Читать книгу Her Lieutenant Protector - Lara Lacombe - Страница 10

Chapter 1

Pressure.

No, that wasn’t right. Mallory searched her brain, trying to find the right word to describe the unsettling sensation. Something pulled at her, an insistent tugging at her shoulders and hips that made it hard to focus. She tried to lift her hand to brush away the annoying feeling, but her arm wouldn’t obey her brain’s command.

Her heart kicked hard against her breastbone, panic rising in her chest as she fought against the unexpected paralysis. What was happening to her?

She tried again and managed to shift her leg to the side. It was heavy, the movement sluggish and difficult. But it was a start.

Her eyelids were twin weights trapping her in darkness. Opening her eyes proved too much of a challenge, so she tried to call for help instead. Her tongue was a thick obstruction in her mouth, but she managed to make a sound—a moan, really, but hopefully it was enough to draw attention.

The tugging stopped and a blast of cool air hit her skin. Another strangled sound escaped her throat, and suddenly there was warmth spreading across her torso.

“Shh.” The whisper was hot against her ear, an urgent command that made her catch her breath. Someone was here! They were going to help her!

A split second later a weight descended on her body, pressing her flat. Mallory tried to move away, to ease the pressure on her chest that made it hard to breathe. But the effort was like trying to swim through syrup, her limbs stiff and uncoordinated.

“Just relax. It’s okay.”

It was a nice thought, but her body refused to consider it. She thrashed around as much as she was able, trying to dislodge the crushing burden pinning her down. No matter what this voice said, something was very, very wrong.

“Stop it.” Sharp pain at her wrists cut through her confusion, and she froze. The pain eased, leaving behind a dull ache that throbbed in time with her heart.

“That’s good. Just like that. We’ll be done soon.”

The words swam in her mind, mixing and churning together until she almost lost their meaning. The fumbling started up again, a new hint of violence in the clawing and pulling. She heard the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping, and the noise made her heart stall.

She tried to move, but it was too late.

“No!” She screamed the word over and over again, but all that came out was a muffled sob...

* * *

Mallory jerked awake with a roar of protest, limbs flailing as she fought off the imaginary assailant. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision and shake off the fog of the dream that clung to her mind like sticky cobwebs.

I’m okay. It was only a dream.

She lifted a trembling hand to brush her hair back from her face. The tendrils clung to her cheek and neck, damp with sweat. A vile, bitter taste coated her tongue, and she reached for the glass of water beside her bed, drinking deep in an effort to wash it away. She focused on the cool liquid as it filled her mouth and slid down her throat, using the visceral sensations as a lodestone to help her navigate back to reality.

Her heart fluttered like a panicked bird against her rib cage, the feeling unpleasant and troubling. Mallory took a deep breath, trying to recall the meditation techniques she’d learned over the years in therapy. Clear your mind, her therapist had said. Empty it of all thoughts and just breathe.

“Easier said than done,” she muttered to herself. She pictured a bathtub, imagined herself pulling the plug and watching the water drain. But that reminded her of the aftermath of the rape, when she’d spent what had felt like days in the tub, scrubbing and soaking in a desperate attempt to wash the stain of her violation away...

Nope, don’t go there. She shied away from the memory as if burned, searching for an image that didn’t carry so much emotional baggage.

Her gaze caught on the red numbers of her alarm clock, and she focused on the color. Red was a nice, bright, happy color. The color of apples, of roses.

Of the marks on her body, and the bloodstains on her...

Stop it!

Another deep breath, another attempt to walk back from the cliffs of panic. It was too early to call Avery and Olivia, so she shoved off the bed and began to pace. The carpet was soft under her feet, and she curled her toes into the fibers with every step. There wasn’t a lot of room—it was seven steps from one wall to the other—but she made do.

Fuzz built up under her toes, a testament to the newness of the carpet. Of everything, really. The Abigail Adams was hot off the assembly line and was the most luxurious ship to sail in recent memory. She was also the first ship to have been constructed in the United States in years, which meant she would sail under the US flag, a rarity among cruise ships. It was an honor for Mallory to have been selected to work as the ship’s doctor on the Abigail’s maiden voyage. She closed her eyes, picturing the spacious sick bay with its state-of-the-art equipment, gleaming counters and crisp, white linens. It was a wonderful facility, befitting this crown jewel of cruise ships.

She let her mind wander, reviewing supply lists, protocols, storage locations. It was always a bit of a challenge coming onto a new ship; it took her several days to get familiar with the staff and the facilities. But the people she’d met today had seemed professional and polite, and she knew they were the best of the best. With so many VIPs scheduled to come on board, the company wanted everything to be perfect.

And they picked me.

