WAR: Intrusion (52 page)

“I’m glad. The Foundation does good work. And without it, I wouldn’t have found you.”

They lay silently for a long while. Helen let the steady beat of Lachlan’s heart soothe away her lingering tension. She was no longer sleepy, yet she didn’t want to get out of bed, either.

“Lachlan?” Her fingers traced sensual patterns on his bare abdomen.

“Mmm?”

“How much pain are you in?”

“Move your hand a little lower, lass, and I won’t feel any pain at all.”

She slipped her hand beneath the sheet draped over his lower body and found him already hard beneath his boxers. She petted and stroked him through the thin cotton and was rewarded by a low groan as his penis jerked against her touch.

“Don’t tease me, lass.”

“Or what? You’re not fully healed yet.” She flashed him a wicked smile. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop me. So just lie there and let me pleasure you, MacKay.”

“You’d best remember one thing, lass.”

“What?”

“Payback is a bitch.”

She gave him a sensual smile, amazed by how quickly her mind had locked onto the idea of sex. If it made her forget her nightmares, even if for a little while, then she’d run with it.

Shoving the sheet to the end of the bed, she gave his erection one more stroke though his boxers, then moved up the bed. She ran her mouth over his face and down his throat, nipping at the tender skin beneath his jaw then running her tongue over the small bite.

His heart beat rapidly beneath her palm. Careful of his bandages, she stroked and kissed him, mapping his skin with her mouth. Trying to show him how glad she was that he was alive. Wishing she could turn him over and kiss each and every scar his father had left behind.

Later. Once he’d healed.

The bandages were a reminder that he was a warrior. A man capable of violence, but who fought for the right reasons.

She placed butterfly kisses over the bandage on his chest. “You nearly died to protect me,” she murmured. Her throat tightened up and tears threatened. “I’ve never been as terrified as I was when you dove in front of that bullet.”

She raised her head and glared at him. “Don’t do that again.”

“Ah, lass, you know I can’t promise that.” He pulled her up for a kiss.

Careful to keep her weight on her knees on either side of him, she allowed herself to fall into his mouth, greedily exploring the darkest recesses. There was a subtle difference to this kiss. It contained both a vulnerability and a strength that, even as she welcomed it, had her pulling back.

She traced her fingers over his face, throat, and shoulders, reassuring herself that yes, he was alive and he was here. Then she followed her fingers with a line of gentle kisses. When she reached his bandages, she broke free and slid down his body. She kissed and nibbled her way across his abdomen until her impatience got the better of her and she shoved his boxers out of her way.

His cock was thick and hard. She touched her fingertip to the slit at the end and his whole body tightened.

“Ah, Helen, you’re going to kill me.”

She winced.

“Bugger it. I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s not your fault.” She emphasized her point by placing a light kiss just under his belly button. Then she used her mouth and fingers to stroke and tease him before finally sucking him into her mouth.

His hips lifted off the bed. “Stop, lass. I’m going to come.”

She just raised her brows and didn’t release him.

“I want to be inside you when I come,” he groaned. “Please.”

It was the please that did it. She slowly pulled back, scraping him lightly with her teeth as she withdrew. Then she grabbed a condom from the bedside table, sheathed him, and rose onto her knees.

He grasped her hips to help guide her as she sank down on him. Once she was seated, their eyes held. This time there were no emotional barriers between them and she felt a flicker of fear at the unaccustomed vulnerability.

“It’s okay lass. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

She nodded, seeing the truth of that shining from his soul. With small movements, she started her rhythm, each rise and fall of her body communicating her love to him. Accepting him as a partner.

When their bodies took over and threw them both over that cliff of pleasure, she allowed herself to truly let go for the first time, body and soul. Knowing Lachlan would catch her. Without judgment. Without pity.

Some time later, after they’d both settled back into reality and she was cuddled against his side, she had the thought that for the first time since her mother’s betrayal, she finally felt at peace.

