Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

He'd frightened Marlowe and Asher didn't understand why. It was obvious, the way she fidgeted with the edge of her blanket, and how her feet bobbed beneath the blanket.

"What do you want to talk about, huh?" she asked defensively.

"About everything. How do you feel, for starters?" His gaze settled on her restless feet. "Can you walk? Feel like getting out of here? Maybe go for a ride?"

"Umm, yes, sure. I'd like to do something besides lay around."

Asher jumped to his feet and hit the call button attached to the railing at her right.

Marlowe inhaled a deep breath. "Hmmmm. You smell good," she whispered.

He looked down at her bruised, but healing, face. "Well, thanks, I guess. Never had a woman tell me that before."

The shock on her face was comical. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. He couldn't help grinning. "Why, there you are," he murmured, running the back of his index finger over her cheek. "Nice to see you again, Marlowe."

"Hi," she answered quietly.

Her skin was unexpectedly soft and smooth. The urge to kiss her came out of nowhere, but just in time, a firm knock at the door brought Asher back to his senses and the reason he was there. He needed answers. Not a relationship.

"Hey, Asher." Judy Mortimer rolled in the wheelchair he'd requested when he'd greeted her earlier. "Hi, Marlowe, I'm Judy Mortimer, and I'll be your nurse today. How are you feeling?"

"Hi, Judy. I'm okay, I guess."

"Just okay? Then we must be doing something wrong. Let me check your stats before you leave. How's your head?" Judy whipped the stethoscope from her neck and clipped an oximeter on Marlowe's finger. "This won't take long. Hmmm… heart sounds good. No temp. Your oxygen sat is excellent. Can't get better than ninety-nine percent, can we?"

"A hundred would be nice," Marlowe murmured.

"Yes, and you're close to that, aren't you? I still need to know how your head feels. You have a serious concussion, and you absolutely have to take things easy until you're okayed for PT. Especially with that repaired retina. No strenuous activity, get plenty of rest, and for Pete's sake, no falling. Any pain, dizziness, or feeling like you're going to faint or need to throw up?"

Marlowe shook her head slightly. "Not today. Libby took me for a walk earlier, in a walker. Made me feel like an old lady. Does that count?"

"Ah, ah, ah, none of that now. You aren't old, but you are recovering from getting too close to Death's door. How's your shoulder pain. Bearable?"

Marlowe nodded. "Yes, can I take the sling off now?"

"Nope, not until Libby says you can. Same goes for the eye patch. But don't worry, you're a fast healer and you'll be out of here in no time." Judy looked sternly at Asher. "You are taking her to the barn, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, relieved to hear how normal Marlowe's stats were.

"Well, pick a good one."

"Does Harley raise any bad ones?"

Judy looped the stethoscope back around her neck. "No, he doesn't, but compatibility is key. Ah, why am I telling you that? You'll know the moment you see the right one. Now let's get WW here on her feet and on her way. Time's a wasting." She tugged the oximeter off Marlowe's finger.

"WW?" Marlowe asked.

"Yup, the staff nicknamed you Wonder Woman , so don't be surprised if their kids ask for your autograph."

"Why?"

"Because you survived the Taliban, honey. Ready?"

"I'm pretty sure Marlowe was born ready, right?" Asher asked, as Judy unhooked the IV from Marlowe's arm and helped her up and into a thick, long, blue robe that covered her from her neck to toes. Marlowe tugged her beanie farther down over her ears. A spiffy pair of gray socks with bright yellow rubber dots on the soles went on her feet next.

Once Asher had Marlowe settled in the wheelchair, he told Judy, "We won't be long."

"Good, but don't wear her out. Recuperation requires energy she still doesn't have. If she's not back here by noon, I'll come looking for you." Judy pretty much treated all agents like she did her twin boys. She was bossy, and she meant what she said, but she was also a devoted caregiver.

"Yes, ma'am," Asher said, saluting smartly. He wheeled Marlowe down the hallway to the elevator, giving her a quick tour of this portion of TEAM Headquarters as they went.

"You have an ICU here? Why?"

He leaned over her shoulder as they rolled past the two vacant ICU rooms into the waiting elevator. "Those are fairly new. We didn't need that level of care until someone tried to kill Kelsey last fall. After that, the on-site medical unit and the multiple-level basement made sense. My boss is your typical Type A personality, so he went overboard and added an intensive care unit. But I've got to hand it to him, the man's got foresight."

"Hmmm, I'd like to meet him someday."

"I can arrange that, especially if you're planning to meet his wife. Kelsey's one of the women Libby was talking about. I think you'll like them, but Kelsey's special. You just wait. She's going to love you." Asher hit the up button for the ground level. In seconds he was pushing Marlowe into TEAM HQ's lobby. "Hey Paige," he called to the receptionist at the customer service desk opposite the floor-to-ceiling glass entrance doors.

