Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

He ignored the burn in his gut that told him those flights would only bring more stress to his wife if she knew the truth about the mission. But there were so many things he could never share about his job.

However, since C-17 night flights were common around Charleston, his wife wouldn't question late takeoffs any more than anyone else in Charleston. All of which made the craft the logical choice to cart the DEA's surveillance equipment—much the same as used during the fateful flight in Rubistan.

With a little luck—okay, a lot of luck—the high-tech equipment loaded down on those pallets would eventually cough up the crucial link to who the hell in the States had sold them out overseas.

And more importantly, how.

J.T. tamped down the twitch of conscience over keeping it from her. After all, he'd had twenty-two years' practice. "I'll be asleep during the day, so you don't have to worry about me being underfoot. But I'll still be on call for whatever you need. Simple. Reasonable."

"I'll manage just fine."

"How do you plan to take care of yourself while Chris is in school? Nikki's exams start next week, so she can't help."

J.T. searched for signs of Rena weakening but she was too preoccupied playing with her hair and driving him crazy. Low-blow time. "You need to be careful for the baby."

Rena sagged back into her pillow. He'd won. "God, J.T., you don't fight back often, but when you do, you sure fight dirty."

"I save it for the battles worth winning." His victory felt hollow as he inventoried the worry, fears, in his proud wife's gaze.

"Fine." Her hands fell back to her lap, a lone curl sneaking free to bob against her chin. "Whatever. You're right and you know it. Thank you for the help."

Where had her fight gone? Seeing Rena deflated, defeated, worried him more than the purpling bruise on her forehead. But he couldn't afford to back down, as dangerous as pressing ahead too hard and fast. "I'll take some stuff back over to the house in the morning."

"Why not now?"

"Because I'm staying here."

Starch inched back up her spine. "But Chris—"

"Bo's staying over." He dropped into the chair beside her bed. "I'm not budging on this one."

Fire heated her brown eyes and J.T. rushed to forestall her argument. "You owe me right now for not telling me about the baby sooner." A truth that seared his gut. Canting forward, elbows on the edge of her mattress, he continued, "Now go to sleep and I'll read my book. It's not like I haven't watched you sleep before."

Her breath caressed his face.

Her face only inches away.

The familiar scent of her favorite peppermint mouthwash and flowery perfume washed through his senses along with images of sharing a bed. And somehow it didn't matter that they were in a hospital, or that divorce papers had already been drawn up.

He wanted her. She wanted him. With an inevitable intensity that had almost incinerated them both three mouths ago.

Tears sheened her brown eyes. From hormones? Or another reason?

Something cracked inside him and he didn't want to examine the fissure too closely to see what lay beneath. But he couldn't stop the urge to take her in his arms, not for passion, just to hold her—

She flinched away.

And he hadn't even moved yet. Apparently she'd read his intent in his eyes and didn't want his comfort. Fine. Okay. No surprise. His hands fisted against the mattress.

She blinked away moist emotions. "Just so we're clear. It's two weeks. And during that time you won't be watching me sleep,"

"Roger." He read her loud and clear. Not that he'd expected to park his boots under her bed—yet—but it still smacked being reminded of the fact.

Emphatically.

Leaning back in the hospital chair, he fished his book from his pocket, the weight of her eyes on him a heavy reminder of all their unfinished business.

He resisted the urge to look back up, which would only instigate a conversation he sure as hell didn't want. Strategy. Too much was at stake here with only fourteen days to persuade her to give things another try. Again. He'd soothed her temper in less than that often enough before. Problem was, the determined glint returning to her eyes made it totally clear.