The Midnight Hour (2 page)

Ashton settled comfortably in the chair and continued talking, hoping mat Sir Drake was listening and praying that somehow, he was being pulled back into the land of me living.

The mysterious figure hesitated just out of reach of Drake Warren's door, not expecting to find a marine sentry posted there. The marine quickly glanced at the name tag on the doctor's jacket and snapped to attention as he stepped aside. "Colonel Chadwick."

"At ease. I'm here to see the patient." "Yes, Colonel, but he has a visitor." Dr. Chadwick raised a brow. "At this hour?" "Colonel Ashton Sinclair has been in the room for over four hours."

Colonel Ashton Sinclair? He was supposed to be in Baghdad! This bit of news didn't sit well, but the plans had to be carried out. Time was of the essence.

Dr. Chadwick nodded and slowly opened the hospital room door and went in.

Ashton sat there, listening to the rhythm of his friend's

breathing.

Nothing he had said had caused even a twitch. When he heard the hospital door open, Ashton turned, thinking it was Trevor returning, but it was only another doctor. He stood and crossed the room, not wanting Drake to hear his conversation with the physician.

"I need to check on the patient," Dr. Chadwick said, looking over the chart.

Ashton raised a brow and noted this wasn't the same doctor he had spoken with when he'd first arrived earlier that day. "I'm Colonel Ashton Sinclair. Where is Dr. Waverly?"

Dr. Chadwick glanced up from the chart and met Ashton 1 Sinclair's gaze. "I'm Dr. Chadwick, his replacement for to-l night. Dr. Waverly was called away unexpectedly, but will return in the morning."

Ashton nodded. "I'll leave to get some coffee while you check him over. Is there any way we can talk afterwards about his condition?"

Dr. Chadwick looked back at the chart. "Are you family, Colonel?"

"No. Drake doesn't have family. However, Marine Captain Trevor Grant and I are listed on all of Drake Warren's official records as his next of kin."

Dr. Chadwick nodded. "All right, but any information will have to come from Dr. Waverly. I'm here to check Mr. Warren's vital signs and to make sure he continues to sleep peacefully through the night."

"All right." Then without saying another word, Ashton turned and walked out of the room, unknowingly leaving the imposter alone with CIA agent Drake Warren.

Once the door closed, the lone figure moved quickly across the room to the hospital bed to where Drake Warren lay. CIA agent Victoria "Tori" Green fought back the deep pain that hit her full force when she looked down at the man who was not trying to fight for his life. Instead he appeared content to lie there and die. Struggling, she forced memories deep down inside of her, but because of them she refused to let him go without first trying to talk some sense into the only man she had ever loved.

She knew that he was still in love with the memory of the woman he had loved and lost, Sandy Carroll. And because he hadn't ever gotten over that loss, he took on assignments where the risks of dying far outweighed the chances of surviving. She had to convince him to reach for another chance at life, at happiness, and one day, at love.

Moving closer to the bed, she leaned closer and placed a kiss on his parched lips before whispering close to his ear. She noticed a small thin scar on the side of his face that hadn't been there before.

"Drake, please listen to me. It's not your time to go. You still have unfinished work to do. I'm someone who cares and I'm also someone who knew Sandy. I believe in my n heart that she would want me to tell you to fight and not let go. If you loved her, you won't give up your will to live, but will continue to live life with the same passion that she always loved in you."

Tori momentarily closed her eyes as emotions flooded her and again she struggled to keep the memories at bay. She opened her tear-stained eyes and for the next ten minutes, in a whispered voice she kept talking, pleading, and begging in an attempt to convince Drake to live.

And she said a silent prayer that she was getting through to him.

Punta del Este, Uruguay

Solomon Cross glanced up from his meal when Miguel Toscana entered the room. Of all people, Miguel knew not to disturb him when he was eating. He gave the man a deadly look. "Is there a reason why I'm being disturbed?" he demanded without preamble. He saw the man swallow nervously. Fear. Stark fear. Cross smiled. He liked seeing fear in people; especially the people who worked for him.

