Her Last Defense (8 page)

The rustle of plastic warned him she was coming before he felt Macy behind him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, looking over his shoulder.

Not as beautiful as her.

He faced her and couldn’t resist tucking a strand of dark, wavy hair behind her ear while she studied him with luminous eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“I don’t want to be hurt.” The warmth of her hands seeped through the damp coveralls where she laid her palms on his chest. “But I would like to be held.”

She let him decide. He liked that about her. It
wouldn’t have taken much to push him over the edge. A kiss. A touch. But she stood back and let him decide.

In the end, she didn’t have to push him over the edge.

He leapt willingly.

Macy sighed against Clint’s lips when he leaned down to kiss her. She let the blanket fall when he banded his strong arms around her.

He’d made his decision. He told her so with his kneading fingers on her shoulders, her back. His teeth on her lips, nibbling possessively, his tongue, teasing.

Tentatively, she reached up, framed his jaw with her hands. His whiskers were rough. Arousing. She traced his ears with her fingertips, ducked her head to suck on the hollow of his throat.

Moaning, he turned her until her back was against the wall. The slight impact of her back against the cool metal had the breath shooting out of her. The feel of Clint’s hand circling her breast had her dragging in another lungful.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured against her ear.

She nodded silently, incapable of speech.

“How about this?” He lowered his head, laved the valley between her breasts with his tongue, and then pulled her nipple into his mouth.

“Oh, God!”

She should have known he would possess the same mute intensity in lovemaking that he displayed in other matters. She could feel the tension building in him, simmering, yet none of what he felt showed on his face. No urgent words of need escaped his lips. He searched
out and exploited every sensitive spot on her body one at a time, hardly giving her time to catch her breath before moving on to the next.

Bonelessly, she slumped to the floor and he came down on top of her, shedding his wet jumpsuit as he went. She writhed beneath him, luxuriating in the friction of his body on hers. The hard muscle holding her in place. The velvet-soft skin over the steely erection brushing her thigh.

She reached for it, but he sensed her intent, pulled his hips away and gave her his fingers instead. Inside her. Stretching her and lubricating her. She clamped her hand over his and pushed him deeper. Faster.

“Easy, baby,” he rumbled, the tip of her breast still in his mouth, but she didn’t hear.

She was lost in sensation. Desperate.

She’d never felt like this with another man. She enjoyed sex, but she’d never needed it. Never craved it the way she did now.

“Please,” she whispered, knowing he would understand what she was asking for. Hoping he would give it to her.

As if her wishes had made it come true, he inserted another finger, stroked her twice more and then pressed his thumb against the cluster of nerves that formed the center of her world at that moment.

Her back arched. Her hips drove up, into his hand. Her body became a vortex and all of her blood, her consciousness swirled to that one spot, circled on the edge of oblivion for one long second, and then dropped.

Her stomach plummeted. Her muscles clenched in a
spasm so strong she had to grind her teeth to keep herself from screaming. Bright light blinded her, then faded slowly to gray.

In the darkness, she could just make out Clint’s silhouette above her. His forehead was furrowed.

“You needed that,” he said.

She tried to laugh, but it came out a warble. “Who doesn’t need that?”

He pushed the damp hair off her forehead, frowning. “It’s been a long time for you.”

“Since I felt like that? How about since, oh…never?”

She felt his hesitation, his resignation. “David didn’t—”

“David was kind. And smart. Ambitious as a man could be. But he had a hard time finding his keys in the morning, much less my—”

“I get the picture.”

“I sound so awful, criticizing him when he’s dead, and I’m alive.”

“Too many people idealize the dead. It’s better just to tell the truth.”

Tears stung her eyes. The truth was, she didn’t want to talk about David. Not while she lay in another man’s arms.

“Will you tell me the truth, Clint?”

“I’ll try.”

It was full dark now. He was just a voice in the darkness. It made it easier to ask. “Do you feel anything. Here.” She traced a finger through the springy curls of his chest hair to a spot just above his heart. “Down deep. Do you laugh? Do you cry? Do you ever just get really, really mad?”

She knew instantly that she’d said the wrong thing. His back stiffened. “I’m not a damned robot.”

He rolled away. Sorry she’d asked, sorry she’d doubted him, she grabbed on and rolled with him, ending up with him on his back on the floor and her on top.

His hands came up to move her aside, but she locked her fingers around his wrists and pushed them over his head. His chest heaved between her legs.

She stared down at him a long time, trying to make out his features. The broken nose. The dent in his chin. The eyes that glowed faintly even in the absence of light.

