Читать книгу Her Hero After Dark - Cindy Dees - Страница 8

Jeff stared at himself in the mirror. Both the T-shirt and cutoff sweatpant shorts he wore stretched too tightly across his massive physique. But they were the only garments that even came close to fitting him. If nothing else, they highlighted his power pretty blatantly. Hopefully, it would be enough to intimidate his hostess into sending for his drugs immediately.

He rejoined her in the living room, where she was most of the way through the newspaper now.

“Better?” she murmured as he sat down on the sofa opposite her.

“Indeed.”

He waited until she glanced up at him questioningly, debating with himself while he waited. Indirect subtlety or direct and straightforward? How to get Jennifer to order his drugs brought in? His gut told him to go the direct route, but habit told him to approach all women circuitously.

“What’s put that frown on your face?” she asked.

“I’m debating how to handle you,” he replied frankly.

She smiled sardonically. “How about you let me do the handling for now?”

That sent his right eyebrow sailing upward. Did she mean the sexual innuendo? Surely, it had been intentional. She was too smart to make a sophomoric slip of the tongue like that. Thought she could use sex to manipulate him, did she? If he weren’t in so much pain that he could hardly see straight, she would probably be right to think that. He’d played the field as hard as the next guy over the years. Maybe harder than most.

But since he’d met Dr. Gemma Jones, that had changed. The drugs had taken over his life. Now they were his one and only mistress.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” he announced. “How long does it take to get things shipped in here from wherever they get shipped in from?”

“Is there something specific you need in a certain time frame?” she retorted.

He glanced down at the shorts and T-shirt straining across his muscular body. “Some clothes that fit would be nice. Not that it would bother me to do without clothes altogether.”

Her eyes widened and went an even smokier shade of coffee brown. That’s right, honey. Two can play that game of sexual innuendo.

“I can have more clothes for you in the morning,” she mumbled.

Overnight, huh? That meant this island was reasonably close to civilization. And fairly substantial civilization at that. Clothing in his size didn’t come off the rack in just any old store. Back home, everything he wore was custom-tailored to fit his extreme physique.

He tried, “Is there a phone? I need to talk to my business partner. Not to mention my grandfather is no doubt waiting to hear from me.”

Jennifer shrugged. “He’ll have to wait a little longer. Until I finish debriefing you, no one speaks to you.”

“Sorry,” he replied lightly. “I’m not wearing any briefs.”

Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his lap and spots of pink erupted on her cheeks.

“So what does this debrief entail?” he asked.

She blinked up at him as if she was struggling to organize her thoughts. “Uh, for a start, I need to know what happened that led up to your capture. And I’ll need a full report of what happened to you while you were in the custody of the Ethiopians. And I need a satisfactory explanation of why you killed El Mari.”

“And if I refuse to answer your questions?”

“Then you’re not leaving this island any time soon.”

He glanced out the picture window over her shoulder at a spectacular sunset over the distant ocean. If this place was close to the classified facility that had set up his men, he was happy to stay right here. “I can live with that. Can you?”

She leaned forward, forcing direct eye contact with him. “You will never be allowed to go home, Mr. Winston. Ever.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t been able to go home for a long time. That’s nothing new.”

She leaned back, frowning. “Why not?”

“Long story—”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, apparently,” she replied dryly.

“—and I’m not sharing,” he snapped.

“I’m going to keep at you until I get my answers,” she warned him.

“Then you are doomed to intense frustration and the bitter taste of failure,” he replied grimly.

She studied him intently like she was measuring the truth of his words. Finally she asked reasonably, “Why? I’m not the enemy.”

He snorted. “From where I sit, that’s debatable.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

He studied her, as well. The temptation to confide in her, to tell someone the truth, to explain the real logic of his apparently inexplicable decisions, was strong. But he dared not. His secrets were far too explosive to share with anyone, particularly this woman who embodied the United States government.

“What did my grandfather say to you?” he asked.

She leaned back in her armchair. “I’ll answer that question if you’ll answer one of mine.”

Aah. Clever. “Depends on what your question is.”

“Why did you go to Ethiopia?”

Hmm. He could work with that. He nodded once, but immediately regretted the gesture. Daggers of pain shot down his spine and radiated out through his nervous system to every corner of his body. He groaned and fought down a wave of pain-induced nausea.