"I have information that might interest you, sir."

Cross leaned back in his chair. "I hope for your sake it does."

Miguel swallowed again and Cross's smile widened. Miguel knew to take his implied threat seriously. "Drake Warren is dying, sir."

Cross's hand tightened on the fork he still held. He placed it gently on his plate and picked up his wineglass and took a leisurely sip, then calmly asked, "Is he dead or! merely dying… again? Sometimes I think the bastard has nine thousand lives."

"My informants tell me he's close to death. He was shot up pretty bad during some special operation in Iraq. I thought the news might please you."

Cross began eating again. Moments later when he became tired of Miguel's nervous breathing, he lifted his head and pinned him with a look of pure hatred and said, "Had I wanted Warren dead, I would have killed him years ago. I'd rather enjoy seeing him live and suffer. Dying is too easy and I resent being forced to bring an end to my game." He sighed deeply. "Oh, well."

He then returned to his meal. Moments later he said, "You can leave, Miguel."

The man quickly left the room and as soon as the door closed behind him, Cross stood and threw his wineglass across the room, watching it shatter and the blood-red liquid splatter on the wall. "Damn." He had enjoyed seeing Drake suffer the same way Drake had forced him to suffer.

Taking a deep breath he glanced at the huge portrait hanging on the wall. Maria. His beautiful Maria.

She had been the only thing that had ever been right in his life. She'd been the only person he could completely trust. Her father had been a high-ranking government official who had been appointed to the South American Antidrug Commission; a commission that was working with the United States government to increase their war on illegal drugs. Unknown to her father, he and Maria had been involved in a secret affair and had planned to marry. One night she had overheard her father and other government officials' plan to raid the drug lord's stronghold. That night she had turned her back on the pampered life she had always lived to come to him and tell him of her father's plan which had saved Cross's life, although she'd known he would retaliate by finding her father and slitting the man's throat.

And they had loved each other with a passion that no other woman could match or replace. Even now after seven years he still ached for her. The young women his men would often bring to him were of no use. After screwing their eyeballs out, he would usually turn them over to his men to do with as they pleased. He laughed whenever he thought about how many girls his men had kidnapped and brought to him. More than anything he enjoyed the pain he would put them through when he thrust over and over into their young, virginal bodies; bodies that would wash up on shore days later.

He walked over to the window and looked out at the Atlantic Ocean. He was a man who strongly believed in the principle of "an eye for an eye." Since Warren had taken Maria away from him, he had executed a bombing in Haiti five years ago that had taken the woman Warren had loved away from him. Marine Captain Sandy Carroll's fate had been sealed the moment he had learned that she was Warren's love interest. After losing her, Warren had become a demented and tortured man, living life precariously and on I the edge. Cross enjoyed the reports he would periodically ' receive on how Warren had barely missed death on some mission or another.

But no matter what, there was one thing that had remained constant over the last five years. Warren had never become interested in another woman. Oh, Cross knew about the times he would bed women to take care of his sexual needs. He wouldn't be much of a man if he didn't and Cross would at least give him that much. But the one thing he would not tolerate or accept was Warren falling in love again. The man was doomed to live a loveless life like him. And just like Sandy Carroll, the fate of any woman whom Warren showed more than a sexual interest in, was sealed.

Feeling agitated, Cross walked across the room to ring the bell for service. Miguel came quickly.

"Yes, sir."

"Bring me a woman," he snapped. "On second thought, bring me two."

He saw Miguel's smile before he quickly nodded. "Right away, sir." Then the man left.

Cross had understood Miguel's smile. He and his men enjoyed getting Cross's leftovers.