The reminder filled her with pride and banished the last vestiges of the dream. She was no longer a helpless, scared college student. She was Dr. Mallory Watkins, chief medical officer for the most exclusive ship on the seas. She had overcome the tragedy in her past to rise to the top of her field, and she wasn’t about to let an annoying dream shake her confidence now.

Another glance at the clock told her it was too late—or too early—to go back to bed. She knew from experience she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep easily again, so she might as well start her day. The gym on board was open, and it would be good to get a workout in before the day truly started and she got too busy. Not only did she have a long prelaunch checklist, but her best friends, Olivia Sandoval and Avery Thatcher, were arriving today for the cruise.

Mallory was excited to see them both and to meet the new men in their lives. She was happy her friends had found love, even though it did make her feel a little wistful. In the years since her assault, she’d worked to overcome her fears regarding men and dating, but with limited success. She’d made a few awkward attempts to connect, but it hadn’t worked out. The men she’d tried to date had started out patient and understanding, but they’d all grown tired of her issues with physical intimacy. Her therapist had told her not to stress about it, but that was easier said than done.

“Don’t force yourself to engage in sex until you’re ready,” Dr. Givens had said, her brown eyes warm and kind behind the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses. “Everyone recovers at their own pace, and you can’t judge your progress against artificial benchmarks.”

The logical part of Mallory understood and agreed with Dr. Givens, but her emotional side wondered if she would ever feel safe enough to sleep with a man again.

“Someday,” she muttered, shaking her head as she pulled a T-shirt and yoga pants from the built-in dresser. “I just haven’t met the right man yet.”

It was a juvenile fantasy, the idea that there was some kind of Prince Charming out there for her. Nevertheless, it gave her comfort to think that she wasn’t permanently broken, that she would be able to enjoy intimacy with someone out there.

Avery and Olivia seemed to have found their happily-ever-afters. Maybe it was time Mallory started looking for hers.

* * *

Everest LeBeau slowed his pace for a moment and reached for the water bottle, keeping one hand on the elliptical machine for balance while he twisted off the cap. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have had to throttle back his workout, but thanks to his war injuries those days were behind him.

He replaced the bottle and kicked things up again, gritting his teeth at the ache in his lower right leg. The prosthesis he wore just below his right knee was shifting a little, rubbing the skin of his stump with every step. It was a new prosthesis, and he knew from experience it would take a little time for calluses to build up. Until they did, he was just going to have to deal with the discomfort.

He was used to handling pain. He’d pushed himself to the limit at the army basic officer course, wanting to test his physical capabilities. His classmates had thought he was crazy—everyone knew boot camp was easier for officers, and they thought he should take advantage of the more relaxed standards. They’d laughed at him, right up until the two-week field training exercise when all his extra work had paid off. He’d passed with flying colors and had set a few new records for his efforts. Not bad for a guy from the backwaters of Louisiana. The army had shipped him off to Iraq with a pat on the back and a smile.

The heat of the desert had been uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The dry, oven-like atmosphere had been a novel change from the hot and sticky weather he was used to, but as long as he stayed hydrated, things were bearable, if a mite stifling. The desert wasn’t his favorite place, but it didn’t take him long to settle into a routine with his team. He had this war thing figured out, or so he’d thought.

Until it all came crashing down on a lazy summer day seven years ago.

The IED had done its work with brutal efficiency. The explosion had thrown him clear of the Humvee, and the shock of it had kept him from feeling much of anything at first. It wasn’t until the medics arrived and began to move him that the pain had registered: a white-hot agony radiating from the stump below his right knee... Everest closed his eyes for a second and could almost smell the stale, chalky odor of the desert. He brushed sweat off his forehead, half expecting to feel the fine grit of sand under his fingertips. The stuff had been everywhere, a kind of fine, powdered sugar–like particulate that hung in the air and clung to skin and hair and clothes with ferocious tenacity. Just stepping outside was enough to make a man want a shower, but bathing was a luxury. Even then, Everest hadn’t truly felt clean until he’d been home for a while. Weeks after his return he’d still been sloughing off grains of sand, little reminders of his tour. Of course, it hadn’t helped he’d spent so much time in a hospital bed. Sponge baths were no match for all the layers of desert funk he’d accrued during his tour.

That first real shower, though? Heaven. He could still feel the warm rivulets of water cascading over his shoulders, down his chest and back. It had been so damn amazing to feel clean again, it was almost enough to make him forget about his leg. Or rather, the missing parts of his leg. The strangest part of all was that he had felt the water on the soles of his feet—both of them. In fact, if he’d kept his eyes closed, he’d been able to feel the shower spray on both legs, not just the one he still had. He mentioned it to the doctor, and the man had nodded knowingly, a small, sad smile on his face.

