Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Hey, sunshine. Think you could open your eyes for me?”
Ellis blinked, the low voice chasing away the darkness as she allowed her eyes to focus—settle on the face hovering above her. Blue eyes. Brilliant blue that gleamed in the sun—lit up his face. Had they always been that bright? That damn clear? Or had she had blinders on, before?
She definitely hadn’t fully appreciated what she’d had—how lucky she’d been to have Brett in her life. A fact she’d discovered with painful clarity once it had been ripped away. Losing friends and family had hurt.
Losing Brett had been life-altering.
Brett, or did he go strictly by Colt, now?
Because she wasn’t sure she’d heard any of the other men say his real name.
Not that she remembered much. More like ghostly whispers whenever they’d roused her to check on her condition before letting her fade, again.
She’d have to pay attention—get it right because she’d lost the privilege of calling him anything special.
Either way, he smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “Ice was just in here. He thought you should try to eat something. And he has some more meds you need to take before you head back to bed. Think you could sit up? Maybe eat some soup or some bread?”
She frowned. “Ice?” Why did that name sound so familiar?
“Ice. Russel Foster. Air Force PJ, or at least, he was. He works for Cannon, now. You met him a few times—”
“Right. Ice. Sorry, things are a bit…fuzzy. I didn’t make the connection to back…” She cleared her throat. Talking about the past was not the road she wanted to go down. “Anyway, I assume he’s the one who stitched me up? Saved my life? Other than you and Cannon. If you hadn’t opened the door…”
She’d be dead. Lying in a pool of blood on the doorstep. Had there been a mat? Something to help contain the spillage? Or would they have had to clean it all up? Wash it away just like her past had been washed away.
Brett shrugged, though his eyes narrowed.
Darkened. And a slash of red crept along his cheeks.
“I’ll be honest. I don’t know how Ice does it.
Looking at you…” He swallowed, and she could have sworn it had taken strength.
Concentration just to get his throat to work.
“Let’s just say it’s a good thing the man works miracles. So, some soup?”
He actually expected her to eat when simply sitting there, breathing in his scent, his very presence, tied her stomach into a thousand knots? Made the thought of eating seem as hard as escaping had been?
He didn’t seem the least bit…off. Was the same calm, cool, soldier she’d fallen in love with. And she’d done her best to become just like him over the past few years, only without the compassion. She’d heard her colleagues describe her as hardened. Cold. And that’s the way she preferred it.
Except here. With Brett—Colt. Damn, she hated not knowing how to interact without crossing lines she couldn’t see.
Her intelligence—her ability to communicate—had always been her strongest asset.
The reason she’d joined the service—had gone into Military Intelligence.
And now, she was left floundering. Relying only on the physical skills she’d honed over the past few years.
“El? You okay? Should I get Ice back in here?” He turned, but she managed to grab his arm. Stop him.
Damn, the man was strong. Muscled. Not that he hadn’t been before, but he’d taken it to a new level. As if he’d spent every spare moment over the past five years moving as much iron as he could. And it showed.
“I…It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need you to call Ice. And I was hoping I could start off with a trip to the bathroom. Is it far?”
Christ, she must be losing it if she was questioning if she could walk to the bathroom. Though, she’d be lying if she said simply grabbing Brett’s arm hadn’t cost her some of her energy. Felt as if she’d been drained by over half, already.
“Not far, at all. Though, in your case, it might as well be on the moon. Ice says you’re better but…you still look like death to me. And I can feel your grip weakening as we speak.”
He shuffled so he was perpendicular to the bed instead of hovering over her. “Can you put your arms around my neck? It’ll be more comfortable for you that way.”
“More comfortable when you do what, exactly?”
“Carry you.”
She snorted. “I think I can walk to the bathroom without keeling over.”
“Would you care to wager on that? Because I lost fifty bucks on a hockey game the other night, and this would be easy money.”
“I can see hanging around with Cannon all this time has improved your charm.”
“Sweeter than ever. Now, are you going to accept my help, or should I just call Ice in so he can be here when you give yourself a concussion?” He winked at her.
Actually winked, the jerk. “I don’t think he had to treat you for that, yet.