“What does it take to break your discipline?” she wondered out loud. “To make you lose control?”

She still had his arms pinned to the floor. His fists clenched rhythmically, but he didn’t struggle. “Why don’t you try to find out?”

A small smile stole across her lips. Could he see it in the dark?

“I think I’ll do that.”

Letting go of his wrists, she shimmied down his body, grazing her hands in serpentines over his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen as she went. His stomach muscles fluttered. His erection twitched against her bottom.

She leaned over to delve her tongue in his navel and lifted her hips, then sank down on his shaft an inch at a time. Undulating, lifting, delving, sinking. Lifting. Sinking.

His arms jerked up. His fingers dug into her hips, urging her on as she seated herself fully on him, then leaned back and rode.

His breathing grew short and ragged. She quickened her rocking to keep pace. Then she slowed and clenched her muscles around him and he bucked.

“Oh, baby. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

She couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. Her own need was flying up, up again, as if he were a horse with wings, carrying her into the clouds. Into the stratosphere.

She was ready to explode, but she bit her lip, holding on, determined to make him lose control first.

She leaned back and pulled his knees up, wrapped her arms around his thighs and concentrated on pumping harder. Taking him deeper. She arched her back and tilted her hips, plunged down on him and raised herself up, then fell again.

A cry escaped her. She couldn’t hold herself together much longer.

Then Clint growled. His back came off the floor. His hands shook as he lifted her, flipped her and came down on her with crushing force and she smiled inside because she knew at that moment, he had no control. No discipline.

He thrust against her one more time. Twice. And when his back stiffened and he called out her name, there was no hiding the truth. No hiding his feelings.

He was as desperate, and as transparent, as she.

S
traddling the roof of the fire tower, Clint guided the winch with the safety harness and little round seat dangling at the end toward the window below, where Macy waited to strap herself in. They’d woken to the chop of helicopter rotors. The search team had spotted the bright yellow ponchos he’d tied out almost as soon as they’d taken off.

Their arrival had preempted the obligatory morning-after talk. He hadn’t been looking forward to it, but to be honest, he had some things that needed to be said, uncomfortable or not.

She was the kind of woman who would be likely to have expectations after a night like they’d shared. Hopes for the future.

He needed to let her know that that wasn’t an option
for him right now. Not when he didn’t know what kind of future he had to offer her.

Who was he kidding? It wouldn’t matter even if his future was all mapped out with a one-hundred-percent guarantee.

Clint just didn’t do women like Macy Attois. Women who loved more deeply than he would ever be capable of loving them back.

Yeah, sooner or later, they were going to have to have that talk.

The winch operator on the helicopter hovering above was making frantic hand signals at him. Clint looked down and saw Macy hanging half in, half out of the fire-tower window, strapped on to the seat with her legs wrapped around the dangling cable.

His body temperature rose a couple of degrees remembering what it had felt like to have those legs locked around him last night, then he pushed the thought away for later.

Once she’d been hoisted into the chopper, it was his turn. It was a wild ride, spinning and wind-blown, as was the short trip back to base camp.

On the ground, blood tests were dispensed with first. He and Macy had essentially been quarantined in the fire tower for more than the requisite twelve hours, so they didn’t have to wait long for the results.

Negative.

They’d been lucky. Again.

The camp was busy. He saw some of the Hempaxe crew coming and going with their CDC partners. Security personnel were on constant lookout around the pe
rimeter. Supplies were being unloaded. Maps were being pointed at by planning crews, lines drawn, routes plotted. Someone had cleared enough of a trail to get four-wheel ATVs in to them, and a motor hummed as someone revved one of them up.

Macy went off with her team to get a status update. A young man whose bio mask looked out of place with his state trooper’s uniform called to Clint. “Are you Ranger Sergeant Hayes?”

The “yes” that once would have tumbled easily out of his mouth nearly choked him. After yesterday, he needed to think seriously about his ability to perform as a ranger even in this limited capacity. He’d put Macy at risk, and that was inexcusable.

He took the phone. Captain Matheson’s voice boomed in his ear. “You’re supposed to be keeping things under control out there, Hayes, not going off on safari.”

“Yeah, well, Tarzan always was my hero.”

“So tell me about this DB that Jane found.”

The Dead Body. Mystery of the day. “Male, Caucasian, midforties. One small-caliber bullet hole in the forehead. Dr. Attois identified him as the pilot of the plane, Michael Cain. Twenty years in the air force, two years in the Gulf. Solid record, according to the military. Went to work for the CDC after he retired.”

“Was he shot before or after the crash?”

