Honey Moon (15 page)

Her last name’s Jensen?
The entire world knew more about Jenna than he did. These guys also knew his last name and hers wasn’t Bond, and that the marriage was as legit as the shuttles had been. He sighed. Hard to feel sorry for himself. At least they’d survived when so many hadn’t. But damn it, what if Jenna wasn’t all right? Harmed? Even tortured? Disappeared into the system and held hostage until he refuted everything?

“And?” he snapped.

“Any minute now.”

Sam leaned back into the pillows, his throat suddenly dry.

The second medic stood in place, shifting uneasily while the other medic approached. “Sorry, sir, but you know they won’t leave you with Miss Jensen for too long. Too many questions.” He leaned to straighten the sheet over Sam’s legs and mouthed,
“Bugs.”

Sam sighed. He had expected such. Deadly power mongers with ties to the LC must want a recording of every breath and every word from the peon who defied them with nothing but a whim and a platform for the common man.

He deepened his scowl and braced to rasp the truth to his new friend. “It’s clear you guys know I’m not really a newlywed. But I’ll remain a pain in the ass if I don’t have a chance—in private—to see what’s happening with me and the real hero, who’s an innocent—big stress on the word innocent. Maybe she wants to fake divorce a high-profile guy who almost got her killed. Not really fair to do that online, without the chance for a kiss goodbye, is it?”

“As soon as she’s here, we’ll wait in the corridor. I hope you can work things out.” The guy mouthed,
“Body scan,”
straightened and stepped back.

Neurons began clicking.
Of course. And this man, maybe both medics, would clearly help.
The irritation strangling his gut lessened. He needed to give authorities reason to move him to an unsecured location. A scan didn’t make sense. The imaging room had to be wired with all types of audio and video surveillance. Maybe the medic’s blank expression meant if Sam got the ball rolling, he’d take it from there. Help him seize a stolen moment of unwatched and unheard freedom, and the guy needed some sort of pretense to get him out of this room to make it happen.

Sam nodded. “Thank you.”

The medic reclaimed the steps for the bed. He fussed with the upper strap on Sam’s chest. “It’s not a problem. We’re monitoring you closely. Just let us know if you need anything at all.” The guy patted his leg and retreated.

Hm.
Must be wireless sensors inside the two thin plastic bands they’d tied around his chest to support damaged ribs. At least he’d caught a break with the pair in the room with him. He could use all the help he could get, and not just to arrange a chance to speak in private with Jenna. He also had to slip past riled fans ready to riot if they saw him but wince in pain, as well as authorities prepared to maintain order no matter the cost to the environment or to enthusiastic admirers of
In the Loop
.

He smiled at the dark-haired medic. “What was your name?”

“Thomas…”

The door com buzzed and Sam’s heartbeat lurched as the door pushed open. A man, dressed in a dark suit, ushered in a wonderful sight. Jenna looked at him with clarity and no signs of ill treatment. Hair tangled, face bruised, rings of exhaustion beneath those wide, questioning eyes, and he ached to wrap his arms around her. His damn cock went stiff, throbbing to skip the holding and proceed directly to the having. He swallowed hard. “Leave us alone.” He didn’t take his gaze from her.

As the three men exited, the medic…Thomas paused. “We’ll be right outside.”

“Yep.” The door closed.

“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?” He didn’t pause. “Pardon, my head’s all fogged. Almost like the first time I met you.”
You know, when we were afraid every word was being recorded.
“Must be the painkillers, but I forget the strangest things. Your name’s really Jenna?”

“It is.” The mouth of the most beautiful and most intelligent woman in the universe opened in a soft circle of dismay. “You’ve hurt ribs?”

“No.” He flung out an arm, smothering his groan. “Come here.”

“Are you lying?”

He arched his brows. “I’m Superman. I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“Don’t make me get up.” He patted the bed beside him. “Best spot on Earth for a honeymoon.” His heart did flips as color rose in her cheeks and she closed in.

“Doesn’t your chest hurt?” Jenna carefully sat next to him.

