Undercover Texas

Chapter Four



Stabs of pain peppered Hunter’s neck and shoulders, dragging him out of the dream. Not a dream. A memory.

And one that was long gone and could never be again.

The mattress shifted.

Hunter rolled to his side and forced his eyes open. Erin stood only a few feet away from him, holding Brandon, disbelief and hurt painted on her face.

“You lied about your name, too?” The accusing voice made him wince. “Just who are you, Clay, aka Hunter?”

He froze. The fog around his mind lifted. She hadn’t said, she couldn’t have said—

Oh, man, she knew his name. What else had he revealed? He’d been trained never to disclose important information. He’d faced guns and knives, swords and fists, and he’d never whispered his true identity. To anyone.

He groaned. “Can you forget I said that?” he asked.

“Was anything you told me the truth? Not that you said much. Whenever I asked you a question...” Her voice trailed off and her cheeks flushed.

Hunter knew exactly what she was thinking. The moment was etched into his brain. He’d had more than one dream about it. She’d asked him about his job, and how often he’d traveled. He hadn’t wanted to lie—an unfamiliar urge—so he’d done the next best thing. He’d kissed her. The first time, her cheek. The second time, her lips. The third time...he’d started at the arch of her foot and worked his way up, not missing an inch of skin.

They hadn’t talked again for a long, long time.

How could he answer her? Wasn’t it better for her to hate him? Wouldn’t it make the next steps that much easier for both of them?

“Sometimes the truth isn’t an option.”

He sat up and grimaced. Man, his back hurt.

Erin and the baby blocked his path. “Oh, no, you don’t. I said I’d look at your back and I will. As much as I want to kill you, I don’t want your death on my hands.”

He had to know the extent of the injury. Every movement of his shoulder blade burned like fire. He needed her help, even if she’d prefer to leave him to rot. If his injury got her mind off his name... “There’re some basic supplies in that first-aid kit,” he said, his voice cautious. “Next to the weapons.”

“Yeah, I’m not even bringing up the irony there.”

Erin pulled out the medical kit and placed it next to him, then opened the small refrigerator. Okay, so she was mad. She had every right to be.

Within seconds, she’d settled Brandon on the floor by her feet. He held a sippy cup in his small hands and stared up at Hunter. His son’s big brown eyes looked at him with such trust...so unlike his mother.

And why should she trust him?

He unfastened his life vest and let it fall to the floor.

“Oh, Hunter,” Erin murmured.

He blinked. Blood stained the inside of the orange material. He tried to look over his shoulder. Pain sliced through him and he hissed.

He lifted his arms to unbutton his shirt. She pushed his hands away. “Let me.”

Her voice had gentled. Her fingers worked their way down, but when she tried to slide the material down his back, he couldn’t stop the moan.

She stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“Just get it off,” he bit through clenched teeth. “The wound needs to be cleaned.”

Together they worked his arms out of the shirt, but the material stuck to him.

“You’re going to have to soak it off.”

Resigned, Hunter turned onto his stomach. Erin filled a bowl with water, then returned to his bedside.

“This is going to hurt, Cl—Hunter.”

Great. So much for hoping she wouldn’t remember. “I know it’s going to hurt. Let’s just get it over with. I don’t want Brandon seeing it.”

She hovered over him and sucked in a deep breath.

“Do what you have to do,” he said.

Her hands more gentle than he deserved, she wet down the shirt. Inch by agonizing inch, she pulled the cotton from his body.

Her gasp echoed through the shack.

“Hunter, you’ve been shot.”

* * *

THE SECRET FACILITY BASED JUST outside Langley, Virginia, defined covert. No one used names here. Leona Yates wiped her hands down her dark suit, nodded at the guards and proceeded to the hand scan. Several seconds of whirrs and clicks later, the computer had matched the palm print, and a retinal scan had completed authentication.

“Yates, Leona. Verified,” the mechanized voice confirmed.

She crossed the lobby and pressed a single button. Within moments a solid titanium elevator whooshed her down several levels. With the security and background checks, this was one place Leona had always believed invulnerable.

