Rescuing Melissa (ALPHA TEAM: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists)

4. Pink Lace

FOUR

Pink Lace

MELISSA

Melissa’s skull felt like it would explode. She dragged a hand to her temple, and a wet tangle of hair greeted her exploring fingers. She cracked an eyelid.Why is it dark? Where the hell am I?

Her ribs ached. Her left hip throbbed. And her arm…hurt. She groaned against biting pain.

“Shh…” An unfamiliar voice spoke. “You’re safe.”

Her vision adjusted to the dim light.

She remembered nothing.

Something crinkled over her body. Thin, but warm, she knocked it off, trying to sit up—wrong move. Pain lanced down her side, and a chill air brushed against her skin, making her shiver.

Light filtered through windows of a…car? How did she get in the back of a car?

A roaring of blood pounded past her ears, and she clamped her hand to her head as pain blossomed anew.

“Try not to move,” the gentle voice said. “You might have a concussion, and I’m worried about your ribs. There was a tornado, but you’re safe in a parking garage.”

There was that crinkling noise again. A hand touched her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” She flinched.

“Darlin’ calm down.” The man’s voice sounded warm and safe.

“Don’t call medarling.” She tried to scoot away, but overwhelming pain pulled her up short.

Scott had used that name. What was it with Southern men and the annoying habit of calling every womandarling? She wasn’t some silly girl. She was a grown woman, strong and self-sufficient. She also found herself trapped in the back of a stranger’s car with no memory of how she’d gotten there.

She wasn’t as cold as she thought she should be, considering her clothes were soaked. Her toes squished in her five-toed running shoes, the only part of her body which didn’t ache.

“Okay, what do you remember?” The man’s deep voice filled the air with sultry tones.

The words dripped like liquid silk from his tongue, splashing over her, and exerting a calming influence. The thick drawl relaxed her as it filled the too-small space of the car with a pleasing warmth, which meant he was far too close.

The faintest scent of sandalwood, musk, and rain hung in the air. There was a click, and a light shined in her eyes. She flinched and cried out from the movement.

“Sorry,” he said.

He turned the light on himself, revealing the sharp angular lines of a smooth, square jaw, a close-cropped military hairstyle, and brilliant blue eyes. He regarded her with intense interest. His eyes sparkled in the light, and his smile touched the edges of those baby-blues. Her heart may have stopped for the briefest moment, but then fear kicked back in, jolting her into a frenzy.

She scooched back, fighting the pain.

He reached for her. Prominent veins climbed the muscles of his forearm and twined around his bicep like vines on a tree.

“Charles James Rowan, Jr., at your service, ma’am, but my friends call me CJ. What’s your name?”

She didn’t take his hand. “Mr. Rowan, can you please explain what I’m doing in the back of your car?”

He winked. “Please, call me CJ. My father was Mr. Rowan. I never had a particular fondness for him.”

She tried to sit—bad idea. A throbbing in her head came moments before a wave of dizziness. She hissed and settled for curling on her right side, which seemed to be the least offensive position.

“Whoa there. Don’t move around like that.”

“Why not?”

“Weren’t you listening? You may have a concussion, and your side’s all bruised up. As soon as it’s safe, I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“Don’t worry; it’ll come back to you.”

“I must look a mess.” Scott would be furious if he found her in the back of a car with another man. Wait, she didn’t have to worry about him anymore, but she still felt wrong breaking a rule, and uncomfortable for not looking her best. Scott always insisted she put her best face to the public.

Another soft laugh warmed the surrounding air.

“I’ve seen worse messes. But I’d have to say; you make a drowned rat look positively stunning.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. The man was honest to a fault.

“Gee, thanks.”

“While we wait for the storm to pass, let’s see if I canjogyour memory. You were running…”

Yes, she’d been out running. Pieces of the morning came flooding back. The signed divorce papers making her once again single. Lightning followed by thunder. Rain, hail, and the greenest sky she’d ever seen. And finally, there had been a crack of lightning. She’d been thrown into the street. The screeching of tires was her last memory.

“Do you usually set out for a run in the middle of a thunderstorm?” he asked.

“Not my best decision.”

