Under the Gun. Lyn Stone
at things through the patterned glass wall tiles that encircled his shower at home.
He fought panic. Before it took hold completely, he sensed he was no longer alone. Holly. She was back.
“Hey, you’re awake! Good morning. How’s the noggin?”
“A little confused,” he said.
“That’ll pass. Ready for breakfast? You must be starving.”
Her voice sounded too bright, too chipper. She should be ragging him the way she usually did, ordering him around and poking fun, trying her damnedest to make him laugh. That meant he must be even nearer death than he felt, and God knew that was near enough.
He could make out her shape standing just to the left of the foot of his bed. “You look good…in red.”
The silence lasted a beat too long. “Thanks.”
“You are wearing red, right?” he asked, the question tentative.
“Well, no, not right now. I’m wearing green, but I am holding a red robe. I brought it for you.”
“Oh.” He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat much more noticeable. “Thanks.”
He felt her settle on the bed beside him. Her arms slid around him and she rested her forehead lightly on his shoulder. “This trouble with your eyes will pass, Will. I know it. I promise….”
“You mentioned breakfast?” he said, gently pushing her away, unwilling to accept what felt too much like pity. That, he could do without.
She moved quickly. He heard her inhale a shaky breath. “Yeah. How about some broth? When you can tolerate that, maybe some Jell-O later. How’s that sound?”
He made a face. His appetite was nonexistent at the moment, but he knew he needed to eat to get his strength back. “How long was I out?”
“Six days,” she said, sounding reluctant to discuss it.
He coughed in disbelief. “Six?”
“You were in the hospital. In a coma,” she told him.
He remembered the tubes. It was coming back to him now. He shook his head, carefully, because it was pounding so hard he could scarcely think. “A coma?”
She touched his arm, wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. “You were shot, Will. In the head.”
He raised his hand and ran it over his hair, found and felt the tender scar just above his right temple. The memory came flooding back all at once. “Matt,” he whispered.
She was holding her breath. Then she expelled it. “I’m so sorry, Will. Matt didn’t make it.”
He had known already, before he asked, but he hadn’t wanted it to be real. “You told me before, didn’t you?” Why did the randomness of death still surprise him?
“Yes. You have to get well now so we can find that bastard who shot you both. We owe it to Matt. Are you with me?”
With monumental effort, he nodded. Either he was in shock or his subconscious had already accepted Matt’s death. He should feel grief-stricken, totally undone, after losing the person closest to him.
Instead, he felt very calm inside, exactly the way he always did immediately before a mission, when he had the objective firmly in place, all the plans worked out. It was as if Matt were in on it with him. He could almost feel the connection.
“Is he…buried?” he asked Holly.
“At Arlington. Full military honors. Marines turned out in force.”
That was good. Matt would like that. The Corps took care of its own, even after someone left it.
“We’ll go visit him soon,” Holly promised.
“When this is over. Not before,” Will said firmly. He could not do that until he had avenged the brother beneath that marker. “Our parents?”
“They were there. They visited you in the hospital, too.”
“But they’re gone again. Back to Italy,” he guessed. That sounded bitter. He sighed. At least they had come. Appearances must be kept up.
“You’re not alone, Will.” Her lips touched his cheek, just a breath of a kiss, a contract sealing her promise. “You’ll be okay. Not today, I know, but you will be okay.”
Maybe, maybe not. But the man who’d killed his brother would be dead one way or another. Sooner or later.
Hours passed in a fog of painful memories and uncontrollable gusts of anger. He forced down the broth Holly brought him and later the gelatin. He sipped what seemed like gallons of ice water. He fought nausea and won. His resolve grew.
A man came in, managed to get him to his feet and walk him to the bathroom and back. Will didn’t bother to ask his name. He didn’t care who it was.
He focused his whole being on getting back his strength. Unfortunately, that was the only thing he could focus on. That and the fuzzy rectangle of light that was the window.
Blind. Damn it! He held fast to Holly’s promise that it was not permanent. He needed to see to find this Odin. To exact revenge for Matt, to destroy a merciless killer. Will couldn’t say goodbye until he’d settled the score. It was all he could do now.
In his mind, he could clearly see his brother nod his approval, hear his voice. Live for both of us, bro. You know it’s what I’d do.
All right, Will thought, he would do that. Maybe this continued connection he was feeling was not real, but he chose to believe it was. It was too soon to let go completely.
From here on out, no self-pity or survivor’s guilt. No time wasted mourning what he couldn’t fix. No way would he let Matt down.
Later when he woke, Holly lay next to him, his head cradled on her breasts, her arms around him. This felt good. Right.
He wondered why she had set aside the kick-ass, swaggering attitude he knew so well, and let him see this soft side of her. Her guard was definitely down tonight.
He was sick of that guard of hers, anyway. And his, too.
They had met a couple of years earlier, at Quantico, when they’d attended a special course provided by the FBI for other agencies. She’d been with the Bureau then and Will with ATF. They had hit it off immediately.
Their paths crossed on a joint case a year later, renewing their friendship. He carefully avoided anything more than that. He had taken his cue from her both times, thinking she might be involved with someone else. He had been. Heard she was, too.
Now he and Holly worked together. She was the one who had recommended him for the Civilian Special Ops antiterrorist team when it was forming, and was responsible for his getting hired for Sextant.
He treated her like one of the guys because that’s what she demanded of all the men on the team.
Holly was everyone’s little buddy with a bossy mama complex. Every guy on the team would die for her in a heartbeat. She cared about them and showed it, baking them cookies, teaching them to cook, deviling them like a little sister. They adored her.
They respected her, too, he firmly reminded himself. Holly had earned that many times over. She was a damn good agent, one of the best he knew.
Not once had she ever betrayed any stronger feelings for him than the camaraderie they all shared. But now she was lying here holding him in her arms like a lover. How the hell was he supposed to ignore that?
Maybe he wouldn’t even try, at least not now when he needed this so badly. He snuggled closer, all but burying his face in her cleavage, drawing in her tantalizing scent, pressing his lips to her satiny skin just above the tickle of lace.
For a few minutes he thought of nothing but the firmness of her well-toned body, the strength in her