Now she couldn’t stop her belly from twisting as she grew closer and closer to the man she didn’t want to face.

The doors slid open and Trace Padgett waited to greet her. His strong, powerful figure impressed her, as much for his brains as his well-proven abilities to get the job done. No matter what the obstacle. Which was why her boss had handpicked him.

“The general’s waiting, ma’am,” Trace said, and held out an arm to escort her into the inner sanctum.

She nodded and walked down the barren hallways. “What does he know?” she asked.

“More than we do, most likely,” Trace said.

“He always does.”

Leona licked her lips and entered the general’s office. He cut an impressive figure, his Special Forces experience keeping his eyes sharp and his intuition keen. They were about the same age, but the general’s forehead carried twice as many worry lines. More responsibility. More decisions. More deaths on his hands.

Leona just prayed three more wouldn’t come about on their watch.

General Miller crossed his arms. “Status,” he ordered.

“Terence Mahew was admitted to a Florida hospital. He’s alive but vulnerable. We should bring him in.”

The general nodded at Trace. “Make it happen.”

“Yes, sir.” Trace saluted and exited the room.

“You trust him?” Leona asked quietly, revealing for the first time her discomfort.

Her boss’s eyebrow rose, and then his jaw set. “I have to.”

“Kent—”

“Why didn’t you come to me, Leona? I would have helped you.”

She squirmed under the piercing gaze. “I made Hunter a promise. I couldn’t break it.”

“You may have cost him his life.” Kent’s jaw pulsed with barely controlled fury. “He’s been compromised. And somehow we have to fix it.”

He drummed his fingers over his forearm. Leona recognized the look. “You have a plan.”

“Maybe. I need more intel before I commit. Interview Mahew. Find out who his contact is. We have to identify the leak, Leona. Hunter is too valuable an asset. I won’t lose him.”

“Or his family,” Leona added.

Miller nodded. “I want to know everything Mahew knows—and what he doesn’t realize he knows.”

“And after?”

“He’s murdered at least two innocent people. Do what you think is best.”

With a swallow, Leona gave him a small nod and walked to the door leading from Kent’s office to the situation room. She turned back to her longtime colleague. They’d known each other since their training days. “Kent, I don’t like how this is going down. In fact, I don’t like much of anything that’s happened over the past month or so.”

The general sank into his chair, for the first time showing a fatigue she’d never seen. They’d been through hell together. They’d lost too many men over the years. Was she getting too old for the business? Maybe after this thing with Hunter worked itself out, she’d retire with Chuck and move to the Bahamas. Sea, sand, surf, frosty beverages, no thinking and no terrorists chasing after the people she cared about.

“We’ll fix this, Leona. We can plug the holes on this Titanic.”

“It may not stop the ship from sinking, Kent. You know that as well as I do.” She walked through the door, and the lock snicked closed behind her.

A wall’s worth of monitors greeted her with a flurry of activity. Videos played from all around the globe. She made her way over to a Florida map and the newest addition to the team. Zane Westin had come in on Hunter’s recommendation. He stared at the screen and punched the keyboard in front of him. She’d find out soon enough how good he was. “What’s Mahew’s location?”

A small red dot blinked in front of her. “Burn unit.”

“Any other information?”

“We’ve lost track of Graham. He landed at Eglin yesterday. An unidentified boat exploded off the Florida coast. It matches Hunter’s M.O.”

Leona didn’t comment. She knew all of this. “What about the chatter? Any new indications popping up?”

Zane frowned. “I don’t know why intel wasn’t picking up the signs before. Seems obvious to me. A bigwig scientist, Erin Jamison, was mentioned weeks ago.”

Zane rattled off Erin’s impressive bio.

“Current status?”

The computer jockey’s expression grew grim. “She hasn’t been seen since leaving her office yesterday afternoon. Two bodies were recovered from her burned-up residence. The cops believe she and her one-year-old son died in an accidental gas explosion. It hasn’t hit the news yet.”

Leona stared at Zane. “What do you think?”

“I don’t buy it,” he said softly.

