Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(95)
He’d wanted to respond “never,” but yeah, she knew him too well. “Mornin’ will do.”
They needed to know the circumstances surrounding this mission they’d volunteered for. If the revelation caused them to opt out—so be it. He was done lying, or skirting the truth.
Faith stretched and sent him another of those judicious looks. “Too bad Kait wasn’t on that yacht, or in my lab.”
The casualness didn’t fool him. Cocking his head, he studied her face.
“With Kait’s incredible gift, she could have healed them, like she healed you . . . like she healed me.” She paused, stared at him steadily. “Think how welcome such a gift would be on one of your missions.”
His scowl started back up now that he saw what tree she was headed up. “There’s no way Cosky is gonna let Kait come along on the rescue mission.”
She smiled back at him, amusement swimming in her dark eyes. “Do you really think Cosky is going to be able to stop her when there’s the possibility that he’ll be the one in need of her gift? Besides, this obviously isn’t your team’s call, and my guess is Wolf will want her on board.”
He stirred at that, a hand absently rising to drag the blanket back over her bare back. She was right. About all of it. But even having Kait on the team didn’t negate the danger to Faith, although perhaps it did lessen it.
“If Cosky is injured and unable to supply Kait with whatever it is he contributes to the healin’, her ability will be cut in half. Maybe even in quarter. We can’t count on her,” he told her.
“True.” Faith pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and Rawls felt his cock stir. “But remember this morning? Dr. Kelly mentioned two other healers. Kait obviously isn’t an anomaly among their people.”
“Maybe,” Rawls admitted, his hand sliding under the blanket for another round of stroking. “But judgin’ from what the good doctor said, it doesn’t sound like they’re nearly as strong as Kait.”
“Singularly, sure.” Her voice grew breathless as his hand grew bolder. “But it would be interesting to see what would happen if they pooled their— ah . . .”
She quivered against him, abruptly losing interest in the conversation. A damn fine thing, since his interest had shifted to other pursuits as well.
“Are you up for a round two?” he whispered in her ear before the perfect little shell distracted him and he circled the edge with his tongue.
He shuddered as her taste exploded in his mouth. Salty and sweet, it sank into his blood and set it on fire like the purest of drugs.
“Definitely,” she said, her voice raspy. A soft hand grasped his cock and gave it one firm pump. “I see you’re up for it too.”
He groaned at the pun, and pulled her down so he could steal a kiss from her lips.
And then his arms wrapped around her, locking her against his chest, until he could feel the strong, steady thump of her like-new heart against his.
Exactly where it belonged.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
ERIC MANHEIM PAUSED in front of the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows to stare absently down at the emerald sprawl of Central Park. “What do you mean the signal’s disappeared?”
“I mean the signal is gone. One minute it was broadcasting as it has been for weeks, the next second it vanished.” James Link’s voice rasped through Eric’s cell phone.
Forcing himself to turn away from the window for fear he might give in to his impulse to drive his fist into the glass, Eric paced back to his executive desk, which overlooked the huge bank of windows.
The desk had been a surprise gift from Esme on his thirty-sixth birthday. Custom-built to her specifications from Parnian’s exotic-woods collection—with each choice of wood embodying an element of their love and life together—he prized the desk as much for its sentimental value, as its half-a-million-dollar price tag.
It was a rare day that the desk’s stunning visual artistry and hidden symbolism couldn’t soothe his irritation.
Today was proving to be such a day.
“Could they be dead? You said the signal would cease once the cellular structure broke down.” Which was a fancy way of saying once the Chastain boys had ceased to exist.
“Highly unlikely.” Link’s throaty rasp turned into heavy breathing. “If the cells were deteriorating, the signal would have gradually weakened. It wouldn’t just disappear. This appears to be something else.”
“What then?” Eric locked his snarl behind his teeth as he stalked behind the desk.
“If I had to guess—”
“You do.” Some of the growl escaped as Eric’s hand tightened around his cell phone. Silence pulsed down the line.
“Then . . . I’d . . . say . . . the signal’s being blocked.” The last four words came out in a spurt.
“How is that possible? You said the compound was unremovable. That the signal would be trackable from anywhere in the world, under any conditions.” Eric’s throat tightened against the desire to yell.
He pulled back the Ares line Xten chair—another gift from Esme. Only for no special occasion this time, other than the fact that the chair—which had been designed by Pininfarina, the same company responsible for Ferraris—was considered to be the most comfortable chair in the world.