Two weeks later

Tori sat outside the office of Abram Hawk, her boss and the man who headed Night Shield, the covert branch of the CIA. She was ready for the reprimand she knew awaited her. Hawk was angry with her. Furious was a better word. Going to the hospital that night two weeks ago and pretending to be a doctor in order to see Drake Warren had been a possible breach in security. It was definitely an outright defiance of orders and she was prepared to face whatever punishment Hawk dished out. But deep inside she knew she would do it again if it meant prolonging the life of Drake Carswell Warren, and from the last report, he had come out of the coma within twenty-four hours of her visit and would make a full recovery.

She closed her eyes. There were few agents who didn't know or who hadn't heard of Special Agent "Sir Drake" Warren. He worked alone and his reputation among the agents, who did not know his name, was legendary.

Drake was known to volunteer for assignments no one else wanted and took risks that were often in violation of the Agency's standards and codes. Several times she'd heard that Hawk had come close to terminating Drake's association with the Agency, but everyone knew that Drake was too valuable an operative to let go.

His risky antics were tolerated because no matter how he went about carrying out his assignment, Drake produced results and was always successful in getting the job done- ^d that included the rescue of the vice president, who had gotten kidnapped last year while en route to Syria, right from under his secret servicemen's nose. The embarrass-1 ment of that folly was highly confidential and the government was determined that the people of the United States 1 remain clueless about it. It had been Drake who single-1 handedly entered the Al Qaeda stronghold and rescued the j vice president just moments before he was to be taken to ' another location for execution.

"Hawk will see you now, Victoria," Lucille Mitchell, Hawk's assistant, said in her soft, professional voice.

Victoria's eyes opened and her brows shot up. Everyone at the Agency called her Tori, so in her own way Lucille was giving her a heads-up that Hawk was not in a good mood. "Thanks."

Victoria opened the door and entered what other agents jokingly referred to as Hawk's den. Usually a visit meant one of two things. You were about to be briefed on a new assignment or he was about to rake you over the coals. The moment Tori closed the door behind her and met the gaze of the man who stood next to the huge oak desk, she knew that not only was she about to be raked over the coals, she was; about to be put on a spit and roasted until she was well-done.

Abram Hawk, the head of special covert operations for the CIA, stood well over six feet tall and possessed a very commanding presence. She had thought that very same thing of him when she was a marine captain and he had) been her colonel. He had left the Marine Corps for this job with the CIA at the same time she had begun going on covert missions for the marines. And she could never forget he was the reason she was now working for the CIA.

His hair, a mixture of silver gray and black, was cropped short and the look reminded her that no matter what job he commanded, he was still military through and through, which meant he expected whatever orders he gave to be: obeyed. At fifty-six, he had an athletic physique that was probably due to all those hours he spent at the gym. He was a fair man and would be justified in whatever disciplinary actions he took regarding her outright defiance of his orders.

"Hawk," she tried to say in a casual yet respectful tone. It had been hard making the switch from calling him Colonel to Hawk now that they were no longer in the marines.

"Do you know what you've done, Tori?"

His voice was filled with anger to the umpteenth degree and his features reflected such. He also looked world-weary, which was probably one of the reasons he had decided to retire in three months and spend more time doing all the things he wanted to do.

She swallowed as she continued to hold his gaze. "Yes, sir."

He looked at her for a moment longer, and then shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "I don't think that you do."

Hawk eased his body into the chair behind his desk and motioned for Tori to take the chair across from him. When he had gotten word of the bizarre incident at the Bethesda Naval Hospital a few weeks ago and quickly put two and two together, he knew that Tori had been the person posing as the doctor. Unfortunately, she had been on an assignment in Madrid when he'd gotten wind of it and hadn't been available for questioning. And now that he knew all the facts and had time to piece everything together, he knew without a doubt that it had been Special Agent Victoria Green who had risked everything he had carefully kept top-secret for the last five years, just for the chance to see Drake Warren.

Hawk by no means considered himself a heartless man and he knew the trauma Tori would go through when he'd first received word of Drake's condition. Unfortunately, Hawk had been vacationing in Barbados when word had spread to the other agents. Had he been here he would have made sure she didn't do anything rash, like going to the hospital to see the man. But he hadn't been here and she