Leona nodded. Hunter had been right. This guy was intuitive and smart. Or he was a fantastic plant.

“Okay, Westin. Not bad. See if you can pinpoint the origin of the chatter.” Leona leaned down, her lips near the man’s ear. “And Westin” she whispered, “don’t give the information to anyone but me. Understood?”

Zane’s gaze met hers. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Leona straightened. “I hope you do.”

* * *

ERIN PRESSED HER FINGERTIPS near the deepest wound on Clay’s back. She’d seen enough movies and television to know a bullet hole when she saw it. The projectile had torn through his flesh.

This would have laid most people out. And yet he still functioned. His color had even improved.

He shifted and tried to roll over.

“Can’t you follow orders? Just this once?” The humidity clawed at her like a wet wool blanket, oppressive and stifling, not to mention that the dampness was a perfect breeding ground for bacteria. She pressed her hands against his left side—the only area not injured. She had to keep him still. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Or do you want to get infected?” she snapped.

She leaned over on Clay’s arms, trying to keep him from turning over, and pressed her mouth against his ear. “If something happens to you, what are we supposed to do? At least let me clean the wounds.”

Brandon jabbered, holding up his arms to her.

Clay glanced over his shoulder at their son. His gaze softened, and then he scowled at her. “Get it over with,” he gritted. “And don’t be gentle.”

She chewed on her lip. She didn’t want to make him hurt worse, but sometimes there had to be pain to heal.

She knew that firsthand.

Erin blinked several times. The weeping burns looked painful. The life jacket had protected him, but not everywhere.

Brandon tugged at her pant leg.

“Hey there, cutie. What can we do to distract you, hmm?”

She glanced around the room and strode to a rickety armoire in the corner.

Brandon whimpered, crawling after her with that odd movement kids used on hardwood floors. Even her one-year-old avoided pain with each motion.

With resolve, she ripped open the doors and riffled through the wardrobe’s drawers. One held some T-shirts, sweatpants and a few socks. She tied a sock in a knot and knelt down to her son.

“Can you play with this for a while, big boy?”

He clutched the makeshift toy and stuffed it into his mouth, grinning up at her.

“Is he okay?” Hunter asked.

“He’ll amuse himself.”

“While you have fun torturing me?”

“I may be mad at you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sorry, lame attempt at a joke. You look so intense.”

“Who wouldn’t?” She picked up the bloody shirt and life jacket and tossed them into the sink, then filled a bowl with water. She took the iodine out of the first-aid kit and squeezed a few drops into her basin.

“What are you doing?”

“Sterilizing the water and trying to keep infection from setting in.” She grabbed a thin rag. “Are you ready?”

“Did you lock the door?” he asked.

“Of course. That rickety fastening may not keep anyone out, but at least it’ll keep Brandon inside.”

A loud bang sounded. She whirled around, then shook her head. Her son had discovered a pot and had turned it into a drum. Bang. Bang. Bang. He chuckled.

Erin sighed. At least he had distracted himself. Ignoring the incessant noise, she carried the supplies back to the bed.

“He’s enthusiastic,” Hunter said.

“You have no idea. I need the energy of two, and even then I doubt I’d keep up.” She took in a deep breath and stared down at Hunter.

Burns, blisters and cuts covered a quarter of his back. The scar she’d explored during their week together remained, but he’d added several in less than two years.

With a deep inhale, she plunged the rag into the water. Inch by inch she cleaned the wounds. Each time she touched a new section, she braced herself for a curse or a shout, but Hunter didn’t make a sound.

She hesitated at the torn flesh under his shoulder blade. Should she dig into the hole or just flush it? Erin couldn’t stop the worry from rising in her throat. “The bullet’s still inside, isn’t it?”

“Nothing exited out the front,” Hunter said through gritted teeth.

Her heart lurched at the pain lacing his voice. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she didn’t have a choice.

“How does it look?” he asked.

She leaned down and studied the hole. “Blood is seeping, but it’s only a trickle. The edges are clean.”

“Okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she pressed around the hole. “Not okay. I’m not a medical doctor. The only training I’ve got is cleaning up Brandon’s scrapes and scratches from his forays into learning to walk. You’ve got a bullet inside you.”

“Yeah, I know. It’ll keep. Put some antibiotic ointment on it for now.”

Really? Granted, she didn’t have that much experience, but were all men as nonchalant about being shot or was this just a Hunter thing?

She applied the cream to the puncture wound and to the burns and scrapes on his shoulders, then dug through the first-aid kid and bandaged the most vulnerable spots.

“That’s the best I can do.”

Hunter shifted his body. “Thanks. You did great.”

“What about the bullet?”

He grimaced. “I hadn’t wanted to bring anybody else in, but I can’t afford to be out of it, and bullet wounds are notorious for getting infected.”

Gingerly, he rolled to his side and sat up.

He slipped a phone from his pants pocket and pressed a code into the keys, then placed the phone against his ear.

“Fabiano.”

Thank God the medic had answered. “It’s Hunter.”

“What the hell’s going on? There are rumors everywhere. Some say you’ve gone AWOL. Some suggest PTSD, or even rogue.”

Hunter stilled. “What are you talking about?” This wasn’t part of the plan.

Something tugged at Hunter’s pants. He glanced down, and his son’s mischievous smile grinned up at him. His heart overflowing, Hunter held out his finger and Brandon grabbed hold, squeezing tight, standing up, if not a bit wobbly. The little guy had quite the grip. He tugged Hunter’s finger into his mouth and started chewing.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re into, bud,” Doc said, “but it’s hitting the fan here. I’ve never seen the place so chaotic.”

“I need your help.” Hunter rubbed his temple. “And I want you to keep Leona out of it.”

She’d be furious, but Doc’s information made the decision easy. Hunter would do everything in his power to keep Leona from coming to him. First, she hadn’t been in the field in years; second, her husband would probably take out a hit on Hunter if he involved Leona in something that was looking more and more like a cluster of trouble.

“What are you into, Hunter?”

“She’s risked enough for me. I can’t let her do more.”

“You know I’m there. What’s wrong?” Doc barked the question.

“I’ve got a slug in my back. Bring a medical-surgical kit and keep yourself under the radar.”

“How bad?”

Hunter shifted his shoulder. If the bullet had hit his lungs or anything vital, he’d already be dead. Still, he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He didn’t know how long it would take to get Erin and Brandon to safety. He couldn’t chance any more complications. “I haven’t bled out, so that’s good, right?”

Doc let out a violent curse. “Where are you?”

“Are we secure?”

Doc paused. Hunter listened for the clicks indicating his teammate had encrypted the call.

Hunter rattled off the coordinates. “You’ll need a boat.”

“Don’t die on me until I get there.”

“I’ll try to avoid it,” Hunter said, and smiled down at his son.

Brandon let out a loud laugh, the giggle echoing through the room.

“Was that a baby?” Doc asked, his tone shocked.

“Maybe. Just get here.”

“You must have some story to tell. I’m in Virginia. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Keep it low profile. It’s more important than anything I’ve ever asked.” Brandon grabbed Hunter’s leg and hugged him. Hunter couldn’t stop his eyes from burning as he touched his little boy’s hair. He cleared his throat. “You get me?”

“We’re a team. When have I ever let you down?”

Never. And that wouldn’t change.

Hunter ended the call and met Erin’s gaze. “Help is on the way.”

“So you say.”

She paced back and forth. “Look, I’m glad you’re not dying, but I don’t understand any of this. What are we doing here? Why can’t I just take you to a hospital? Those guys who tried to kill us are dead now.”

“They’re not the only ones after you, Erin. I thought you’d accepted that.”

“Why should I believe anything you’ve said to me? I’m barely processing that the man who abandoned me in Santorini whom I had finally gotten over isn’t the man sitting on that bed just three feet away with a bullet in his back.”

“I’m sorry that this happened to you, but the danger hasn’t ended. Not yet.”