“It’s a phantom sensation,” he’d explained. “We don’t know why it happens, but it’s not uncommon for amputees to still feel their missing limb.”

The pain had come later, a wrenching, bone-crushing sensation that nearly took his breath away. Even now, he still wasn’t used to the intensity of the sensation, or the incongruity of it. How could the ghost of a limb cause so much agony? More important, why did his brain insist on betraying him like that?

Fortunately, the attacks of phantom pain had grown less frequent over the years. Physical therapy had helped, as had the prosthetic legs he’d used. His limb felt somewhat whole again when he wore the prosthesis, and apparently that was enough to convince his brain that things were working as they should. It had been a long, hard road to reclaim his mobility, but he wasn’t going to dwell on the past. He’d left the desert behind, and he had no desire to go back. He much preferred the beach sand he encountered now while working on a cruise ship.

The glass door of the gym swung wide, and a curvy redhead walked in, pulling up short when she saw him. She clearly hadn’t expected to find anyone here, and he noticed the brief flicker of alarm that passed over her face, there and gone in an instant. Interesting, he mused. What was she afraid of?

Everest nodded at her and tried for a friendly smile. She gave him a guarded wave and headed for the treadmill at the far end of the row. He watched from the corner of his eye as she hopped on and began to warm up, her stride graceful as she moved.

Who was she? As head of security, he made it a point to know all the staff on the ship, even if only on a superficial level. Since this was the Abigail Adams’s maiden voyage, most of the crew was new to him, which meant he had a lot of catching up to do. He would meet everyone, though. He always did.

He slowed his pace as the woman ramped up hers, her footsteps beating out a steady cadence on the tread of the machine. After a few moments of cooldown, he stepped off the elliptical and fought the urge to bend down and rub his leg. He didn’t like people to know about his injury or prosthesis.

Especially not beautiful women.

Even though she was at the opposite end of the row of equipment, Everest could feel her eyes on him as he wiped his face and gathered his water bottle and keys. She reminded him of a cat his family had owned when he’d been a kid. Mittens had spent hours lying in the windowsill, his eyes trained on the birds and squirrels that frequented the backyard feeder. He’d never once lunged or swiped at any of the critters, but he’d known where every visitor was located. Everest got the sense now that this woman was taking his measure in much the same way. He stood a little straighter, his ego demanding he put his best foot forward.

Or his real foot, as it were.

She didn’t try to hide the fact she was watching him. In his experience most women played it coy, glancing away when he met their eyes. Not this one. She kept staring at him, her expression open but with a hint of wariness, like she was trying to assess what he might do. Her eyes widened when he started walking toward her, but she didn’t miss a step.

He stopped in front of her treadmill and placed his right shoe on the engine cover, easing his weight onto his left leg. He glanced down to see if his prosthesis was exposed, but the fabric of his pants kept it hidden. Good.

“Hello.” He raised his voice, hoping it was audible above the noise of her workout.

“Hi.” She didn’t sound thrilled at his interruption, which was an understandable reaction. He’d just have to make it quick, and perhaps he’d get a chance to have a longer conversation with her another time.

“My name is Everest LeBeau. I’m the head of security on the ship, and I wanted to introduce myself, as I don’t remember meeting you.”

She relaxed as he spoke, the fine lines of strain around her eyes and mouth softening as she realized he wasn’t there to bother her. “I’m Mallory Watkins,” she offered. “Ship’s doctor.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replied. He studied her face for a moment, committing her features to memory. It wasn’t a hardship—she was a beautiful woman. Pale skin, auburn hair, dark brown eyes. Not to mention killer cheekbones, accented by the ponytail she wore now. It bounced playfully with every step she took, at odds with her serious expression. She had a kind of girl-next-door quality about her that he found appealing. In another time, she was just the kind of woman he would have wanted to date.

Now? Not a chance. Not only was he still finding his way back to himself again after the injury, but he wasn’t about to mix business with pleasure.

“I won’t bother you any longer,” he said, stepping back. “Enjoy your workout.”

“Thanks,” she replied.

He started to walk away but stopped and turned back after a few steps. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to drop by the sick bay later today. Will you be there?”

“Yes,” she said, a little breathless from her run. He could see the questions in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything else.

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

What are you doing? he chided himself as he headed for the door. He didn’t need to see her again—now that he’d met her, he’d recognize her. It wasn’t like he had any business with her.

But there was something about the way she watched him that piqued his curiosity. Even now, he felt the weight of her gaze as she tracked his movement toward the exit. It wasn’t lust that kept her eyes glued to him; there was no heat in her gaze. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was afraid. But why? Was she trying to hide something?

Mallory Watkins was a woman who had secrets, that much was clear. And despite his better judgment, Everest wanted to know more.