Chapter Thirty-Six

Natasha

Everything hurts. When Bastian slammed my head into that dryer, he broke my nose. I was so dizzy, I couldn't stop him from dragging me into that maintenance tunnel. I'd lost my earbud, but I'd seen Raelynn cut Doc free. I'd heard the gunfire. I knew he'd be okay. Even if I wouldn't.

I don't remember what happened after that. Except Doc's face. Something about moving to my right. About not giving up.

The tiny toothbrush blade was my last, desperate attempt to get away. And when it didn't work—when Doc shooting him didn't work—I almost gave in to the soul-crushing fear that I'd failed.

Blood. Pain. A van. And Doc's arms around me.

I can't focus. Doc holds me, rubbing my back in long, gentle strokes. I hear voices from time to time, but my thoughts are too jumbled to make sense of what anyone's saying. Or even who's in the van with us.

Until it stops moving. Only then do I lift my head. My vision tunnels. I'm so dizzy.

"Natasha? Baby? We need to get you upstairs." Doc tips my chin up, and I blink hard until the world isn't quite so fuzzy. He's tired. We both are. But he and Graham get me to my feet. I'm moving. Not exactly walking. But upright.

"Where…are we?"

"The Five Points DuPont Circle," West says as elevator doors close in front of us. "We're staying here tonight. Wren and Ry are monitoring the security cameras from Seattle. We have a couple sets of connecting suites on the seventh floor. Gladys has been enjoying room service all evening. Clive—he works with Dax—has been keeping an eye on her."

Gladys. Thank God. Tears prick at my eyes. Now that we're not in mortal danger, will she be angry with me?

The elevator lumbers open. Ripper and West lead the way halfway down the hall where they wave their phones over adjacent doors.

Ripper's opens first, but before he can take a step, a dark-clad blur rushes him, shoves him against the wall, and wedges a silenced pistol under his chin.

"Who the fuck are you and where the fuck is she?"

West, Inara, Raelynn, and Graham have their guns drawn before the man finishes his sentence. "Drop it," West growls. "Or we end you."

"Not before I end him," the man says. "Answer my goddamn question."

Ripper is frozen, his eyes glassy, his hands balled into fists at his side.

"Rip? Breathe." West's gun shifts almost imperceptibly. "Remember what we talked about last week? What we worked on? You're going to be okay."

"The fuck he is." The man's hold hasn't wavered. Even through the haze of exhaustion, I can see the intention in his eyes. "Where. Is. She?"

Behind us, the guest elevator dings. Rip snaps out of his trance, and it's like someone flipped a switch. He grabs the weapon by the barrel, twists it, and knees the gunman in his family jewels.

"Xavier Francis Tuttle. What the shitsicles are you doing?" Gladys shuffles down the hall, carrying a drink with a little umbrella sticking out of the top of it. A man I've never seen before trails after her. Older. Dark blond hair, and clearly not a stranger, since the team doesn't flinch at the sight of him.

"Gladys? You know this asshole?" West asks. He has the man pinned face down, straddling him with a gun jammed against the back of his head.

"That's my grandson. Sort of. And he's supposed to be in South America." She huffs. "I told Bella I was fine. Better than fine even."

"Gladys," Xavier mumbles into the carpet, "You were kidnapped."

"Not by these people!" She marches right up to West and glares at him. "Let Xavier up. He'll apologize right now." Turning to Ripper, she pats his cheek. "You are a badass, sonny. Not many people can move faster than my Xavier."

"I…uh…need a minute," Rip mumbles and disappears into the room. Another door slams inside.

Graham holsters his weapon. "I'll stay with him. And call Ry."

"Everyone get the fuck inside," West says. "And then we'll talk about why Clive let Gladys leave the room in the first place, how Xavier got in, and why Wren and Ry didn't notice any of this on the camera feeds."

Inara pulls a pair of flexi-cuffs from her pocket. "Hands behind your back, asshole."

"Seriously?" Xavier tries to raise his head, but West jabs the gun harder against his skull. "That's my goddamn grandmother."

"You almost killed one of the best men I know," West says. "So yeah. Seriously."

Easing myself down onto the bed, I take the damp cloth and brush it lightly over Natasha's neck. She only lasted five minutes after we got into the room.

Long enough for Gladys to hug her, and for Xavier to tell West that he got onto the hotel's roof from the building next door, then accessed one of the elevator shafts. From there, looping the camera feed was, in his words, "challenging, but not impossible."

