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“No, I didn’t. But now that I do, it changes everything.” He ran his knuckles across her satin cheek, reveling in the warmth under his fingers that meant she lived. “We can’t let this woman die. No matter what it takes, she has to live.”
Because she was his responsibility, and he owed her.
Chapter Fourteen
Friday’s eyes snapped open, but she was blind to her environment. All she could see was the image in her mind. The one of Striker touching the red mist. She bolted upright, ready to run. To save him.
“Striker!”
“Shh, bébé, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Firm hands held her shoulders as she looked up into one unpatched eye of the deepest, most luscious brown.
“I thought you were dead. I never intended for anyone to get hurt because of me. I’m sorry.” Her eyes scanned furiously over his body, checking for damage. None. There was none. “You’re okay. They got to you in time. You’re okay.” She sagged into his hold.
“I’m good, me. It’s you who’s had us worried. Ain’t that right, Doc?”
For the first time since opening her eyes, Friday looked around her. She was in a cave. A cave that had been fitted out to look like a barracks. There were metal framed cots along one wall, a makeshift kitchen near the cave entrance, and what was a medical area, complete with examining table and supplies. She looked down at the bed she sat on. Make that two examining tables. She occupied the other one.
“Where am I?” She eyed the sheet covering her. “And why am I naked?”
“You’re in the Bat Cave, chère.” Striker’s grin was pure, seductive mischief. “And you’re naked so I can have my wicked way with you.”
“Seriously?” She looked around, noticing the two men who stood at the entrance to the cave and a third man walking toward them. “You want to have sex? Here? When I feel disorientated and we have an audience?”
The men started laughing, and she frowned at them. This wasn’t funny. She’d joined CommTECH to ensure she wouldn’t have to perform naked in front of strange men—like the woman back in Munroe’s bar.
“You promised people wouldn’t watch us,” she hissed.
“Bébé.” The word rode a long-suffering sigh. “You’re in the medical area. You just woke up after being out for hours. You’re in no state to have sex, public or otherwise. But I’m beginning to wonder why that’s always the first thing on your mind. I’m thinking somebody wants me bad.”
“You’re insufferable.”
He gave her that Gallic shrug as his eye twinkled. “I call it how I see it. You’re obsessed with getting your hands on this fine body.” He motioned to his body, as though there were any doubt he was talking about himself.
“Why am I here? You were the one who touched the mist.”
“Actually,” said a tall, rangy man who stopped at the end of her bed, “you were the one who touched the mist. Fortunately, we got to you in time. You’re going to be fine.”
“But…” She stared at the men. Was she losing her mind? She could have sworn she’d pulled Striker out of the mist.
“This here is Doc,” Striker said before she could question them further. “And before you ask, you ain’t having sex with him, either.”
The two men over at the door thought that was hilarious. She ignored them and looked at the doctor. He was long, lean muscle and overgrown sandy hair that he kept brushing out of his eyes. He looked like he would have been more at home on the back of a horse, patrolling the plains of Montana, than cooped up in a cave tending to her medical problems.
“You’re a doctor?”
“Army medic, ma’am. But as far as medical help goes around here, I’m as good as it gets.” He reached into the utilitarian metal shelves beside her and pulled out some clothes. “We had to dump your things. They got contaminated. These will have to do. The boss here will show you to the shower, and then you can get some food into you. You were pretty dehydrated when you came in, but we’re on top of that now. If you’ve got a headache, we can talk about pain meds. I didn’t want to give you anything while you were out, in case it interfered with the poison you took.”
She brushed her fingers over the soft cotton T-shirt in her hands. It was old, worn smooth with wear, and must have cost a fortune to buy. Real cotton was more expensive than silk—rarer, too. It made her wonder how much the team made from smuggling. And why, if they made that much, were they holed up in a cave?
“Nothing will affect the Interferan-X. Except the antidote.” She looked at Striker. “How many hours did I lose?”
“A few. It’s late afternoon now.”
“A few?”
He smiled but his jaw was tight. “Twelve.”
She trembled at the word. Too much lost time. “I have about three days left to get to Bolivia.”