“Deal,” he gritted out.

“You first,” she retorted.

“Nope. You.”

She stared at him curiously. She wished. He would never, ever explain the source of his pain to her. Finally she commented, “Your grandfather said you were in Africa on a humanitarian aid mission. That you and a team of your co-workers went out of radio contact about three months ago and that he was worried about you. He said he had hired private investigators, and they found sources in the Ethiopian government who said you had been thrown in prison.”

She tapped a French-manicured nail on the wooden arm of her chair. “However, when we investigated through our sources, we found no evidence of a trial or even any charges being filed against you. For some reason, the Ethiopians ignored all of their own laws and simply locked you up and threw away the key. Why is that, Mr. Winston?”

“Jeff.”

“Why is that, Jeff?”

“Not the question I agreed to answer.” What sources was she referring to? Was it possible?

She huffed.

“I went to Ethiopia to solve world hunger.”

She stared at him expectantly. “And?”

“And that’s it.”

She surged up out of her chair. “Look, Jeff. This isn’t a joke. You murdered a man last night, and I have no compunction about returning you to the Ethiopian government to stand trial for your crime. You will be executed or worse. And believe me, in Africa, worse can be much worse than death.”

She was magnificent in her fury. Anger sparked off her like fireworks and her body literally vibrated with her passion. She’d be a hellcat in the sack, for sure. The thought startled him. Since when did he sit around lusting after a woman like this? It had been years since he’d been that libertine playboy punk.

He leaned forward matching her intensity. “I’m telling you the truth. I went to Africa to solve world hunger.”

She sank down into her chair. Watching her pull herself back in, containing her fiery energy was fascinating. In less time that he’d have imagined, she was able to ask him calmly, “And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Solve world hunger.”

He started to shrug but thought better of the unnecessary motion. “I have a good idea how to solve a substantial chunk of East Africa’s food shortage.”

“And how’s that?”

“I didn’t agree to answer that one.”

She glared at him, but was otherwise outwardly composed. “Don’t make this a war between us. I can make your life incredibly unpleasant.” Her voice softened just a touch. “And I’d hate to have to do that.”

He suspected he could make hers pretty unpleasant, too, but he refrained from mentioning it. He had no desire to antagonize her any more. After all, she really did seem to want to help him. Problem was, she had no idea how to do that. He’d asked for his drugs twice already, and she’d put him off both times. She didn’t understand. And he couldn’t explain it to her. But maybe he could talk around the edges of it.

He said in a conciliatory tone, “Look. I take certain medications, and I haven’t had them for far too long. I need to get in touch with my physician and order up new prescriptions as soon as possible.”

“Our doctors will have to review and approve anything you’re prescribed. It may take several days.”

Could Doc Jones disguise his meds so the government doctors wouldn’t recognize them? Or would they be suspicious enough to run independent tests on the serum? No, he dared not even chance letting the government get its hands on any of his highly experimental medications.

He settled for, “In the meantime, could your people at least fly out some antibiotics and pain pills to help me get over the worst effects of my captivity?”

“Are you ill?” she asked sharply.

“I’m about to be,” he replied soberly.

“Why?”

He shook his head. Nope. Not going there with her, either.

Thoughtfully, Jennifer watched Jeff retreat to his bedroom. He wasn’t much less incredible in those tight clothes than he was in a towel. What would it be like to be with a man in such extraordinary physical condition? She made a policy of never dating any of the special forces operatives who worked out of H.O.T. Watch, so she didn’t actually know.

The classified facility was home to a half-dozen Hunter Operations Teams. They did covert missions around the world with the help of the sophisticated satellite surveillance technology and intelligence analysts housed in the H.O.T. Watch headquarters. That facility was hidden on its own Caribbean island about twenty miles from here.

She added a few more details to what she knew about Jeff Winston. Beneath his rough exterior, he was highly intelligent. Cunning, even. And he was desperate to get his hands on some sort of prescription drugs that he was clearly in full-blown withdrawal from. That was the third time he’d mentioned getting medication sent to him.

She frowned. Was that why he’d been so wild and violent in Ethiopian custody? Had it been nothing more than the guy going through drug withdrawals? An odd sense of disappointment coursed through her. She’d hoped for better than that from him.