He'd just started to tell us that he works with a black ops group based in Mexico when Natasha's knees buckled, and she pitched into my arms. Raelynn helped me get her into one of the bedrooms, where I found our bags—and my medical kit.

"You want help with her, Doc?"

I should say yes. I could say yes. Only a week ago, I thought Hidden Agenda didn't give a flying fuck about me. But I was wrong. These men and women are as much family as the men I served with.

Instead, I glance over my shoulder at Raelynn. A few strands of her blond hair have come loose from her braid. A fresh bruise swells on her cheek. "No. I'll examine her. If she needs to go to a hospital?—"

"You just holler. We'll make it happen." She backs out of the bedroom and shuts the door with a quiet click.

"Natasha? Open your eyes for me, baby." I brush my fingers along her jaw, one of the few places with no fresh bruises. "You're scaring me."

Her pulse is weak, but steady. With my thumb, I peel back her left eyelid, and she jerks away from my touch with a little whimper, looking around wildly until her gaze locks on me.

"Doc?"

"You're safe. We're both…safe."

Natasha lunges for me, wrapping her arms around my waist with such force, I hiss out a breath.

"Easy now…"

"Oh, God. I'm sorry!" Scooting back on the bed, she swipes at the fresh tears welling in her eyes. "I didn't think?—"

"Come back here."

When she doesn't move, I kick off the too-tight, scuffed shoes those assholes forced me to wear and shift so I can sit next to her, my back against the headboard. "Come. Here. I need you a hell of a lot more than I need to breathe."

"Doc…" Her hoarse laugh eases a fraction of my worry. As does the way she relaxes against me. But too soon, her fingers start moving restlessly along the hem of my shirt. "What happens now? Sapier…?"

"Austin is taking care of him." I skim my lips over her hair. "You were pretty out of it on the ride here. The prison administrator already confessed to his part. Sapier paid him twenty thousand dollars to ‘hire' nine new guards for the night—and give the regulars time off."

"But…they'll be looking for me. I…escaped. The police…the Army…my confession… They fingerprinted me. Booked me. We can't stay here! They'll take me back to prison. Or worse…"

Fuck. She's close to hyperventilating. I cup the back of her neck and seal my mouth to hers. We're both bloody, in pain, and exhausted, but she parts her lips at the first tease of my tongue.

Home. The word that scared her away all those months ago. It's still the only one I have for how she tastes. How I feel when I'm with her. When I met her, I was barely existing. Moving through life without a purpose. Doing the bare minimum just to get through the day.

But now…I'm alive. Because of her.

Natasha's fingers tangle in my hair. But in my desperate need to get closer, our noses bump. Her pained whimper shatters the moment.

I draw back, cursing myself for putting those tears back in her eyes. She doesn't need me to be her lover right now. She needs me to be her damn doctor.

I frame her face with my hands. "Listen to me, baby. Hidden Agenda is taking care of everything. Your record, your confession, all of it. And what they can't fix, Austin and his people will. But right now, I need to examine you. I'm worried you need to go to the hospital."

"No. Don't leave me. Please." She grabs my wrist, her fingers digging into the red welts from the plastic cuffs.

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise. If you need a hospital, they'll just have to accept that I'm staying by your side the entire time. Now lie back so I can take a look at your nose."

The first rays of sunlight stream through a small crack in the drapes. Natasha curls against me, one hand wrapped in mine, the other splayed over my hip.

Bright, white tape stretches across her nose, in stark contrast to the dark bruises around her eyes.

Resetting the broken cartilage almost destroyed me. Even with the topical anesthetic, she cried out more than once. The wounds to her neck weren't deep—thank God. And though she has a concussion from that asshole slamming her head into one of the industrial dryers, there was no evidence of a brain bleed or a skull fracture. We showered together, I helped her into one of my t-shirts, then stayed awake for more than two hours. Holding an ice pack to her forehead. Checking her pulse and blood pressure. Just watching her breathe.

We were lucky. So damn lucky. The stab wound to my arm missed my brachial artery. The stun gun left deep, red burns all along my right side, but those will heal in time.

Soft murmurs come from the main room. A door opens and shuts. Gladys cackles.

Natasha startles awake, then groans in the dim light.

"What hurts?" I ask, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. At the look in her eyes, I grimace. "That was probably a stupid question. Everything?"