He hit the button to recline and his arm couldn’t go around her fast enough. “Not since the moment you entered this room,” he lied. “I’ve made a full recovery.”
Ohgodohgod, another second and I’ll have her beneath me.
He leaned for her ear and whispered, “The lead’s mine. Play along.”

Like rolling into heaven, Sam pushed her down. Without care that her eyes went as wide as the moon, he climbed on top. His body, ribs were numb to pretty much anything but doing as his cock begged, which was to lower himself to pin her. Even his mind got in on the action, rationalizing who cared they were being filmed—
give them a porno tape to knock their jealous socks off
—as he supported his weight with his elbows. He pushed a harsh yelp out, instead of begging her—
say yes, say yes, say yes
. His groan of frustration flung him from the clouds into hot and bothered hell and hopefully sounded to the listeners as if he were dying.

“What’s wrong?” Jenna gasped. Her shiny dark hair splashed across the pillow, blood draining from her cheeks as her eyes widened with worry. She grasped his arms to push at him.

He winked at her and refused to budge. He barked another cry of exaggerated hurt as his throbbing dick grew, and groaned, pressing into her stomach. God, she felt so good, smashed beneath him. He eased up a touch so she could breathe and let out a final pain-wracked gulp. “I-I think my ribs just cracked.” Propped on his elbow, he thrust his hand to rub at his skull. “But my head hurts, more than anything.”

The door shot open. “Dexter, what is it?” Thomas grasped his shoulder, forcing him to shift off a flustered Jenna. He drew his knee up, frantically willing his cock to go down.

“Wrong? Not a damn…arrggg.” He collapsed flat and moaned. “Head hurts. Something
is
wrong.”

The suit shoved Thomas aside. “Get off the bed, lady. You do something to him?”

Sam seized Jenna’s arm and glared at the suit. “Back off.” He grunted as if he was being gutted by a wild boar and thank Christ, his lovely girl looked confused as all hell, but she kept her mouth closed.

“It’s not her,” Thomas said. “TBM has bad side effects.”

“TBM?” asked the guy with government agent written all over him.

“Temazoan-Benzo-Morphine.” Thomas followed the second medic running around the bed.

“And that means?” snapped the agent.

Thomas helped the other medic turn the bed and wheel it for the door. “An illegal and complex time-release drug cocktail concentrated into a soluble capsule. It was the reason Mr. Dexter survived the gas in those pods and was able to escape the one he was in. He needs a full head CT—stat.”

Sam maintained his hold on Jenna. “Fine. But my…Ms. Jensen comes with me.”

“That’s not a good idea,” said the agent.

“Try to separate us,” Sam moaned, “and I’ll make sure the brain matter containing all the future blog posts that fans—over nine billion and climbing—won’t have chance to read, splatters on you when my skull splits.”

Five minutes later, they shoved the bed holding Sam and Jenna out from the elevator and down the hallway toward radiology.

“We might as well prep you on the way.” Thomas pushed the gurney with one hand and reached for Sam’s chest, while the other medic leaned over Jenna’s shoulder. She hadn’t said a word, and held onto him even tighter as the men unclipped the double brace around his chest. His suspicion that the agent stalked behind them was confirmed when the guy spoke up.

“Why are you taking those off?”

Sam eased his body forward. Thomas pulled the top band out from under and the other guy took the bottom one. “These bands aren’t solid plastic,” Thomas told the agent. “Metal doesn’t work well in imaging.” He picked up the pace and addressed Sam. “Keep still. Might start to hurt, but when you’re out of the machine, we’ll strap you up again.”

The corridor widened and split toward the imaging reception area. The woman at the counter looked up as they stopped in the corridor, and Thomas hurried forward. They spoke briefly and he stepped back.

“Ten minutes?” the other medic asked.

“More like a half hour. A man just went in. He’s critical.” Thomas grasped the bed. “We shouldn’t block the hall.” He wheeled the bed toward a door opposite them.