"Oh, my goodness, is that our very own Wonder Woman ? Wait up." Like a woman on a mission, Paige Royal scooted around her twenty-foot-long desk and ran to greet Marlowe.

Asher hadn't thought to warn Marlowe that Paige was a hugger. The poor thing went statue-stiff when Paige's arms wrapped around her, sling and all. Paige didn't seem to notice she was smothering Marlowe, or that Marlowe wasn't responding in kind. Not until Asher coughed politely and whispered, "Back off, Paige. Sometimes less is more."

"Oh, well, sure. So how are you doing WW? Do you need anything? A big-screen TV? Your own personal refrigerator? Your bracelets?" Paige giggled. She was overly enthusiastic, and Marlowe probably didn't even know or care what a big screen was, not the way she arched away from Paige.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see your sling. Did I hug you too hard?" Paige asked, still set on hyper-friendly, while Marlowe radiated a definite get-the-hell-away-from-me vibe.

"Geez, Paige, she's still healing. Give her a little room," Asher teased. He knew then he needed to get the word out to all TEAM personnel to give Marlowe space when they met her. To respect her comfort zone, no matter how large it might end up being. In Paige's case, a few feet would've worked better than this effusive, too-close-for-comfort welcome.

"No, I'm… I'm fine," Marlowe finally answered, her voice rough and unfriendly. "Just overwhelmed being back in America, when just a couple days ago, I was on the other side of the gawddamned world!"

Ouch. Make that rough, unfriendly, and hostile.

"Three days ago, honey," Asher gently advised the stressed-out woman in the wheelchair, before Paige jumped in with a correction and got her head bitten off again.

Chastised, she took a half-step back, then did what she should've done in the first place. Paige took a knee beside Marlowe's wheelchair, which put them on the same level, and instead of touching without asking, she simply said, "Welcome home, Ms. Rich, and if I can help in any way, please let me know."

Marlowe sat there trembling, so Asher intervened. "Sorry, Paige, but we need to get moving."

"Sure. No problem." She lifted to her feet. "Have your phone with you?"

"Yes. Always."

"Good, because we're on high alert until we know where your friendly nurse in Pakistan went. She disappeared after Ambassador Clark was flown back to the States yesterday. He's in the ICU at Walter Reed. Seems he inhaled a lethal dose of anthrax."

"Anthrax? Shit, is he going to be okay?"

Page nodded. "Yes, the embassy doctor recognized the symptoms and quarantined Clark until he could get him home. A team of State Department investigators are at the embassy now. Hopefully, they'll find who tried to kill him and drag that person back home with them when they return."

"How'd they get anthrax? Was it in the clinic, too?" Asher hoped not, for Marlowe's sake.

"No. They haven't found anthrax anywhere but in the ductwork at the ambassador's residence. The investigators believe it was delivered through the air vents via aerosol spray, but that's just a theory. Until they run DNA tests, they can't pin down the exact version they're dealing with. They need genomes and plasmids and" —Paige waved her fingers at Asher— "you know, all the technical DNA stuff I know nothing about." She looked down at Marlowe. "I'm serious, Ms. Rich. I can get anything you want or need, all you have to do is ask. Even if it's just a box of chocolates."

"Thank you," Marlowe answered politely. "A chocolate bar would be nice."

"Any specific brand?"

The slightest smile poked at the corners of Marlowe's lips. "It's been a long time since I've had any. Surprise me?"

"You bet. I'll stop by your room later, and if you're not back, I'll leave it where you can see it. Deal?"

"Deal. And, umm, thanks."

"You're welcome, Ms. Rich."

"You can, umm, call me Marlowe."

"And you can call me Paige. I'll talk to you soon."

Asher breathed a sigh of relief. No girl fight today.

"Keep me informed," he told Paige, as he wheeled Marlowe out the door and into the sunny, spring day, before they ran into anyone else. Most agents were on assignment. Those who weren't, were probably in their offices working on after-action reports. Murphy and Mark, the two senior agents, were sticklers for details. They never accepted the first draft.

"Do you think that weird nurse poisoned the ambassador?" Marlowe asked as he took a sharp left, headed for the first of two barns on TEAM HQ property.

Immediately, several dogs in the outside kennels spotted him and started barking. "I think she had something to do with it."

"She was creepy. I didn't like her. She never looked at me, and she talked down to you like you were a three-year old."

A smile sparked Asher's lips as he headed down the gradual incline to the barn. Marlowe was protective of him? That was new. "Well, she'll get hers, so don't let her spoil our day. Are you warm enough?"

What was wrong with him? Our day ? This wasn't our day . It was just another day . Nothing special about it. Our day made it sound like there was something going on between him and Marlowe when there wasn't.

"Yes, this robe is warm. I like it, but the dots on these socks hurt when I stand on them."

"How did you walk with Libby?" She'd sounded proud of her progress earlier.

Marlowe shrugged. "My feet weren't as sore then, and I had slippers on, not socks."