Might be a refreshing change from gunshot wounds and electrical burns. ”
That tone. The one he’d used that first night when he said they’d talk—it was back.
As if her wounds had upset him—angered him.
And by the sounds of it, they knew far more than she wanted them to.
Had deduced she’d been held. Which, of course, they had.
They’d seen their share of captive prisoners—had rescued enough brothers from enemy forces—to know interrogation techniques when they saw them.
Though, the burns hadn’t been that obvious.
Her captures had seen to that—less evidence to connect back to them.
But…Ice was thorough. Had been a damn good medic from what she remembered—the praise he’d gotten from Brett and the others.
Stood to reason he hadn’t missed anything.
Ellis sighed. “Wasn’t exactly a fun time for me, either, but… Fine. I’d appreciate the lift. Just this once.”
“Right. Arms…”
She reached up when he leaned down, groaning against the burn through her side.
She hated that he was right. That she wouldn’t have made it any farther than she had the other night before falling down.
Not that she’d admit it. She’d worked hard since joining the Agency to overcome any physical weakness the military hadn’t beaten out of her, and admitting to some, now, wasn’t going to help her fight back against the company.
The one she’d thought was honorable—was dedicated to waging the war against terrorism.
Colt waited for her to thread her fingers together behind his neck before scooping her into his arms. She inhaled when the tee rode up, dangerously close to baring her ass.
Not that he hadn’t seen it before, but… They weren’t together.
Weren’t a couple. And somehow, being naked beneath the shirt made her feel more vulnerable than when she’d been down to a bra and panties with the creeps who’d tortured her.
Probably had something to do with the butterflies congregating inside her stomach. The ones that wouldn’t sit still and insisted on fluttering about. That or the way her pulse kicked up the moment he pressed her against his chest.
Brett tsked. “You’ve lost weight. Was there something wrong with how you looked before? Did some asshole tell you that you weren’t pretty enough? Make you feel like you had to conform to some Hollywood ideal?”
Did he seriously think she’d had any kind of life since him? That the changes in her appearance hadn’t been wrought out of necessity?
“There haven’t been any guys, assholes or otherwise. And it’s called training. I actually weigh about the same, it just looks different.”
“Badass. Yeah, we noticed.”
He stopped at the door to the ensuite. Five steps. That’s all it had taken to cross the room. And about three more than she probably could have achieved.
He placed her gently on her feet. “Do you think—”
“Got it covered. Promise.”
He frowned, glancing from the toilet over to the sink then back. “You sure? It’s not far, but…”
“Positive. More than enough items to brace myself on. I’m good.”
His frown deepened, but he nodded. “I’ll be right outside. If you think, for even a second, you’re going to fall or pass out…”
“I’ll call for backup.”
“Stubborn.”
But he reached in after she’d made her way inside and closed the door, giving her some much-needed privacy.
Which should have made it easier to breathe, but knowing he was standing on the other side, listening—and she knew he was.
Waiting for the slightest indication she was in trouble—only increased the tight feeling in her chest, and she had to physically force in a few deep inhalations before she was able to stumble to the toilet—take care of business.
Groping her way to the sink was harder than she’d anticipated, the stitches in her side pulling with each step.
And when had her legs gotten so weak? Standing shouldn’t be this hard.
She’d been doing it all her life. Yet, her muscles shook as she turned on the taps—managed to splash some water on her face.
God, she looked as if she’d gone a few rounds in the ring and lost. Horribly.
Ellis glanced longingly at the shower. What she wouldn’t give for five minutes under the spray.
Wash the grime out of her hair—bits of dried blood off her skin.
Brett or Ice or one of his buddies had obviously cleaned her up as much as possible, but it didn’t compare to cascading water.
To the feeling of rinsing all her troubles away.
And there was that lingering feel of those bastard’s hands on her skin. The rough glide of their palms. The stench of sweat and smoke.
“El? You okay?”
Did he have to keep calling her that? The nickname only he’d ever used?
She’d never really liked her name—the short forms even less.
So, to everyone she’d ever met, it had been Ellis.
Not El or Ellie. Ellis. Until she’d met Brett.
The way the single syllable had rolled off his lips… It had felt right. Hearing it, now…