with the mission over, and he didn’t have a clue what had happened. He fingered the cut on his chin. Bullet to the leg and a slight concussion. So much for bringing back souvenirs.
“You’ll remember in time,” Jeff said. “Don’t push it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one—” Cort bit back the words. God, he had to know. “Is he dead?”
Jeff didn’t answer.
Cort sprang to his feet and almost fell when his bad leg gave out. Instantly Jeff was at his side, supporting him. Cort grabbed the other man’s suit jacket. “Is he?”
Jeff stared at him. His mouth tightened. “I’m not going to fight you.”
Cort released his grip on the jacket and slumped back in the seat. “Only because you know I’d beat the crap out of you.”
“I’m shaking with fear.” Jeff stared down at him. “So you remember that much?”
“Dan, you mean?”
Jeff nodded.
“Yeah. I remember I was meeting Dan. I don’t know why, or if I did.”
“And you think he might be dead?”
Cort closed his eyes and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose. No, he thought. I think I