His grin brought a smile to her face.

She watched him carefully. His attention never once wavered from her face. Most guys would have ogled her breasts by now. She’d always been self-conscious about the size of her breasts. She pulled the crinkly blanket tighter around her body.

“You said there was a tornado?”

He saved her from more than a lightning strike. She prayed her neighbors were safe. “How bad is the damage? Was anyone else hurt?” She clutched the blanket in her cold hands and shivered.

His lips pressed together. “I don’t know. I scooped you off the pavement and raced into this garage.”

“You saved me?” She sounded like a fool stating the obvious.

“Looked like you needed a helping hand.” He gave her a wink, letting her know he was teasing.

What could she say to that? ‘Thank you,’ seemed trite.

“What kind of blanket is this, anyway? Feels like I’m wrapped in tin foil.”

“It’s an emergency blanket. You were shivering. I put my jacket over you, but it was soaked. I keep an emergency kit in my gear, although I’ve never used the blanket.” Mischief sparkled in his eyes. “I figured it was better than the alternative.”

“What was the alternative?”

“Sharing body heat.”

“Oh…” That silenced any more questions.

He got out of the car.

“Where are you going?” She didn’t want him to leave.

CJ chuckled. “I want to get to the street and call an ambulance.” He paused for a second, his gaze turning to her chest. Leaning in, he extended his hand. “Here, let’s get you out.”

If she didn’t move too fast, the throbbing in her head kept to a minimum. The entire left side of her body protested as she moved forward with CJ’s help.

His strong hands gripped under her arms, and he pulled her free of the vehicle. He lifted her and placed her on the ground, where she weaved on unsteady legs and panted against the pain.

“I’m so cold.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest to steady her.

Into her ear, that honeyed voice murmured, “Give yourself a chance to get your balance. Head all right? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

She shook her head, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over her. She leaned against him and clutched at his forearm. “Um…dizzy. Definitely, dizzy.”

He whispered words of comfort into her ear. “Take it slow. The dizziness will pass. We need to warm you up and get you out of these clothes. You’re a popsicle.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but she leaned into him, loving the warmth of his body. He was dry as a bone while she was two shakes short of dripping wet.

“Fine my ass,” he muttered. “Damn, I should have shared body heat.”

The thought of him curling up to her sent a tingly sensation surging through her veins. Her entire body shook with the chills.

“Okay, we’re getting you out of those wet clothes.” He turned to a duffle bag resting against the rear tire and rummaged around inside. When he stood, he held a pair of black sweatpants in one hand and a shirt and sweatshirt in the other.

“No time for modesty.” He came toward her looking like he would strip off her top.

“No way!” She clutched her arms across her body.

“Trust me.” He set his lips into a determined line.

“I don’t even know you.”

His eyes crinkled. “Don’t worry; I’m a trained paramedic. You have nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before. Now strip.”

No way, but the grim set of his jaw told her he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Fine, but she wouldn’t let him undress her, except her left arm was stiff and didn’t seem to want to work.

She twisted around, turning her back to him. That seemed to be the only modesty she’d be allowed.

CJ lifted her shirt, his warm fingers pressed against her cool skin. He raised the wet fabric over her head, even guiding her arms through the sleeves until she was left standing naked above the waist except for the pink lace of her running bra.

She was standing in front of the side mirror. It gave him a perfect view of her breasts.

He caught her gaze in the reflection and tipped his head. “I’m a professional, but I’m not dead.” He lowered the shirt he’d pulled out of the duffle bag over her head.

The sleeves hung well past her fingers, and the hem brushed her knees. Shapeless, the shirt was warm and dry, much better than her wet running gear. Thankfully, the shirt was black, because the water from her bra seeped into the fabric.

CJ bent to his knees, his intent clear.

She stepped away. “Oh no. I can do this on my own. You go stand behind that pillar.”

“No can do. You’re swaying on your feet. I don’t want you falling over. Besides, my shirt hangs down to your knees. I won’t see anything you don’t want me to see.”

“Like my breasts?”

“Your breasts were covered by that lacy pink bra. Technically, I haven’t seen them yet.”

