“Report,” he barked. Bullets sprayed the ground and then stopped.
Sam rose up from the other side of the second jeep. “We’re clear, but we’ve got a problem.”
Gray sprinted toward him. On the other side of the second jeep, Remy leaned heavily against the jeep’s side, bleeding profusely.
14
GRAY SLIPPED THROUGH the darkness toward Laney’s bungalow. Mission accomplished, bad guy in custody. Marcos would be on his way to the mainland and a US military prison within the hour. And Gray was confident that whatever intel the man had would eventually make its way to the right ears. Useful ears. Unfortunately, the mission hadn’t gone entirely his unit’s way. Right now one of his guys was possibly bleeding out, spending the last minutes of his life lying on the jungle floor some eight hundred miles from the Louisiana bayou where he’d been born and raised.
That wasn’t happening on Gray’s watch, not if he could help it. Which explained why he was inbound on Laney’s bungalow, the jungle alive around him with early-morning wake-up noises, and worse, as the birds and the howler monkeys took notice of his presence. He’d abandoned the covert part of covert op in favor of a six-minute mile.
He sprinted up the path, hoping that any early-rising guests would write him off as a fanatic jogger. Unfortunately, time was not on his side. Laney’s bungalow was on the resort’s northern perimeter. Once again, he cursed the resort’s owners for the pro-green stance that had banished golf carts and any other form of motorized transport from Fantasy Island. Bicycles were encouraged, but locked up overnight. By the time he’d picked the lock on the storage shed, he might as well have hoofed it on foot.
When he turned the corner, Laney’s bungalow was dark, the curtains still drawn. He raced up the steps and swiped the keycard through the lock. Ashley had assured him the master card would open any door, and it appeared she’d been correct. The lock flickered green and he heard the door pop. He was in.
Stepping inside, he quietly closed the door behind him. Leaving the door open would invite questions if anyone passed by, and housekeeping would be starting soon. He looked toward the bed, hoping for movement. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to come home to her. Not that he’d thought about it or her during his mission. Not more than once or twice at any rate.
Then he saw her. Sprawled on top of the covers, she wore only a T-shirt and shorts, despite the fact that she’d once again air-conditioned the bungalow to roughly the inner temperature of an igloo. She’d foregone a ponytail, a red-letter day, and brown hair spilled over the pillow, clearly visible in the light from the bathroom. She hated the dark. She’d mentioned that once, sounding sheepish, and he’d thought it was cute. Unlike her, he loved the dark.
The even in and out of her breathing filled the room. God. She looked peaceful. Happy even. He hated like hell to wake her up, but Remy was out of time and she was his best chance at survival.
He crouched down beside the bed and placed one hand on her shoulder. The other he rested near her mouth. He couldn’t risk a scream, but he didn’t want to scare the crap out of her. It was bad enough he’d suddenly materialized in her room without an invite. He wouldn’t make this worse for her if he could help it.
“Laney.” He brushed his mouth over her ear. Okay. So the almost-kiss was for him. He suddenly understood that picture of the sailor kissing a random woman when he docked, sweeping her back and off her feet. He felt the same way when he saw Laney, as if he could laugh and jump into the bed and wrap himself around her. Kiss her some, love her lots.
No. That was the wrong word. He definitely didn’t do love.
“I need a doctor,” he said, more roughly than he’d intended.
She came awake in a rush and it was easy to imagine her as the attending doctor at a hospital, catching a catnap in an empty room. Waking up when the nurse came in or the pager went off. She woke up as if she expected it, as if she’d never quite allowed herself to relax completely.
“Gray?” His name, sleepy and soft.
“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.” He touched her cheek. The gesture was selfish, but he couldn’t help himself. Teammates had used the words big, mean and bastard to describe Gray, and they weren’t wrong. He certainly had no business inviting himself into her bedroom, no matter how welcome she’d made him before. The regret was a new emotion, regret for what he’d done, the women he’d slept with. Funny how sex had seemed to fill the empty hole inside him but now he felt emptier than ever.
“I hate to ask this.” But he would.