“That’s unacceptable,” the agent called out. “Get Dexter in there now.”

A small medical center, there must be only one CT machine. Sam doubted Thomas would lie. He’d know the agent would check to see if there was a patient in there, and no way would Sam risk someone’s wellbeing for a fake headache. He squeezed Jenna’s hand. “I’ll wait. Don’t want another potential death to be blamed on the government, do we?”

“He’s stable, sir,” Thomas told the agent. “We’ll proceed if that changes.”

The second medic opened the door, and Thomas pushed them into a stockroom with barely enough space for the gurney.

Sam settled back and closed his eyes. “This is good. Really. Maybe all I need is a half hour of quiet. Leave. Close the door.”

“Er… We’ll be close, within calling distance.” Thomas paused. “Speak up if his pain gets worse.”

“I will,” Jenna whispered. “Thanks.”

The moment he heard the door close, Sam snapped his eyes open, released Jenna’s hand and sat up. Open shelves of toiletries and cleaning supplies on either side. No large cupboards, closets or shadowy forms. He looked in all directions, including the ceiling, and bent to peer beneath the bed.

Alone at last
. A lazy grin spread across his face as he slumped on his side, turning to the woman beside him. If only they had longer. The things he’d do to her. He lost the smile and muttered, “We can talk softly now. Gotta get out of here, sweetheart. I should have a ride coming. I think at least one medic, that Thomas, will help me dodge security.”

Huge brown eyes stared at him. “Where to?”

“Underground. Between the sociopaths behind the LC and fans ready to eat me up, I’m a sitting duck if I don’t go off the grid. Kurt and I talked before landing. He said he’d find a Jeep, stock it and somehow get word to me where he’ll wait. Said if he couldn’t, he’d enlist help to storm this place and clear a path.”

Sam sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Kurt fought depression as well as intense anger. A big guy, he’d killed the goon on the shuttle without hesitation. He’d not think twice about red dots on his chest or snapping more thick necks if he was denied access to Sam.

Jenna stiffened, her body shying away from him. “How soon?”

Hey, I only beat up one guy. A pervert with a pilot license. Doesn’t she want to be with me, a criminal going on the run?
“We decided four hours maximum, meaning less than an hour from now.”

“Oh. Sam?” Jenna swallowed as if her throat was as dry as his. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about theories I ran across in chat rooms. When you’ve a chance, you should check their accuracy. There was strong insistence that facts correlating with the pollution index, and based on carbon dioxide ratios in dense sections, place the world’s population closer to ten or eleven billion, not eighteen.”

That’s why I only have nine billion followers?
His heart stopped beating as the less narcissistic implications sank in. “Those bastards killed eight billion newlyweds? Christ. I thought these were the first shuttle launches.”
So much for not being vindictive. Bloody rampage, here I come.

Jenna snorted. “No, you idiot, we are…
were
the first group.”

He stared at her.

“Governments lied about planet population,” she said. “A thousand shuttles, fifty pods in each, luckily timed to depart within minutes of each other around the world at Eastern Standard Time on the North America continent, meant schedules were hours apart. The math sucks but thanks to some hero, eight hundred and five fake rockets never took off.”

He relaxed, muscles going slack. “I could get used to that.”

She leaned over him, ducking her head to hide the hurt filling her eyes. “You can’t be serious. Used to another cover-up so the powers-that-be can own pockets of expensive land?”

“Nope. Being called an idiot.”
Yippee ki-yay. My insecure, pretend bride
does
want me.
He put his thumb under her chin and raised her gaze to his. “Even if I could handle the chemistry involved in population grids, exposing conspiracies requires finesse. Very risky for a couple of guys like me and Kurt.”

“Are you asking me…?”

“I am.” He reached his palm to her chest, over her heart. “What type of hero would let you—a target for sexual predators in backward bars—out of his sight? And speaking of idiots… That had to be the stupidest means to get someone’s attention ever. I saw a survivor staring at you before medics dragged me away. His eyes were reddened, like he’d been recently hit with pepper spray.”