dynamite if he wanted her to leave. They took seats next to each other, and she studied him carefully. “Rumors are already flying about Dietz turning traitor. Any truth to them?”
“Shit, that didn’t take long.” He released a long sigh. “Yes, unfortunately, though I’m keeping the gory details need-to-know at this point between me, a couple of agents, and the president.”
Emma’s mouth fell open. “Of the
“One and the same.”
“Jesus, I can’t even imagine what Dietz has done,” she muttered. Since SHADO was an independent ghost organization contracting out its services to the U.S. government for matters the president wanted handled under the radar, some contact between the higher-ups and Michael would be inevitable. But a direct line to the man himself? Whatever was going on must be bad.
“Believe me, you don’t want to imagine it. For the time being, he’s being held in one of the cells under heavy security. No unauthorized access.”
“That’s quite a fall from being your trusted second-in-command,” she observed.
“You have no idea. While I was grieving the loss of my wife, that bastard was busy selling out the people of the U.S. to — never mind. I’m exhausted and I’ve said too much.” Anger and bitterness shaded his voice. “After the president and I work out a plan of action, I’ll call a meeting for those involved and bring everyone up to speed. You’ll probably be in on it, so you know.”
“All right.” Seemed the agents would require her magic. And something told her this would be the most dangerous assignment she’d ever taken. “Will we find out what Agent St. Laurent has to do with all of this? Dietz told everyone he was dead.”
“Obviously Dietz lied, and I’ll fill everyone in at the meeting. Right now I can tell you that St. Laurent was poisoned, and his chances don’t look good. As it stands right now, we can only hope that he and Kelly survive.”
Michael’s cold, flat tone left no doubt in her mind that if he could get away with killing Robert Dietz this very second, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the man apart. After what the traitor had done to two fine agents, he must be holding some damned important information close to the vest for her boss to allow him to continue to breathe.
The man was too much a force of nature to die. No matter the blow he’d dealt to her heart, he didn’t deserve that. Not an hour ago, she’d cursed him for being an SOB and now—
Suddenly, she sat up and groaned. “Dammit, my afternoon surveillance class is waiting for me. I forgot all about it.”
Her boss patted her knee in a brotherly fashion. “Which is completely understandable, given your history with Kelly. Call down to the classroom and cancel for today if you want. I doubt you’ll be able to concentrate, anyway, and they won’t exactly complain about having the afternoon off.”
“You don’t mind?” She bit her lip, uncertain when she was normally decisive. She and Blaze were so over it wasn’t funny, and she didn’t have a good excuse for being here. Not one she was willing to acknowledge out loud.
“If I did, I’d just tell you. Go ahead — call.” His soft voice, the warmth in his eyes, let her know without words that he understood her fear.
She nodded, relieved. “I will, thanks.”
Using a nearby in-house phone to dial the extension, she let an agent know about the cancellation and settled in for what might prove to be a lengthy wait.
She didn’t care how long it took. She wasn’t leaving until she knew Blaze would recover.
Damn the man for making her care. Again.
* * *
His situation was clear.
Someone had beat his skull with a fucking sledgehammer, cut off his head, and then impaled it on a rusty pike for good measure. In which case, he should be dead and not in so much goddamned pain.
What the fuck had happened? The question was met with a big fat blank, so he put all his effort into concentrating on the here and now. He flexed his fingers, taking stock.
Sheets. Lying down. A bed. Weird smells. Beeping.
A hospital? He’d been hurt, then. Most likely on assignment.
“Blaze? Can you hear me?” The woman’s familiar voice was soft and pleasant. It wrapped like silk around the one appendage apparently still working just fine.
He parted his lips to answer, but nothing emerged. Swallowing to moisten his dry throat, he tried again. “Yes,” he whispered.
Fingers squeezed his hand gently. “Thank God!” A pause, and a sniffle. “It’s about time, tough guy. Did you know you have the hardest head on the planet?”
He didn’t even try to puzzle out that one. Simply prying his eyelids open proved enough of a challenge, but he managed, squinting through eyeballs that must’ve been scoured with sandpaper. A blurry form leaned over him — a woman with short blond hair.
“Emma?” he croaked.
“Surprise.”
Emma. Here, at his bedside. Which meant he’d been in some deep shit for her to put aside her anger long enough to give a crap about him. “Why?”
“Why am I here? Because I’m an even bigger idiot than you are.” The catch in her voice told him the words didn’t hold quite the sting she’d intended.
The idea cheered him immensely. “Miss me?”
“You wish.”
He peered at her, blinking as her features came slowly into focus. A blond halo framed her beautiful face, and big blue eyes, shadowed with concern, regarded him from under a fringe of wispy bangs. Shaking Emma’s steely calm wasn’t an easy thing for most people to do, but Blaze seemed capable of doing nothing except hurting her. Being reminded of that tempered his joy at having her by his side and put a swift end to any thoughts of teasing her.
“What happened?”
“You took two bullets trying to protect Jude St. Laurent from Robert Dietz,” she said, releasing his hand. “Your vest prevented serious damage to your chest, but the other shot glanced off that thick skull of yours. Never had a chance of penetrating, any more than the one to your heart.”
He smiled at her sarcasm. The fact that she could sit there and joke with him in any way gave him hope. Before he could form a reply, however, the first part of what she said hit him. “Wait. You said ‘trying to protect.’ Is St. Laurent dead?”
“He’s hanging in there, but still critical. He and Dietz fought, and Dietz injected him with a dose of poison that almost proved lethal.”
“Oh, God. I…” A series of images assaulted him, like an old, brittle reel of film jumping on the track. Scouting the perimeter of the safe house in Tennessee. Armed men, bursting through the trees. Raising his weapon, taking out two of them. Dietz, returning fire. Then nothing. “How long ago was this?”
“One week. You’ve been pretty out of it, and we — I mean Michael and Dr. McKay — have been waiting for the swelling on your brain to subside.”
“Christ.” A crushing weight settled on his chest, and he broke eye contact, staring at the wall opposite his bed. His head pounded with renewed viciousness.
“What’s wrong?” She paused, waiting several long moments while he struggled with his answer. “Blaze?”
“I was given a job to do and I failed. Because I failed, St. Laurent almost died.”
“No! You didn’t,” she insisted. “You did what you could, but Dietz got the drop on you. He’s a snake, a disease, and nobody blames you.”
“Not even Jude or Michael?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.