Yet? Did that mean he wanted to see them? And did she want him to? She was dizzy, but this time it was for a different reason. That reason stared up at her with sky-blue eyes from where he knelt on the ground.

“All right.” She nodded, conceding he might be right.

His hands touched her outer thighs, and his fingers walked up beneath the shirt to the waistband of her tight running pants. He curled his fingers over the edge of the fabric and pulled the clingy spandex down over her hips. His shirt, as promised, kept her covered.

With CJ’s help, she stepped out of her running pants. He covered her in reverse, helping her step into each leg of the black sweatpants and lifting the pants over her hips.

“Nice shoes,” he commented. “Do you like running in them?”

“I only bought them a few months ago, but they’re comfortable.”

“Not many people like running in those.” CJ stood, still gripping the top of the sweatpants in his hand. “Here, hold on to the waistband. My sweats are big on you.”

She glanced at him. “Well, you have about a hundred pounds on me. How will they stay up?”

He lifted a belt. “With this, but I have to find my knife and poke a hole in it. Your waist is tiny. I bet I could wrap this around you twice.”

Not true, but kind of him to say.

The belt bothered her, though.

She stiffened. During her marriage, she’d developed an aversion to a man holding a belt in his hands. One day, she wouldn’t be plagued by memories of her soon to be dead husband—ex-husband.

And after today, Scott could no longer touch her. It would finally be over, and she could move forward with her life.

“I don’t want to ruin your belt.”

“Well, let’s see. If you wouldn’t mind lifting the shirt.”

“You just want another peek at my bra.” She teased him, then froze at the uncharacteristically forward comment.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” His comment heated her cheeks.

He wrapped the belt around her waist while she held the fabric of the shirt. He poked a hole to make the belt fit, and, despite what he said, it didn’t wrap twice around her waist.

His calloused palm touched her bruised side. “This looks nasty. I’m worried there may be internal bleeding with the amount of bruising you have.” He looked closer. “Seems to have spread.”

“It’s sore, but I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

Already, her body was warming up, and his clothes smelled incredible. She resisted the urge to pull the fabric close and sniff.

“Okay, let’s call for that ambulance. I’ll help you walk.”

When they got to the street, the amount of damage outside surprised her.

The tornado had carved a path of destruction down Main Street, leaving wrecked cars and debris in its wake. Shattered glass and storefronts littered the street. They didn’t see any people, but that wasn’t a surprise. It was almost noon and a Sunday. Most people would’ve been at home, or worshipping at church.

“Tell me more about the tornado,” she said with awe.

“Touched down moments after you launched yourself into the street.”

“I didn’t launch myself into the street. I was tossed.”

“Launched or tossed, next time you want to get a man’s attention, there are far safer ways.”

She bit her lower lip, trying not to laugh. “I wasn’t trying to get your attention. I was struck by lightning.”

“Almost,” he corrected. “If you’d been hit, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

On that sad note, he fished out his cell phone.

Filtered gray light shone down on the town. A faint gusting wind and a sprinkling of rain were all that remained of the massive storm.

A grim expression fixed his face. “A tornado hit the county hospital. They’re diverting to St. John’s in Clear Creek. All the ambulances are busy.”

“That’s over twenty miles away. Maybe you could just take me home? It’s not far from here.”

He shook his head. “No. You need to get checked out by a doctor. I’ll drive you to Clear Creek. Car’s a mess, but it might get us that far. Do you know how to get there?”

She did.

He went to collect the car, loaded her up, and took off down the street, following her directions. They had to swerve around debris. Driving over the smaller stuff had her gritting her teeth against the jarring vibrations.

A hundred questions flashed through her mind. He seemed attracted to her, and, for a moment, she wondered if he would be interested in seeing her again, but she shelved that thought.

While she’d been able to hide from most of the media blitz, Melissa Patterson was a tainted woman. Scott’s infamy fouled her life, seeped into the cracks and crevices, and nothing could ever remove the stain he had left.

If CJ would have realized who she’d been married to, he’d have put her back on that road and let the tornado have her.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and gave herself the only hug she would ever get. For the thousandth time, she cursed Scott for ruining her life.