The Impossible Alliance. Candace Irvin
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to hover, the stalled blip on the scope would have afforded even DeBruzkya’s inept twidgets a chance to pinpoint their modified infiltration site. Jared flicked off the GPS and shoved the unit into his pocket, then lit up the dial on his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since they’d set down. Just about long enough for DeBruzkya to scramble one of his own choppers and send it after them. He had to act quickly.
Jared retrieved his flashlight and lit up the gash on his biceps first. The ragged edges of the wound appeared black beneath the red beam streaming from his mini Maglite. So did the blood clot already filling in the center of the furrow. Even better, there was no sign of the bullet. This one could wait.
He swept the beam down to his left hamstring.
Unfortunately that one couldn’t.
He twisted his torso to get a better view as he lit up the wash of black spreading down his left leg. Damn. He lowered his hand, biting down on a second curse as he probed the gash. The wound was twice as long as the rip across his biceps, but again, no bullet. Nor did it require a tourniquet.
Yet.
He retrieved a dark-green cravat from the first-aid pouch on his hip and stuffed the fabric into the tear in his pressure suit. Satisfied the makeshift bandage would do for the moment, he headed back into the pines, determined to get a look at the bumps he’d discovered in Morrow’s hairline. Not to mention a better grasp on her vitals. He snagged the stethoscope from his neck and raised the flashlight, illuminating her form as he reached her. She finished tying her second boot and stood.
Sweet Mother above. He managed to retain his hold on the flashlight, but the scope hit the forest floor. If his leg burned as he leaned down to retrieve it, he didn’t notice.
Damned near all he could discern was her.
As he’d anticipated, she’d used the water from the canteen to drench that unruly mop of hair. But the slicked-back result drew attention to more than a high forehead and smooth cheeks. Much more. The sleek style combined with those missing dental implants to highlight the curve of her now heart-shaped chin, drawing his gaze straight down her unusually long, graceful neck. Straight into the gaping V in that tatty shirt. All the way down to the knotted tails resting a bare inch above the riveting navel crowning her sleek belly.
“Well? I’m fresh out of lipstick and mirrors. Will I do?”
He must have taken too long trying to come up with a suitable answer. The unexpected awkwardness that flashed through her eyes as she waited killed the sultry effect and—thankfully—his body’s powerful reaction to it. Her tongue slid across her bottom lip as he lowered the Maglite. He recognized the motion for what it was. A nervous habit.
For a split second he was reminded of Morrow, the man.
Carnal sex and awkward, nerdy innocence?
It didn’t make sense. Then again, what part of the entire transformation did? Beyond a copious list of professional qualifications, Jared hadn’t been able to glean much from the personnel file Hatch had provided. But he had discovered that Dr. Alexander Morrow had been connected to ARIES for the past six years. What kind of woman was willing to suppress the essence of her being this completely, for that long? And why?
Dammit, it was none of his business. She was none of his business. He had a patient to heal. An agent to return to active duty. A joint mission to complete. And despite what his mentor thought, he also had a ranch and a life to return to.
For a few years, anyway.
Hatch.
Jared stiffened as the stunning realization slammed into him from out of nowhere—and then from everywhere.
“What’s wrong? Do I look that bad—or are we that far off position?”
He dropped his gaze to the fingers that had made their way to his forearm. Fingers that were long and tapered but also, now that he thought about it, noticeably feminine. He dragged his gaze up to those murky eyes and stared into them, ignoring the growing concern as he searched the shadows that were probably as phony as the rest of her, furious at their boss and furious with her. But most of all, furious with himself.
In the heat of their escape, he hadn’t even noticed the most insidious deception of all.
The lie of omission.
“Why the hell didn’t he tell me you were a woman?”
Chapter 3
He didn’t know.
Alex sucked in her breath as the relief crashed through her, buffeting her tenuous hold on equilibrium. Desperate to maintain it, she closed her eyes. It was a mistake. The undertow snagged her balance and she went down—until his hands came snapping up to grab her arms and steady her.
“Easy.”
If anything, the raw husk in Jared’s voice caused the world to churn faster. She sealed her eyes shut and dug her fingers into his forearms, waiting for the dizziness to ebb before she dared to open them. Before she dared to face that piercing amber stare—and that dangerous question.
The world steadied and she opened her eyes. Relief swamped Alex again, but this time she held fast. Jared had dropped the flashlight to grab her. With the crimson glow at his feet, his dusky features were safely cloaked within the shadows, his black jumpsuit and knit hat helping him blend in with the forest and the reigning night.
Thank God.
Her brain was still rattling around in her skull after that fiasco of a chopper flight. While the faulty microphones hardwired to her hearing aid were still magnifying every nocturnal buzz, drone, trill and chirp within a two-mile radius with fanatical precision, she could at least hear herself think. Even so, she did not need to stare into this man’s shrewd gaze. Not until she’d had a chance to regain her composure.
She released her fingers. “I’m fine now. You can let go.”
He didn’t.
“I swear, I won’t faint on you.”
He continued to hold her arms for several moments, silently assessing her before he, too, released his grip. She waited as he leaned down to retrieve the flashlight. But as he straightened, she caught the glimmer of metal in his hands, plastic tubing.
His stethoscope.
Apprehension crawled through her, elbowing out the relief. “I said, I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are. But I need to get a look at your scalp.” He shifted the scope and flashlight to his right hand and reached out with his left. “I think you’ve got—”
She jerked her head out reach. “I know. I found the stitches earlier when I removed the gauze someone had smothered my head and face with. They’re fine.”
“They may also be connected to your coma. I’ll need to examine them.”
The hell he did. She didn’t care if those stitches were knitted across a six-inch, seeping gash, that hand wasn’t getting anywhere near her hearing aid. She took another step. “I just told you, I examined them. They’re fine. I’m fine. The cut has already healed.” She took a third step, stopping when the back of her shirt snagged against a tree, trapping her. “Shouldn’t you be filling me in on the plan? When’s the replacement chopper due?”
He stood there for several moments, then sighed. She eased her breath out as he finally hooked the stethoscope around his neck and switched off the flashlight. Evidently he’d decided not to push the issue—for the moment.
She grabbed the reprieve gratefully.
“There isn’t one.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Replacement chopper. There won’t be one. Not for several weeks. Perhaps longer.” He tipped the end of the darkened flashlight toward her ear. “Which goes back to why I really do need to examine you. There’s been a change of plans,