CHAPTER FORTY

The
Greater Niger Republic

West Africa

JONATHAN
MORENGA STRODE into his office building. Without speaking to anyone, he headed directly to his office and shut the door.

He had just come from his home village where he had buried his son and spent the requisite number of days in mourning. Despite the fact that his son had not turned into a man Morenga could respect, still his death left a hole inside his chest.

His wife, of course, blamed him for their son’s death. Ever blind to his faults, she refused to accept that her baby could have ordered such carnage.

Morenga sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. He had thought that coming in to work today would distract him from his grief over losing his only child. Yet as soon as he’d walked through the front door he’d been reminded of how his son had attempted to take all of this away from him. And how, thanks to his son, the region was currently in an uproar of vigilante fever. Everyone wanted to claim that they had captured or killed rebel soldiers. Any hopes of winning the populace over to the rebels’ cause had died. At least for the moment.

Morenga sat back and shuffled through the paperwork on his desk. His men had recovered many of the weapons his son had stolen from him. Thanks to the laptop Morenga had retrieved, he had learned the name of his son’s spy within his organization. With the news of his son’s death, however, Morenga’s manager reported that the spy had vanished.

Not unexpected. He’d ordered a team to find the traitor. Morenga had been prepared to execute the man in such a way that it would scare anyone else who considered betraying him. Yet the traitor had been killed in a simple car accident before Morenga’s team caught up with him.

He sighed and returned his focus to his business, making notes on several contracts. Until the vigilance of the local governments relaxed, it would be too dangerous for the rebels to launch attacks. Several of his contacts had already requested delays in the delivery of, and therefore the final payment for, the weapons they had ordered.

While it was poor business to grant the rebels such postponements, Morenga was going to do so, regardless. He wanted the rebellion to succeed and agreed that all groups needed to keep a low profile right now. Plus, since he’d taken over Dietrich’s supply lines, Morenga had signed several lucrative new contracts with groups outside of West Africa. He could afford to indulge the rebels.

He could even afford to pick and choose which rebels he did business with in the future. Those who supported such wide scale, senseless violence as the Hospital Massacre would receive word that due to a shortage from Morenga’s supplier, they would not be receiving their anticipated weapons.

A lie, of course. Their orders had all been retrieved during his raid on his son’s base. The crates of weapons sat in his warehouse, carefully segregated from the others. But he would only allow the weapons to pass into the hands of those groups of rebels that aimed their attacks primarily at foreigners.

He had no stomach for the massacre of his fellow West Africans.

That his son had directed the rebels to the hospital that day and encouraged their brutality was Morenga’s personal shame. Letting Lachlan MacKay live had been his form of penance.

He thought about the box of mobile phones that he’d retrieved from his son’s base. Before his son had stolen them out from under the nose of Morenga’s supplier, the miniature explosives had been scheduled to be used in a specific attack. Morenga fully expected to hear from Dietrich’s sponsor shortly, demanding to know the status of the explosives.

Morenga hadn’t yet decided whether he’d admit to having recovered the devices or not. He fully intended to see them used in an attack to force the last remnants of foreign businesses to flee the region. But he was no longer certain that relying on Dietrich’s sponsor and the current rebel leadership would be the best means for achieving that goal.

His son’s death, for better or worse, was proving to be a game changer. Morenga needed to step back and reevaluate his goals. He must determine where best to position his assets.

Perhaps, some day, he would even find peace again.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Private Beach

Cape Verde Islands

“
YOU
ARE A devious man,” Helen told Lachlan six weeks later as he dropped beside her on the beach towel. She scooted back, but not before he shook his head, spraying her with water droplets. Narrowing her eyes, she scooped up a handful of sand and made as if to throw it at him.

He held up his hands and blinked innocently at her. “What?” The expression made him look young. Carefree as she’d never seen him before.

She tossed the sand to the side, then leaned in for a kiss. “Mmm,” she said against his mouth. Then she squeaked as he rolled over, pinning her beneath his wet body as he took the kiss deeper.