“After, I suspect, but you’ll have to ask the Medical Examiner to be sure.”

Bull blew out a hard breath. “So at least one man survived the crash.”

“Two,” Clint said, automatically looking around to see who might be in listening range. “Michael Cain. And whoever killed him.”

“Injuries consistent with a fall from an aircraft?”

“Not that I could see.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m thinking maybe the accident was more than just an accident.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Attempted hijacking, maybe?”

“Somebody wanted the virus? The damn bug is running rampant in Malaysia. You’d think they could have gotten all they wanted without having to steal a plane.”

“We don’t have all the pieces yet. But something happened up there that wasn’t supposed to.”

Clint could practically hear Bull Matheson turning the puzzle over in his mind, viewing it from all angles.

“Clint, Dr. Attois’s fiancé was on the flight, right?”

“Ex-fiancé.”

“And she flew home commercial?”

Clint’s hand tightened on the satellite phone. “She’s not involved.”

“They could have been working together. Her going home first to set things up.”

“Why would they want ARFIS?”

“Like I said, we don’t have all the pieces.”

“Like
I
said. She’s not involved.”

“That doesn’t sound like the clear-headed, uninvolved investigator I know and love speaking.”

Clint ground his teeth. If he gripped the phone any harder, he was afraid he’d crush it. “What do you want?”

“You have a relationship with her, I assume.”

Clint neither confirmed nor denied. Relationship could cover a lot of ground. Friends. Acquaintances. Lovers.

“Use it,” the captain finished. “Find out what she knows.”

Clint said goodbye and hung up. Across the camp, Macy walked out of her tent, and looked his way. He couldn’t see much of her face behind the bio mask, but he’d bet his last paycheck that she’d pulled her lower lip between her teeth and smiled shyly, pausing a moment as she remembered last night. He nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.

Looked like he’d be having that morning-after talk with her sooner rather than later. At least when it was over he wouldn’t have to worry about her having expectations of him. Not after he accused her of murder.

Macy was in her tent with her sore ankle propped up on a chair when Clint walked in, balancing two lunch trays on one arm. She’d never been much on fussing over her looks with makeup, but just this once she wished she’d bothered to put on a little lipstick and do more with her wild hair than pull it back in a quick braid.

“One of those for me?” she asked, nodding at his cargo, “or are you making up for missing dinner last night?”

“You can have turkey on white or turkey on white.”

She smiled. “Turkey on white is fine. Thanks.”

He passed her a tray and she unwrapped the cellophane around her sandwich. Her stomach did a somer
sault when she thought about taking a bite, so she set it down.

“Did they—have they sent someone out to get Michael yet?”

He nodded.

“Who could have shot him? And why?”

Uncharacteristically, he studied his tray instead of meeting her eyes. The change in his behavior made her nervous. What was going on?

“You tell me,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill your pilot?”

Her stomach progressed from somersaults to full handsprings. She pushed her lunch tray away. “No.”

“What about the cargo guy, Jeffries? Or David?”

“No one would have any reason to kill them, either.”

“I meant would they have any reason to kill Michael Cain.”

She lurched to her feet. “No!”

Clint calmly took a bite of his sandwich and chewed in silence. She pushed her chair back and limped across the tent, her mind racing.

“Are you interrogating me?” she asked, spinning back to face him.

He looked up, took his time swallowing. “I’m trying to figure out what happened out there. It’s what I do.”

She hobbled back over to him, plopped into her seat. “I didn’t know Ty very well. But David did not shoot Michael. And if you’re even considering the possibility that he did, that means…you think he’s alive.”

Her heart stuttered. He did. Clint thought David was alive!

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said. “We don’t know what’s going on here. Can you think of any reason someone would want to get their hands on the virus the plane was carrying. Could terrorists use it somehow?”

It was hard to put her hope that David might be alive aside and think about the virus, but she tried. “They could, but they’d be stupid to do it. The only reason it’s been contained in Malaysia so far is because it’s a small country, easy to close the borders. But if ARFIS were released in the U.S. or Europe, they’d be risking a worldwide outbreak. They’d be jeopardizing their own countries.”

“What kind of knowledge would it take to handle the virus without contaminating yourself if someone did take it?”

“Your average high-school science teacher could probably thaw the frozen virus and weaponize it.”

“Wonderful. And the instructions to make an atomic bomb are posted on the Internet. Ain’t it a wonderful world we live in?”

“If you knew David, you’d never think he was involved in some terrorist plot to kill God knows how many innocent people.”

