Predatory Game (17 page)

He didn’t like the idea that he couldn’t keep Saber safe himself, but he couldn’t allow his ego to get in the way. He was still recovering from the operation, and he’d taken too many chances using Zenith in an effort to heal faster. Lily and Eric had counteracted the drug twice and had had to give him blood when his cells went ballistic on him. He’d had the surgery before Saber had come into his life. Maybe he wouldn’t have had she gotten there sooner, but his life had loomed ahead endlessly bleak as he’d listened to Eric outline the technology. It seemed possible, more than possible, to not only walk again, but to be of use.

He let out a sigh. Once again he’d agreed to be an experiment. The military was using bionics for soldiers, but they wore outerwear, nothing as advanced or as complicated as what he had inside of him. He did most of his intense therapy at night while Saber was at the radio station. It was safer for Lily Whitney-Miller to visit when no one was around. She always came with her husband, Ryland Miller, leader of the Special Forces GhostWalker team, and Eric Lambert, the surgeon who had saved Jess’s life. Eric often was on standby during a mission, ready to fly anywhere in the world to assist a fallen GhostWalker, and he came often to treat Jess.

After talking to Logan and arranging for his team to come quickly, he went to the pool. Standing, he dove into the water and used the bionics, forcing his brain to develop neural pathways needed to command his new legs. Cell regeneration was happening, but at a much slower rate than anyone had anticipated. He had to be careful because one of the drugs they used was so dangerous. It healed—and then it killed.

He swam, trying to direct his body to think through the mechanics of each kick. He stood in the shallow end near the network of bars and performed exercises. The water made him light, so if his legs failed—as they often did because his concentration was not exact—it didn’t matter, although he knew Lily would be upset with him for working alone.

When they had operated, he had been so certain he would just stand up and walk. It wasn’t anything like that. All of his training in the SEAL program, his GhostWalker training, none of it compared to this. His head ached constantly. His legs shook and were weak. Pain flashed up his thighs and into his hips. He fell constantly, and that was the worst. His legs just went out from under him, refusing to work if he wasn’t thinking about the mechanics of how they worked every second. The smallest distraction could bring him down.

He cursed over and over as he forced his brain into the pattern of telling his legs how to work. He visualized each muscle, the pathways he needed, the ligaments and tendons, pulleys to force his legs to take small steps. Sweat ran down his body along with droplets of water when he pulled himself to the stairs and sat, his lungs burning and his head screaming.

He’d given himself another bloody nose, the only thing that made him quit. He didn’t want another transfusion. He snagged a towel, furious that he’d ever agreed in the first place. His legs were too weak to hold him up. He exercised twice a day and did physical therapy, but here he was every day, exactly the same, his legs shaking and his head aching and nothing to show for it.

Noticing that the water in the pool bubbled in reaction to his anger, he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was mostly angry that he couldn’t tell Saber. That she wouldn’t tell him about her life. They lived in the same house. He’d seen love in her eyes, tasted it on her lips, yet they couldn’t talk about who they really were.

Cursing, he caught the bars and pulled himself to a standing position. It always amazed him how everything looked so different when he stood up. It amazed him how different he felt. He was a strong man with an amazing amount of upper body strength, his thighs were strong, but the weakness in his calves could send him crashing to the ground in a heartbeat.

He was going to walk to his chair. His fingers curled into two tight fists and determination molded his mouth. He would do it this time. It was only a couple of feet. It was a matter of visualizing the way a leg worked and giving the information to his brain to carry down his body to his calf and foot.

He took a step. Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes. He forced air through his lungs. Jackhammers drilled at his temples and pain shot up his leg. He held the picture in his mind, everything working in tandem, his muscles contracting and expanding. He took a second step. He was so close to his wheelchair, only a scant two feet. A part of him wanted to try to sprint and another part wanted to lunge, keeping his feet in place so he wouldn’t have to use his brain anymore.

