anticipation. Made her palms sweat. And whatever might have been, she’d thrown away the opportunity to find out.
She’d thrown away the man she loved, and a fresh wave of pain doused the smoldering heat of arousal. Who was she trying to fool with this distance she’d forced between them? She missed him so badly she ached inside, and his loss hit her all over again, as strong as any physical blow.
She missed his laughter, the way his smile lit his tanned face. His gregarious, fun-loving personality. The way he interacted with the other agents, always extending himself, always joking around. The man never met a stranger, radiated sultry appeal, and as a result was a magnet that drew everyone around him into his circle before they quite realized it.
She should know.
And how long had she been leaning in the doorway of her studio, staring at the empty corridor? Mulling over visions of a giant group sex sandwich with Blaze starring as the meat?
“Pathetic,” she muttered, annoyed with herself.
Her stomach rumbled a complaint, and a glance at the clock on the wall confirmed that it was well past lunch. If she hurried she’d have enough time to grab something from the cafeteria before she taught the afternoon surveillance class to a group of wide-eyed baby agents.
She retrieved her purse from her office and walked to the cafeteria at a brisk pace, not wanting to waste more time on the uncharacteristic woolgathering she’d been doing lately. Economy of movement and purpose and a sensitive bullshit meter. As far as she was concerned, those qualities were the key to survival. They’d saved her life so far, hadn’t they?
In the cafeteria line, she studied a bowl of wilted salad with disgust. How did people eat that crap and take in enough fuel to keep going? Instead, she grabbed a paper plate loaded with a cheeseburger and fries from under the warmer and slid it onto her tray. Hell, she wasn’t built like a flea and had never apologized for it. On the contrary, her body image was just fine, and despite the occasional burger, she typically ate well. Her daily trip to the gym would work off excess calories and maintain her muscle tone.
After fishing a carton of juice from the cooler, she paid for her meal and found a seat at an unoccupied table. She wasn’t antisocial — she did have a couple of friends like Ozzie, after all — but neither was she one for idle chitchat. Especially when she had work to get back to.
She’d taken only a few bites of her burger when the conversation from the table behind her began to filter gradually into her awareness.
“… say what happened?”
“Don’t know, man. Some sort of rescue op involving St. Laurent. The whole deal went FUBAR is what I heard.”
Emma chewed slowly, forced herself not to react.
The first man snorted. “Yeah, whatever went down is some fucked-up shit, for sure. One agent risen from the dead, only to maybe bite it for real this time, the other one not far behind. And rumors about Dietz flyin’ all over the fucking place.”
“Dietz,” the second one spat. “If that bastard is responsible for taking out two of our own? I hope to God Ross tosses him below and throws away the goddamned key.”
“If Michael needs a volunteer to torture information out of the prick, I’m his man. Never liked that fucktard.”
“Second that.” A pause. “Wonder if Ross will call a meeting?”
“Probably. He won’t keep us in the dark any longer than necessary.”
A third voice, out of breath, joined the first two. “Did you hear about our guys? Dietz turned traitor and tried to off them both! Kelly took a couple of bullets trying to protect St. Laurent, and they’re both critical. Then Agent Vale shot Dietz. Jesus.”
Emma’s burger turned to ash in her mouth, and the rest of their exclamations were lost in the roar of blood rushing in her ears. She swallowed and pushed from her seat, giving up any pretense of not listening. Whirling, she grabbed the third man by his collar, the one standing by the table who’d just spoken, and shook the little gerbil like a rag doll.
“Agent Blaze Kelly? Is that who you’re talking about?”
He jerked in surprise. “Y-yes! I didn’t realize—”
Emma released the man and turned to her tray, scooped it up, and strode for the exit. On the way out, she dumped the remains of her lunch, and in seconds she was jogging for the elevator.
Heart in her throat, she punched the button for the fourth floor and was close to hyperventilating by the time the doors slid open.
Blaze had been shot. Was critical. Might even be dead.
She shoved through the double doors and hurried to the front desk, startling a passing doctor when she grabbed his arm.
“Agent Blaze Kelly,” she demanded. “I want information about his condition, yesterday.”
The man rallied, drew himself up. “Mr. Ross hasn’t authorized any disclosure of—”
“Then fucking find him so he can authorize it!”
“Mr. Ross gave specific orders that he’s not to be disturbed,” the doctor said in a steely tone. “If you’d care to take a seat, I’m sure he’ll be around shortly.”
“I don’t want to take a goddamned seat! I want to know—”
“Foster!”
She whirled to see Michael bearing down on her, expression grim, eyes flashing with anger. Whether any of his ire was directed at her, she didn’t care at the moment. She grabbed his arm as he stopped in front of her.
“How is Blaze? Tell me.”
The reprimand she half expected didn’t come, though his jaw clenched and his body vibrated with tension as if he were fighting the urge to vent his frustrations at her.
“Not here.” Those two words, husky and low, frightened her more than if he’d yelled them.
She fell into step with him as he led her to a private room off the waiting area and shut the door, sealing them off from prying eyes and alert ears.
Emma’s respect for Michael won out over panic, just barely. Crossing her arms over her bosom, she worked hard to restrain herself from barraging her boss with questions she knew he’d answer in good time, his way.
Emma hadn’t seen the man since before his wife’s death, and the changes wrought by grief and stress were subtle but telling. Gone was the calm, controlled, urbane man with the ready, winning smile that belied his cunning. In his place was a stranger. His expensive tailored black suit was a bit too big now and looked like he’d slept in it, and his tie was missing, his blue shirt partly unbuttoned.
Though still incredibly handsome, he could no longer pass for twentysomething among those who might venture a guess. Every one of his thirty-eight years was stamped on his angular face, carved in the lines around his full mouth.
Instead of taking a seat, he paced the small space like a caged leopard, his expression a study of anguish. He pushed a hand through his short sable hair, causing the spiky strands to poke every which way, gold and red highlights gleaming under the fluorescent bulbs. His temples were touched by a hint of silver that she’d swear hadn’t been there three months before.
“Where was he hit, Michael?”
He halted in the center of the room and dropped his hand, shoulders slumped. “Head and chest. His vest saved him from the shot to his heart, so it’s his head we’re worried about. The bullet glanced off his temple, and he hasn’t awakened. Hasn’t so much as flicked an eyelid in the hours since it happened.”
Fear slid bony fingers around her throat. Brain injury or even death could result from a head shot, whether the bullet penetrated the skull or not. If a man didn’t die outright, he could linger for weeks or months wasting away. She couldn’t wrap her mind around a vital man like Blaze being struck down like this.
“What does the CAT scan show?” So calm now when she was shaking apart inside.
“That’s what I’m waiting to find out, if you’d care to wait with me.”
“I would, thank you.” An understatement. Michael probably knew he’d have to blast her out of there with