Clint took another bite of his lunch and scooted her tray closer to her, giving her an encouraging look. “You need to eat. Tell me about Ty Jeffries. He’s the wild card here. Foreign national, you hadn’t known him that long.”

She picked up her sandwich, nibbled at the crust and shrugged. “We called him the red-tape man. He purchased supplies for us, acquired the test animals, arranged for shipping, dealt with the airport authorities, stuff like that. Maintained most of our equipment, too. He was very handy. David and I are…not mechanical.”

“Why was he going back to the U.S.?”

“David liked him. Offered him a job.”

“What kind of background checks do you do on employees?”

“Extensive. Although Ty wasn’t an employee yet. He was working as a contractor for us in Malaysia.”

“So you basically let a man you know nothing about on board a plane carrying a lethal virus.”

“David—” She ducked her head. She would not blame this on David. Not without him here to defend himself.

“David what?”

She lifted her head. “Nothing. I guess you’re right. We screwed up.”

“Had David ever hired anyone from a field mission before?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Could he have been under any coercion this time?”

“You mean Ty forced David to bring him on that plane?”

He took a long drink from a bottle of water. “Or bribed him. Offered him something he couldn’t resist?”

Macy’s nerves sizzled. Clint had struck a sore spot. If David had one weakness, it was his ambition. “No.”

Clint looked up as if he’d heard the lie in her voice.

“Why did you really break off your engagement to him?”

She jerked as if he’d slapped her. She waited for his expression to soften. For him to apologize.

She should have known better. He sat there stone-faced.

“None of your damned business.” She tried to get up, but he stopped her by clamping his hand over her wrist. “Let me go.”

“Did you know he was up to something? Is that what you fought about before you gave his ring back?”

Her eyes stung. “We didn’t fight. I just—I couldn’t be with him anymore.”

“Because he wouldn’t cut you in on whatever he’d gotten into.”

“Because I didn’t love him!”

He leaned forward in his chair, pulled her closer to him. Storm clouds brewed dangerously in his pewter eyes. “Or maybe he was just your patsy, and you were through with him. Did you sleep your way close to ARFIS, to the connection with Ty? Maybe you’re the one working with Jeffries. After all, David wasn’t even supposed to be on that plane.”

“Bastard!” She jerked her arm out of his grasp—or maybe he let her go, she didn’t know which, didn’t care. All she cared about was getting out of there.

Slowing down only long enough to don her protective gear, she stormed out of the tent without looking back.

Macy shuffled across the compound as fast as she could with one good leg. The rain and the foot traffic
had turned the grassy meadow into a bog that could suck a girl’s boots off if she weren’t careful.

With each slurping step she alternated between wounded feelings and fury.

How could he?

How dare he?

How could he?

Who did he think he was, accusing David of using ARFIS for his own gain? Accusing her?

But even as her heart ached that he didn’t trust her, and her mind railed at his unfounded accusations of David, her mind turned over the facts. The plane had crashed. Someone had shot the pilot. People were missing. ARFIS, in the wrong hands, could make Europe’s bubonic plague epidemic of the Middle Ages look like a preschool chicken-pox outbreak.

And David…David had been acting strangely those last few days.

She’d thought he’d just been tired. Maybe sensing her unhappiness with their relationship.

Had it been more?

She heard her name and turned to wait for Susan, who was waddling determinedly through the muck in her direction.

“Macy,” she called looking down at the clipboard in her hands as she walked. “We ran another set of tests on the—”

Susan glanced up. Her eyes widened. Her mouth pursed. “What’s wrong? Oh, no. Not the virus. Your blood work was fine. I checked it myself.”

“I don’t have ARFIS.”

Just then Clint stepped out of her tent and walked across the compound to talk to Skip Hollister, who was in from checking traps.

Susan’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.” Macy knew she didn’t lie well. She kicked at a clod of dirt. “You worked a lot with David those last few days in Malaysia. Did he seem…normal to you?”

She laughed. “Dr. Brinker, normal? Never.”

“I mean, did he act differently? Give any indication that something might be wrong?”

“Well, you know how it is on field missions. And this one was worse than most. We work all kinds of crazy hours, and you hear things.”

“What kind of things?”

Susan’s cheeks turned rosy behind her face shield. “I heard about the two of you splitting up. Never was sure what you saw in him, anyway. He was a little more jittery than normal. I figured he was upset, but trying to, you know, cover it up.”

“Did he say he was upset?”

“No.” She gave Macy a sympathetic look. “He was just really distracted. Is something wrong, Dr. Attois? I mean, everything’s wrong, with the plane crash, and José loose, but…is something else going on?”