That those tiny rubber dots hurt told Asher how stubborn she was and how badly damaged her feet were. The doctor at the Pakistan Embassy had meticulously dug thorns, rock chips, and debris out of her soles, but he'd had to stitch the deepest wounds, and those would take time to heal. Mental note to self: tell Libby Marlowe's feet needed more attention.

She'd been dragged barefoot up that mountain, and only heaven knew how many miles she'd been fast-marched before those bastards got her into the cave. Asher's gut clenched at what else they could've done to her, but the embassy doctor had assured him that she hadn't been violated. Didn't keep Asher from wanting to kill those three again. Three against one tiny woman? Chicken shits.

"It's good you won't be walking then." Asher slowed the chair to a stop at the open barn door. Harley's barn was divided into three walled-off sections: one for his veterinary practice, another for boarding and breeding kennels, and the last, for a training arena where he taught owners how to handle their comfort dogs. The dogs in the outside kennels quieted now that they realized they weren't getting visitors today.

"That's a lot of big dogs," Marlowe murmured.

"Are you afraid of them?"

"No, I've seen bigger, but they all had handlers, and that was before—" Her jaw snapped shut.

Asher knew what she hadn't said. Most dogs born in Afghanistan were flea-infested, mangy, underfed mutts of no significant breeds. But bigger dogs with handlers could only be US military working dogs, and those handlers were American soldiers, Marines, or Navy SEALs. He carried on as if she hadn't given a tiny piece of her backstory away. "This is the best kennel this side of the Mississippi. Harley Mortimer runs it, and you're here to help me select one of his service dogs, so…" He clapped his hands. "Hop to it."

"Is he Judy's husband?"

"Yes, and he's also one helluva dog breeder, but be prepared. His boys might be working today. Little A is the quiet one and Georgie is… Oh, forget it. They're in school. Never mind."

"Who's the service dog for?"

"Me," Asher admitted, not worried what Marlowe might think of him for needing a comfort animal. It was what it was.

She looked up at him, concern stamped on her poor battered face. "Oh?" she asked, speaking over the excited canines inside. "Do you, umm, have nightmares or something?"

For the first time since he'd met her, Asher noticed Marlowe's one visible eye was blue. Not dark indigo-blue like Libby's, but sky-blue. Bright blue. Like falling-star-in-the-middle-of-the-day blue. He blinked at the electricity crackling between them. His mouth went dry. He'd had these same disjointed feelings for Marlowe in Afghanistan. He could've sworn he'd heard his Grandma Downey whisper, ‘She's the one for you, Asher. Take good care of her.' It had honestly felt like he'd been introduced—until Marlowe nailed his balls and he'd dropped like a sack of shit at her feet.

"If you don't want to talk about it, forget I asked. It's none of my business."

He jolted back to the present at the snark in her apology. "No, it's not that. I'm just…" Shocked that you're brave enough to ask. Brave or tactless, he liked both qualities in a woman. Better than acting like she cared when she didn't. "Yes, I have nightmares, and sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, my house is torn to hell because of them."

"I'm sorry."

The scary thing about Marlowe was how fast she changed from wicked-mean to gentle as a lamb. Like now. She placed a soft hand over his on the chair handle. That simple gesture had him noticing how slender her fingers were. How feminine compared to his thicker, callused fingers. "I have bad dreams, too, Asher. They keep me up at night sometimes, but I… but I…" She chewed her bottom lip. "I've never had a house to wreck, so you're one up on me there."

That revelation hit Asher like a punch to his gut. He dropped to a knee at her side, and, like an overprotective fool, asked, "May I give you a hug? I'll be gentle. I promise I won't hurt you. I just…" Really want to hold you.

Marlowe jerked away as if he'd asked if he could slap her.

Asher opened his big mouth to recall his asinine request. What kind of guy asks permission to hug a woman? Something as simple as that usually happened on its own. But no. He had to go and make it a big deal. Like it meant something. Which it didn't. He'd meant it as a way to get closer to her. To gain her confidence. Nothing more. Nothing, really. Just a friendly hug between a guy and a gal who didn't know each other. Not one thing more.

"Well-l-l-l-l…" Marlowe drew that word out. "I guess. If you have to."

I guess. If you have to. Total rejection. Another big clue. Despite being put in his place, Asher stretched one arm carefully across Marlowe's tense shoulders and delivered the shortest, most awkward, platonic hug in history. He got no response. No attempt to hug back. Hugging her was like hugging a statue. Not as cold, but she might as well've been made of stone.

After mere seconds, he cleared his throat, drew in a deep breath of get-the-hell-over-yourself, and withdrew from the strangest contact in history. He'd forgotten. Marlowe wasn't like most women. She didn't want physical contact, and the tender vibe he'd thought he'd felt before was his imagination. Well, shit. He was right. She still planned on returning to Afghanistan. What had she said back in that cave? "I wasn't hurting anyone. I have work to do."

Okay, then. Lesson learned. Moving on. Asher wheeled her into the barn and prepared to be let down again.