"Everything." She snuggles closer to me, tangling our legs under the duvet. "I don't even know what day it is."

I regret the laugh immediately. I need coffee and a handful of ibuprofen. But I manage to get my breathing under control before Natasha starts to worry. "Saturday. I think."

"It'll be busy this weekend. On Blakely." Her tone turns wistful. "I'll miss it there."

"You don't want to go back?" We never had the chance to talk about the future. Hell, she still hasn't told me she loves me, though I don't need her to say it to know it's true.

"I lied to everyone. Gladys said there's nothing to forgive, but Clancy… How can he ever trust me again?" She fiddles with the hem of the soft black t-shirt. "And there's…" Her words fade away. She squeezes her eyes shut. Even nudging her chin doesn't get her to look at me.

"There's what?"

"You," she whispers. A tear escapes under her lashes. "Shit. This shouldn't be so hard."

"Natasha." I slide lower, cupping her breast through the cotton and skating my thumb over her nipple. She shudders at the touch. "They're only words. You don't have to say them. They won't change how I feel."

"I love you." A sob catches in her throat. She opens her eyes. I catch a single tear with my knuckle and whisk it away. "I love you and I don't want to live somewhere you're…not. But you deserve?—"

"Fuck what I deserve," I say with a brief touch of my lips to hers. "I know what I want, Natasha. I want you. I want a life with you. Whether that life is on Blakely, in Seattle, or somewhere new. As long as we're together."

The rich scent of coffee draws us out of the bedroom a little after 8:00 a.m.

"Did you buy out the whole restaurant?" Doc gapes at the trays of food covering every flat surface but the desk. That's reserved for five carafes of coffee.

"There's more in the other suite," West says, ambling in with a delicate china cup in his hand. "Blame Gladys and her ‘grandson.' They were in charge of ordering."

"And paying," Xavier says.

"Only fair. I'm not going to see my wife for a week while she fixes the design flaw you exploited to get in here." The former SEAL shakes his head and tops off his coffee. "Austin called. At 4:32 a.m. this morning, two FBI agents knocked on Nathaniel Sapier's door. He jumped out a second-floor window, stole his neighbor's car, and—with the Fibbies in pursuit—drove said car off the Arlington Memorial Bridge. Divers recovered his body an hour ago."

I shiver, the memory of him dragging the knife down my chest still all too fresh.

Doc wraps his arm around my waist and leads me over to the couch. "Sit down. You're too pale. I'll get us some coffee."

"I got it." Graham emerges from the other bedroom and shuts the door behind him. He wears a t-shirt with a sparkly unicorn prancing across his chest, and his brown hair sticks up in all directions. At my stare, his cheeks tinge pink. "I work at a bar called the Unicorn on the weekends. When we're not on mission, anyway. This is actually Q's shirt. I, uh…sometimes bring it with me if I can."

Gladys shuffles in and plops down next to me. "I think I need to visit this Unicorn place, hot stuff."

"Gladys!" I hiss. "He's in a relationship."

She scoffs. "I know. His man is hot too. He showed me pictures. I'm old. Not blind."

Xavier covers his face with his hands and mutters, "The cartel tortured me for six days last year, and it wasn't this painful."

Over breakfast, Xavier tells us that when he was ten, he and his mother were living on the streets. Gladys and Donald took them in, and though Xavier was recruited by "an agency he can't tell us about" right out of high school, he kept tabs on Gladys and Bella. The minute Gladys called her grand-niece to tell her she was safe—and on her way to the Five Points—Bella called Xavier.

"I was fine," Gladys says with a dramatic sigh. "That girl and I are going to have words when I get home." She turns to Xavier and wags her finger at him. "That young man you threatened last night hasn't shown his face since. You owe him an apology."

"I know." Xavier looks to Graham, who shakes his head.

"Not a good idea, dude. Rip knows why you did it. But he doesn't want to see you. Leave it alone. And maybe…take a hike before too long. He's not coming out until you do."

West slips back through the connecting door. "Got the all clear from CID and the D.C. Police. The records of Natasha's confession, arrest, and incarceration have been erased. Trevor called in a few favors at the CIA and they're investigating GrayZone—and Ambassador Norton. Wren and Zephyr—she works with Austin—are combing through emails and phone records so we can make sure everyone involved is dead and buried, but…it's over, Natasha. You're safe now."

Doc wraps me in his warm embrace, and his deep voice is my anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to carry me away. "Let's go home."