massively heavy crushed her, and that was the last she remembered.
“Kat. Honey, wake up.”
She vaguely heard the words. Vaguely registered frantic hands running quickly over her body. She managed a groan.
“Don’t move,” the worried voice instructed.
She exhaled, managing with great effort to form words. “Go get him.”
“To hell with the Ghost,” Jeff snapped. “Can you feel your feet? Move your fingers for me, sweetheart.”
Obediently, she wiggled her fingers, although it hurt every bone in her body to move even that small amount. She took as deep a breath as her battered body would tolerate and released it slowly, exhaling the pain as Hidoshi had taught her, closing it off in a remote corner of her mind, far, far away.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
She squinted up at Jeff. The poor guy looked about ready to puke. “Uh, three.”
“We need to get out of here. Those commandos are still behind us somewhere.”
Before she had time to be startled, he’d scooped her up in his arms and stood up. It was a patently annoying display of manly special operator strength that she could never hope to duplicate. Although, at the moment she was profoundly relieved simply to relax in his grasp and let him carry her. Her head was spinning like a top and her body announced in no uncertain terms that it had had enough.
“You okay?” he muttered.
“Uh-huh,” she managed to mumble back.
“Okay if I run?”
“Maybe not.”
“I’m afraid we need to, darlin’. If you’re gonna get sick, lemme know and I’ll set you down.”
Reluctant humor tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
He grinned down at her. “I don’t generally pick up puking-drunk women. I like them reasonably sober and alert in my bed.”
“That’s right. You go for all that sparkling conversation.”
He laughed under his breath. “No. I just like them conscious and able to scream my name.”
“Picky, picky.”
He must’ve heard her fading, because he murmured, “Just rest. I’ve got you.”
Normally, she’d rebel in no uncertain terms if some guy said that to her. She was beholden to no man, thank you very much, and she certainly didn’t need to be patronized by one. But damn, it felt good to close her eyes and let Jeff carry her swiftly into the bowels of the neighborhood. Where he was going, she had no idea. But he seemed sure of himself. And why not? He was a far more experienced operator even than she was.
Had she really run this far? Or was it just that she felt so crappy now that it seemed to be taking forever to get back to the car?
“There’s that damn chicken again,” Jeff muttered balefully. “He’s lucky you’re hurt or I’d stop and make fryer parts out of him.”
She smiled against Jeff’s powerful chest. He smelled salty, but she detected a sour note of fear in his sweat, too. Had he been scared for her? He’d sounded mostly pissed off at her on the radio earlier. She hadn’t meant to ditch him. It was just the only way not to lose the Ghost.
“I got a look at him,” she murmured. “Not a good one, but a look. Thick, dark eyebrows. Narrow nose. Slight droop to the outer corners of his eyelids. Small mouth. Full lips.”
“Could you pick him out of a lineup?”
She considered the question. “Probably. But he’ll change his appearance if he doesn’t leave the island.”
“True.”
Jeff strode on in silence for several minutes. And then all of a sudden he ducked into a dark doorway and let go of her feet so her body slid down his torso to the ground. He glided left to put himself between her and whatever threat he’d seen or heard.
She knew better than to ask what he’d seen. When he could tell her, he would. She felt the zen calm flow over him that operators were taught when they needed to hide. She mimicked the action, too groggy to know if she’d eliminated the intangible essence of her presence or not.
“Let’s move out,” he breathed over his shoulder. “Nice and slow. You stay behind me.”
She gave one tap on his back to indicate that she understood and would comply. Assuming she didn’t pass out, of course. How long they crept down dark alleys, paused before corners and ducked behind various forms of cover, she had no idea. But she did know she ached from head to foot and the adrenaline of the chase had long ago worn off, leaving her nauseous and exhausted.
These were the moments Hidoshi had prepared her for in all those grueling years of training. She called upon his legacy now, and upon the legacy of the Medusas that endured any pain for the sake of the team. It was purely mind over matter. As long as she was conscious to will her body to move, she would keep going, no matter how agonizing.
Finally, after an eternity, Jeff murmured, “Here we are.”
“Is it safe to take our car?” she mumbled.
“No. That’s why we’re taking this one. The owner left the keys hanging from the sun visor. I’ll return it tomorrow. But right now, I need to get you back to the hotel and get some painkillers in you.”
How he knew she was hurting, she didn’t bother to ask.
He asked quietly, “Can you climb in?”
Strangely enough, after all the running around she’d just done, the act of bending down to duck into the tiny Peugeot all but made her pass out.
“Allow me,” Jeff murmured as he scooped her off her feet and placed her gently in the passenger’s seat.
Maybe it was the blow to her head that she’d taken in the fall, or maybe it was just her accumulated delirium that prompted her to murmur, “You are one serious hunk, Jeff Steiger.”
He scowled at her. “You picked a hell of a time to tell me that, woman. You’re half conscious and bruised from head to foot, and I can’t do a damn thing about what you just said.”
She grinned lopsidedly at him. “I am a little loopy, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s get you out of here.” He leaned her seat back for her and buckled the seat belt across her hips. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by the faint sigh of pleasure that escaped her as his hand ran across her lower belly. Quickly he went around to the driver’s side and started the engine.
“I’ve got to call D’Abeau,” he announced as he eased away from the curb.
She closed her eyes as Jeff guided the car back toward their hotel, presumably watching their tail for any signs of the commandos. As he drove, he dug out his cell phone and dialed the detective. She’d bet D’Abeau was pretty ticked off right about now. The Ghost was making fools of them all with these repeated and successful robberies.
Jeff identified himself, and through the phone, she heard the agitated sounds of D’Abeau throwing a hissy fit.
Jeff replied calmly. “Yes, I know. The Shangri-La estate. A Turner landscape, yes? We were there. Saw the Ghost break in.”
Even she heard D’Abeau squawk, “
Jeff managed to interrupt the tirade with, “Can’t come in right now. My associate’s…not feeling well. We’ll come down tomorrow and make a statement, but in the meantime here’s the quick and dirty update.” He proceeded to give a brief summary of what they’d seen and how they’d chased the Ghost into east Bridgetown, leaving out all description of her circus high-wire act antics with the thief.
She reached up to feel for her throat mike. Gone. At one point in the fight, the Ghost had grabbed at her throat and ended up with a fistful of high-tech electronics instead. It had seemed to surprise him. Enough that it had given her an opening to slip his hold and force him to the edge of that roof.
The thought of how badly that fall could’ve turned out accentuated the nausea rising in her gut. She settled into a simple mantra. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t…
Eventually, the interminable car ride ended and Jeff pulled up behind the hotel.
“Can you walk?” he murmured.