She raised her hand. “Look, Hunter—if that’s your real name. I’m stuck in the middle of a swamp with our one-year-old son, waiting for some unknown doctor to dig a bullet out of you, and you tell me I’m still in trouble.” Erin let out a long, slow breath. “You know something? I realized when I called your so-called company and they’d never heard of you that you were a liar. I’ve accepted that. Now I realize not only are you a liar, but your life is a lie. And I don’t know if I can ever trust you. About anything.”

She scooped up Brandon, stalked to the door, shoved aside the chair and slammed outside. Hunter stood there for a moment. Great. What was he supposed to do now? How could he make her understand?

Truth was, he couldn’t. Not without revealing more than he’d ever intended.

“What a mess.”

He had to tell Erin just enough to scare the hell out of her and make her embrace his plans for her and Brandon, without giving her enough information that she’d end up expendable.

“How am I supposed to convince her to do this?” he said to the empty room.

It wasn’t every day you asked someone to give up her life, her dreams...everything.

The trill of the cicadas outside grew, and the underlying cackle of a heron pierced through the noise. A shriek of laughter sounded from outside, cutting through the chattering of the birds, but the joy didn’t make Hunter smile. It just opened the scar where his heart had been.

“Brandon, no,” Erin screamed.

Hunter leaped to his feet and raced to the door. He slammed outside. In the dim light, a blunt-nosed alligator at least fifteen feet long hissed at Erin.

She’d climbed onto the porch rail, her face white, with Brandon in her grasp.

The prehistoric beast opened his mouth, looking at them like a snack. It lunged and snapped. Hunter leaped between Erin and the jaws of the beast.

“Make noise,” he shouted at Erin.

She shouted and banged a stick on the porch railings. Brandon squealed, his little forehead furrowed, unsure if this was supposed to be fun.

“Where did it come from?” Hunter shouted.

The alligator lunged at them. Hunter narrowed his gaze. He could poke the gator’s eyes, but he didn’t want to get in a wrestling match so close to the water. The huge animal could drag him into a death roll way too easily.

“We were about ten yards from the east side of the porch,” Erin said, her voice shaking.

Hunter glanced in that direction. Sure enough, nestled in a small area near the water, he caught sight of the tops of three eggs. “Get inside,” he shouted. “She’s defending her eggs.”

Erin backed toward the door slowly and disappeared with Brandon into the shack.

Hunter slipped between the slots on the porch toward the eggs. The gator followed, her mouth wide. He paused near the nest. The alligator scrambled at him, its movements jerky and fast, but intent.

“Okay, Mama. I’m not planning to hurt your babies.”

He sprinted around the backside of the shack, the gator behind him. He’d put some distance between him and the monster jaws when his foot sank into the swamp.

The animal closed in.

Ten feet, five feet. Hunter tugged his foot free. The alligator snapped. Too close. He squinted in the faint light and grabbed a stick. With a quick move, Hunter jabbed at the animal’s eyes.

The move stunned the beast. It backed away, then stilled. Hunter didn’t hesitate. He sprinted around the building.

Once out of the alligator’s line sight, he eased toward the front of the house, quiet so as not to attract the animal’s attention. Gators had excellent hearing.

As the final rays of sun vanished, the alligator grunted several times, hissed and, through the night, returned to her nest and circled, lying in wait.

Hunter’s movements silent, he opened the door, walked in, then barricaded his little family inside.

Erin sat at the kitchen table, shaking, Brandon securely in her arms.

“She was protecting her nest,” Hunter said, studying her pale face. “Are you both okay?”

She cuddled her son. “I’ve been kidnapped by a man who I slept with but didn’t know his name and trapped inside a shack by a prehistoric reptile. What do you think?”

“Not your usual day, huh?” Hunter tried to smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “Even if it’s your fault we almost got eaten.”

Hunter didn’t want to admit how scared he’d been, seeing Erin and his son facing the beast. She could have plucked Brandon in one bite.

He sank into a chair at the table, his legs shaking. “We’ll just stay inside.”

“How long?” Erin asked. “I’m assuming you have a plan. What is it? When do I get my life back?”

Hunter leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Erin. You don’t.”