Shadow Hawk

his particular fantasies, though he was always willing to-

Uh-oh.

Turning his head, he took in the sky. Ah. Not a Playboy bunny but an angel. Yeah, that explained it.

Except he didn’t want to be dead…

Then Logan realized he was looking at the sky from a small window. He was flying. In a pretty damn fine helicopter, too.

Oh, boy. Either he really was on his way to heaven, or he was in big trouble.

He’d take door number three instead, thank you very much.

Too bad that didn’t appear to be an option.

His hearing was slowly coming back, though everything was sounding tinny and very, very faint, as if coming from miles away. And, damn, the pain had him gasping, wanting to curl into a ball.

Or hurl.

“What’s your name?” the angel in scrubs was asking.

“J.T. Logan. Just Logan is good, though,” he answered automatically. Which was good, right? It was always good to know your name.

“Okay, J.T. Logan, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Now that stymied him, because, interestingly enough, he didn’t see any fingers. Though he did see a lot of that red hair, escaping those messy braids. She had the kind of bangs that swept across her temple and down one side of her face, framing her jaw. Her ears were small, dainty, with two single gold hoops in one ear, and four in the other. Her V-necked scrubs were short-sleeved, revealing toned, tanned arms.

His angel liked to be outside, and she liked to be physical, which in no way took away from the fact that she was nicely stacked.

“How many fingers?” she asked again, bending over him to check one of the pieces of equipment behind him. As she did, her top gaped, revealing a pink bra beneath.

And a heart belly ring.

God bless the belly ring. “Two,” he answered definitively, looking at her breasts. “Pink cotton-clad- ouch!”

His angel jabbed him with a needle, which answered his question about heaven. He definitely wasn’t there. Proving it, she pressed something just behind his ear, which came away bright red.

Blood.

His.

Ah, shit. Pain continued to bloom through him.

“Nice gash there,” she said, still frowning. “You’ll need stitches after X-rays.” Then she set down the blood- soaked cloth and ran her hands down his body, and he wished like hell he could feel them instead of the agony slashing through him because he’d bet her hands were warm and sweet and gentle-

“Besides the possible concussion, I’m going to guess at least two dinged-up ribs-” She paused, probing, while he did his best not to lose his dignity and throw up on her very clean, white athletic shoes. “Make that three.”

“That’s probably going to hurt pretty good when I stop floating,” he said.

Again she leveled him with those green, green eyes. His beautiful, still-frowning flight nurse. “You feel like you’re floating?”

“Better than puking, right?” Logan tried a smile and felt his eyes roll in the back of his head at the movement.

“Don’t move.” She ran her fingers over his ribs and fire burst through his veins instead of blood.

“Holy shit!” he gasped. “What else is injured?”

“I’m guessing some internal bleeding. I think your right leg’s fractured. Not sure about your hip.”

God. He stared up at the ceiling of the chopper and concentrated on breathing. At least he was breathing. And then it occurred to him that he had no recollection of getting there. “What happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

He stared at her as his brain hit Pause, Search and then Play. But all he could summon up were the Playboy models floating naked on the ocean, pleasuring him however he wanted, when he wanted. Somehow he didn’t think she wanted to hear about that.

“It’s okay,” she said, softening, her fingers touching his jaw. “Just relax, and-”

“Enjoy the flight?” He let out a laugh that definitely wasn’t full of amusement. “That depends on what the in- flight movie is for today.” Logan went to sit up, and found his vision hampered by yet another explosion of white-hot pain.

“Yeah, that’s your ribs. Hence the not moving suggestion.”

Got it. Not moving. Very carefully not moving. But as he lay back and went still, he wracked his brain for answers.

None came.

“What’s your last memory?” she asked.

“Floating with the bunnies.”

She arched that scarred eyebrow. “The fluffy white-tail kind?”

“Um…sure.”

She eyed him, and he had a feeling he was slipping nothing by her.

“Huh,” she said. “Wonder what bunnies were doing at your raid.”

“Raid?”

She lifted up the flak vest she’d obviously had to cut off him. The big white letters across the back read ATF Agent.

And just like that, it slammed into him. Separating from Hawk on the roof. Hearing Hawk call out Gaines’s name. Having it all make terrible gut-wrenching sense and then being hit over the head before being shoved off the roof. It hadn’t been Gaines, he’d been on the ground, but one of Gaines’s men. He knew it. “Hawk,” he said hoarsely. “Where’s Hawk?”

His angel/nurse gently set a hand on his chest. Yep, just as he thought, she had a sweet touch. Sweet and unyielding.

Because she wasn’t letting him get up.

“My partner,” he ground out, gasping as he lay back. “Do you know about him?”

Her eyes filled with compassion as she shook her head. “You’re the only one we have tonight.”

“Cell phone. I need my-”

“Whoa there, cowboy.”

“I need to-”

“Breathe,” she said firmly, nodding when he gulped in air. “Yeah, just keep doing that.” She was leaning over him again, hands on his upper arms, holding him down. “That’s it.” She looked behind him to the pilot. “Ethan, ETA?”

“Twelve minutes.”

“Almost there,” she told Logan, stroking a hand down his arm and back up again, in a manner that was incredibly calming. “You’ve had quite the night, haven’t you?”

“I need to call in-” He broke off at a wave of dizziness. “Shit, this sucks.”

“Tell you what. You lie really still for me, and soon as we land, I’ll find out about your partner, okay?”

He wanted her to call now. But there were spots swimming in his eyes and he thought maybe he was going to puke after all.

“So, do you remember how you got so dinged up?”

“Took a hit to the head.” Which had hurt way more than he’d expected, but not as much as, say, taking a flying leap off a roof. “Then I took a tumble off a roof.”

“You fell off a roof?”

“Not fell.” His jaw throbbed with tension and all the pain. “I was pushed.”

She shook her head. “And I thought my job was hazardous.”

Logan let out a low laugh, which had him groaning in agony. Again she bent over him.