She opened her laptop computer and connected to the island’s private wireless network to fire off a message to Brady Hathaway.

Please investigate possible drug addiction by Jeff Winston. And send out some giant clothes. Think NFL lineman … on steroids … and you’ll have the dimensions about right.

Hathaway’s response was swift.

Drug addiction?!!!

Correct. He appears to be experiencing some sort of drug withdrawal symptoms.

Do you need us to send out a team of doctors and relieve you from this debriefing?

She considered that one for a minute. In spite of her revulsion at Jeff’s beastly appearance and behavior, there was something … fascinating … about him. He inspired a twisted compulsion in her to figure out what made this strange man tick. It had nothing at all to do with the unwilling attraction she bizarrely seemed to feel for him, of course.

Common sense told her this guy was a complete nut job. Definitely a candidate for a padded cell and a psychiatric team to pick his brains apart. Except, he’d been perfectly lucid through the meal and their recent conversation. He might be driven half-mad by the pain of his drug withdrawal, but that didn’t make him crazy.

Was she seriously talking herself into turning down Hathaway’s offer of a medical team to replace her? Apparently. Because the next words she typed were,

I’d like a few days to work on this guy. I’ve established the beginnings of trust with him. I think he’ll talk to me given a little more time. I highly doubt he’d cooperate with a psych team.

Your call, Jenn. But be careful.

Right. Careful. There was nothing at all careful about being alone on this island with Jefferson Winston.

One thing he hadn’t lacked for in prison was sleep. There’d been nothing else to do to while away the endless days, and sleep had been his only relief from the creeping advance of his pain.

Jeff dozed in his room for a few hours after he heard Jennifer’s bedroom door close across the hall at about midnight. When he judged she’d had plenty of time to fall into a deep sleep, he eased out of bed and opened his door. He glided stealthily down the hall to the living room.

Triumph surged through him. Jennifer had left her laptop computer sitting on the coffee table. Now he could only pray it wasn’t password protected. He turned it on and waited anxiously for it to boot up. Bingo. A welcome screen popped right up.

It took him a few missteps, but he figured out quickly enough how to connect to the island’s wi-fi network. An internet connection opened automatically. He opened an anonymous public mail server and typed fast.

G., I’m somewhere in the Caribbean, and I’m a mess. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on. You know that pain you predicted if I ever went off my health regimen? You have no idea how right you were. Have L. pull strings to find me and get me what I need ASAP. Hurry. J.

He hit the send button and leaned back, sighing in relief. He poked around her files for any hint of an association with the classified surveillance facility he sought, but found nothing. He’d be relieved if he didn’t think she was too smart to leave that sort of evidence laying around. Quietly, he emptied the computer’s cache and deleted all internet cookies and browsing history before shutting down the system. He crept back to bed and prayed for sleep to relieve him temporarily from his living hell.

Jennifer leaned back against her pillows thoughtfully, staring at the twin computer to the laptop she’d left out in the living room as bait. Who was G.? L. obviously referred to Jeff’s grandfather, Leland. The regimen in the note no doubt was an oblique reference to whatever drugs the guy was addicted to, and his exhortation to hurry meant she was right. The guy was experiencing heavy withdrawal.

She forwarded the entire keystroke sequence from the time Jeff turned on the laptop until he turned it off to the computer guys at H.O.T. Watch. Her technicians should be able to track down this G. person with ease through his or her internet service provider. Her men’s expertise, combined with the legal authority of the federal government, should unravel the mystery in a few hours. Probably by the time she woke up in the morning, they’d know who Jeff’s drug supplier was and what drug he was hooked on.

She shook her head. No way was she letting Jeff get a fresh supply of his drugs. He’d been off them for a couple months already in jail in Ethiopia. He had to be pretty close to busting his addiction for good after so much time had passed. If he could just tough it out a few more days or weeks, he’d be clean. And then he could make a rational decision about his health. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who actually enjoyed being dependent on drugs.

Something about him suggested a sense of decency, honor even, under that uncivilized facade. And she was just the woman to help him rediscover that side of himself.

The State Department could probably spin the attack on El Mari as an unfortunate manifestation of his drug withdrawals. Temporary insanity.

But first, she had to get the real Jeff Winston back. For as sure as she was sitting here, the animal across the hall was not the man she’d read about in her dossier.