His legs shook and he went down hard, crashing to the cement before he could stop himself. He banged his head and one elbow against the ledge as he sprawled awkwardly on the ground. Hell, he couldn’t even fall right anymore. The legs just went with no warning, not giving him enough time to roll or simply brace himself with his arms. He lay there, furious at himself, slapping the cement with his open palm, alternating between swearing and trying to breathe.

The telephone rang, but he was too far away to reach it. He swore again and dragged his body using his arms over the cement tiles. He left a streak of blood behind as the rougher spots took skin. Patsy’s voice came on, ordering him to pick up. He caught at his chair and just lay against it, resting for a minute. Finally, using his upper body strength, he managed to crawl into his chair. By that time Patsy had given up and left him alone. He was grateful. He didn’t want to talk to or see anyone. For just a few moments he had felt totally helpless.

He rolled into his office and slammed the door, locking it, although no one was there to interrupt him. He stared in the mirror at the blood running from the cut on his head and sighed. It was going to be a long night. Technically he should call Lily and report the injuries. With even a small amount of Zenith in his system, he was at risk for bleeding out from even a minor lesion, but he’d be damned if he’d tell her or anyone else he fell.

“H
oly crap, Saber,” Brian said. “You really know how to stir the boss up. He’s cut you off for the rest of the evening. And he’s angry. Really angry. I’m not certain you’re going to want to go home tonight.”

Saber leaned her chin on her palm and eyed him with suspicion. “You didn’t by any chance call him and tell him to tune in to the broadcast, did you? Because I don’t think he usually listens to it.”

Brian put his hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re killing me.”

She fanned her lashes at him, struggling not to get up and kick him. “You should have a little loyalty, Brian. Someday you may need a favor.”

The smile faded from the soundman’s face. “He’s my boss too. He’d fire me over that stunt you pulled—not you,
me.
Everyone at the station knows he’s gone on you. And he’s protective as hell. Sending out an invitation to a crazy man is over the top, Saber, even for you. You can’t talk in that voice and not expect to get a million whacked-out or drunken callers. One time and look, the board’s lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“You didn’t need to tattle on me. We’re grown-ups for heaven’s sake.”

She pushed her hands through her hair in agitation. She’d used her enhanced voice to lure the man who had been calling the station into calling again. She had sent her soft, sexy voice with that buried compulsion out over the airwaves. “To that special someone out there so anxious to reach me, I’m waiting for that call. For my romantic listeners we have a little mood music.”

Brian had thrown his arms into the air, furious with her. “Calhoun is going to murder you,” he mouthed through the glass.

And the tattletale had called the boss. If Jess had heard that recording, he would have known instantly she was using an enhanced voice. Any GhostWalker would. It had definitely been a calculated risk, but she’d just lost if Jess had heard her. She could have strangled Brian for his interference.

She wanted to take the fight away from Jess’s home. If Whitney had sent someone after her, let him come out into the open and try to take her. Hell yes, she’d meet a hundred nutcases if it meant she could keep Jess from harm. Let him be mad. He may have been the biggest badass in the navy at one time, maybe even in the GhostWalker program, but he was locked to a wheelchair now, and she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him.

“I have to agree with Calhoun on this one, Saber. Men like this, calling the station, they think they’re going to go out with you. They’re fixated on you. You can’t agree to meet them. You can’t take their calls and encourage them.”

She bit back her argument and forced a smile. “You’re probably right. I don’t like to be afraid, and he’s so persistent, I thought if I talked with him I wouldn’t be nervous anymore.”

Brian scratched his head, frowning. “You’ve always laughed about these nuts calling you. I didn’t realize they bothered you.”

“Not usually. It’s just that he’s so persistent, you know?” She was supposed to look and act scared, but she didn’t have very much experience in that department. She tried a tentative smile and fluttered her eyelashes, feeling pretty silly. She couldn’t very well admit she planned to beat the crap out of the guy if he touched her or kill him if he threatened Jesse.

“Calhoun put plenty of security guards on the place,” Brian assured her. “No one can get in here. I’ll make certain a couple of them escort you to your car every morning when you get off work.”