A long while later, Helen murmured against his chest, “You’re certain this is a private beach?”

Lachlan laughed. “A little late to worry about that now, lass.”

She pinched him.

“Ouch.” He chuckled. “Aye. No one else around for kilometers.”

She still couldn’t believe that he’d arranged for them to take a vacation in these islands off the far west coast of Africa. When he’d told her that both Azumah and Kristoff had approved rest and relaxation time for both of them, she’d been skeptical. She knew how hard-pressed WAR was for both doctors and soldiers. She’d been helping as much as she could, but only last week had she finally managed to view an open wound without nearly passing out.

So when Kris had announced three days ago that she and Lachlan had one hour to make their flight, she’d been puzzled. Lachlan had just grinned knowingly and handed Helen the suitcase he’d already packed for her. But he’d refused to tell her where they were going.

Helen had fallen asleep on the plane. When she woke up, she’d been delighted to discover that they’d arrived at this tropical paradise.

Having one entire week to themselves was her idea of heaven. Even in the short time since their arrival she felt as if she’d gotten to know another side of Lachlan. A playful, relaxed side. Well, relaxed after those first twenty-four hours, where they’d been under the influence of a sexual frenzy that had eventually worn them both out.

But as this recent bout of lovemaking proved, their hunger hadn’t vanished. Just morphed into a slow burn of desire that they could take their time exploring. Although—she shifted uncomfortably as a seashell underneath the towel poked into her back—next time, she’d check the sand for shells before she lay down with Lachlan on top of her. Or maybe she’d just ask to be on top.

Sensing her discomfort, Lachlan rolled off her and pulled her into a sitting position. Then he began brushing off sand that had managed to find her skin despite the towel.

“Have you decided yet, lass?”

Helen sighed and ran her hand down Lachlan’s chest to his stomach. Her eyes flicked to the scars on his chest. Although he’d been slowly building up his workouts for the past two weeks, once their vacation ended, he’d start intensive training.

She felt slightly jealous that he would be returning to the work he loved. Despite her recent breakthrough, she had no idea if she’d ever be able to handle trauma surgery again.

In the meantime, on Helen’s suggestion, WAR had worked out an agreement with Mrs. N’Dorah. WAR and Layla’s Foundation would work together to establish several multi-purpose clinics by either refurbishing current, unoccupied buildings or building new clinics. Once the clinics were fully staffed, they would be open to the public, with the agreement that WAR operators would be given priority in emergency situations where they couldn’t be evacuated to headquarters.

Both Helen and Dr. LaSalle had reached out to their regional and international contacts in order to recruit the necessary personnel for the clinics. So far, the response had been mixed. A certain number of medical professionals wanted to help, but were too afraid of becoming future victims of the rebels. Others admitted that the rebels’ brutality had strengthened their determination to help. Helen was confident that she and Dr. LaSalle would meet their quota without problems.

She’d also convinced WAR to bring on two full-time mental health professionals in order to help its members, particularly its soldiers, deal with PTSD caused by fighting against such brutal opponents. When Helen had offered her friend Tamlyn the job, the woman had been so enthusiastic, she’d agreed to start work two weeks later.

Dr. LaSalle had convinced a male colleague from the Democratic Republic of the Ivory Coast to accept the other mental health position.

With all the publicity around the slaughter at the hospital, and despite attempts to squash any reports that mentioned the names of the survivors, Helen had received a number of job offers. They included everything from heading a trauma unit in another part of Africa, to testing new techniques and tools for emergency medicine in the field, to working up plans for the best surgical practices in a war zone. She’d even been approached about speaking on PTSD for medical personnel in conflict regions, but she was a long way from being ready to talk publicly about her experiences.

“Helen?” Lachlan prompted. He raised her fingers to his lips and placed kisses on the tips. “You know I’ll go wherever you want. Whether we stay with WAR or not is up to you.”