“You and I both know security guards aren’t always the best, Brian.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to worry. Calhoun hired the real deal, not the rent-a-cop version. These men know what they’re doing—at least that’s what Calhoun said.”

Saber made her smile even brighter. “Thanks, Brian. I really appreciate your reassuring me. I won’t do anything stupid like that again. I feel much better now that I’ve talked with you about this.” She was going to have to find another way to draw out the caller and assess the threat.

Brian grinned at her, obviously relieved now that she was cooperating with him. He turned away to take the phone calls and she slumped back in her chair and began her Night Siren show.

J
ess paced the length of the living room and open foyer, back and forth, back and forth, thrusting powerfully at the wheels of his racing chair. Saber had been asleep eight hours now; if he didn’t hear her stirring soon he was going to wake her up. And not so gently at that. What had she been thinking last night? Daring some nut to call her. Inviting him to do so. It was just like her.

What had Logan said this morning? Brian had followed her home from the station last night. Why? What was going on between them?

“What are you doing down there?” Saber demanded, leaning her mop of curls over the banister. “Practicing for some kind of race? Wearing holes in carpets?”

“We don’t have a carpet,” he pointed out. No one should look that sexy when they first woke up. Everything went out of his head, leaving a burning desire to pull her into his arms, take possession right there.

“Who needs a carpet, you’re making train tracks,” she laughed, sweeping a hand through her unruly hair, the action pulling her nightshirt taut across her breasts.

Jess let his breath out slowly. “Very funny. Little comedian, aren’t you? Get down here.”

She grinned at him, a saucy, teasing grin. “I don’t think so, Jesse. You sound like a grumpy old bear again. Patsy call?”

“I’d like to get my hands on you.” He meant it as a threat but a vivid picture of her writhing naked beneath him rose up to taunt him. He groaned aloud. Time was catching up with Saber Wynter fast.

“Yeah?” she challenged, tilting her chin, blue eyes dancing with mischief. “What’d I do this time? Leave my nylons hanging in your private bathroom? Did your midnight caller find them and get angry?”

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Her foot slid over the bottom railing, calling attention to her bare legs. “If I’m getting to you, I’m having a great time.” She laughed at his pained expression.

“Will you get down here?” he demanded, exasperated.

“I need a shower. And I have to dress. It wouldn’t do to have Patsy catch me parading around in my night things.”

“I could care less if Patsy walks in. Damn it, Saber, I’m running out of patience.”

“Oooh!” Dramatically she clutched at her heart. “I’m so scared!”

Jess couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. “You’re such a brat. I’m coming up.”

“No!” Alarmed, Saber caught at the banister. “I’ll be right down. Really, Jesse, I promise. Five minutes.”

He wanted to kiss that look right off her face. She could wreak havoc with his body so easily. “All right.” He conceded her the time grudgingly. How was he ever going to gain the upper hand with her, when all it took to wrap him around her little finger was a flashing look from her blue eyes?

He entered the kitchen to make her fresh coffee. Upstairs the water went on and he found himself smiling. She took more showers than anyone he knew. The smile faded as the image of the radio station’s night soundman rose up.

Brian Hutton. Tall, muscular, good looking, he was twenty-seven years old, closer to Saber’s age. At least he thought so. He didn’t even know her age. How close were they? Funny, he had never thought to be threatened by Brian. Saber had worked with him every night for ten months, nearly eleven, and she talked about him often. Why would the man follow her home from work?

Everyone at the station knew Saber lived with Jess, at least half of his employees thought she was sleeping with him. He had never corrected the assumption.

Saber ran into the room, barefoot, hair still damp in little ringlets all over her head, eyes dancing at him. “Did I make it?” Abruptly the smile faded and she hurried to his side, sweeping back the hair that was falling across his forehead. “What have you done to yourself?”

His body stirred uncomfortably, jeans suddenly tight. “You’re two minutes late.” He tried to sound severe.

“Jesse, answer me. You cut your head. It looks bad. There’s bruising and swelling. Maybe you should call the doc.”