that cage. If I had…"
"Yes, you should have," he said, his voice gruff. Then she felt the warmth of his finger as he placed it beneath her chin and tilted her head up until their gazes met. He gave her a small smile. "I understand you saved my life last night with that transfusion." The tone of his voice was softer, friendlier. "I'd say that makes us even."
As she stared into the dark depths of his eyes, the room fell away until there was only the two of them. At that moment, she felt closer to him than she had to anyone in a long time, and though she knew it was only momentary, she didn't care.
Mac felt like he was free-falling through darkened skies to an unfamiliar target. The falling didn't bother him, but he was terrified of the landing. He'd been surprised enough to wake up earlier that day to find he was still alive. He'd been further amazed, and bewildered, to discover that he was almost fully recovered. Not even Dr. Sanchez could explain the inhumanly fast healing and had taken up crossing himself every time he came near Mac.
When Sanchez told him that Lanie had killed the creature that attacked him, using his gun, then dragged him back to the lab and proceeded to save his life—he'd been astounded. But nothing could have shocked him more than learning that the
Cover Girl
model who'd just walked into the lab was actually the dowdy little librarian he'd flown down with.
He wouldn't have thought it possible for the woman to clean up so well—but damn, she looked good. Her light brown hair cascaded down about her shoulders in rich, thick waves. It glowed with a healthy sheen that wouldn't have been possible if she colored it. A fitted shirt and well-worn pair of jeans hugged her body, showing off her figure to advantage. Mac was pleased to note that while she was not overweight, neither was she too thin, as so many women tried to be these days. If she wore makeup, it was with subtle application that left one wondering if she really wore any or naturally looked that spectacular. And her eyes, he noted, no longer hidden behind thick glasses, were the color of stonewashed denim.
Oh, yeah, Ms. Lanie Weber was definitely hot, and from her embarrassed blushes and the Utile looks she sneaked at him, he knew the attraction was mutual.
If they'd been anywhere else, under different circumstances, he'd be tempted to see where this mutual attraction might lead, but this was Taribu and her father was dead, as were Burton and nine other men. He had enough problems to contend with; he couldn't let her distract him from what was important.
Realizing that his finger was still under her chin, he dropped his hand and took a step back, needing to put space between them. He turned to the gurney and picked up the shirt Sanchez had brought him. Though he felt her watching him, he didn't look up.
He tucked the tail down the front of his pants and heard Lanie's quick intake of breath. He looked up to see her turning around, belatedly giving him privacy, her cheeks burning a bright pink. Despite his earlier resolve, he gave a silent laugh at her reaction. She could fend off a savage beast without batting an eye, but Mac tucking in his shirt unsettled her. For someone who'd almost died the night before, he was feeling in surprisingly good spirits.
The sound of footsteps had him turning toward the door in time to see a familiar blond, GI Joe-looking man in his mid-thirties walk into the lab.
"Doc, how's our boy doing?"
"By all rights, he should be dead," Sanchez responded from his desk. "But I think he's going to live."
"Damn right he's going to live. It'll take more than some wild creature ripping out his throat to bring
this
guy down."
"Dirk Adams," Mac said, shaking hands with his old friend. "Don't tell me they put
you
in charge. What's the world coming to?"
It'd been a year since Mac had last seen Dirk. They'd first met in boot camp, and Mac had a healthy respect for the man who'd served as a member of his SEAL team a
"Yes, you should have," he said, his voice gruff. Then she felt the warmth of his finger as he placed it beneath her chin and tilted her head up until their gazes met. He gave her a small smile. "I understand you saved my life last night with that transfusion." The tone of his voice was softer, friendlier. "I'd say that makes us even."
As she stared into the dark depths of his eyes, the room fell away until there was only the two of them. At that moment, she felt closer to him than she had to anyone in a long time, and though she knew it was only momentary, she didn't care.
Mac felt like he was free-falling through darkened skies to an unfamiliar target. The falling didn't bother him, but he was terrified of the landing. He'd been surprised enough to wake up earlier that day to find he was still alive. He'd been further amazed, and bewildered, to discover that he was almost fully recovered. Not even Dr. Sanchez could explain the inhumanly fast healing and had taken up crossing himself every time he came near Mac.
When Sanchez told him that Lanie had killed the creature that attacked him, using his gun, then dragged him back to the lab and proceeded to save his life—he'd been astounded. But nothing could have shocked him more than learning that the
Cover Girl
model who'd just walked into the lab was actually the dowdy little librarian he'd flown down with.
He wouldn't have thought it possible for the woman to clean up so well—but damn, she looked good. Her light brown hair cascaded down about her shoulders in rich, thick waves. It glowed with a healthy sheen that wouldn't have been possible if she colored it. A fitted shirt and well-worn pair of jeans hugged her body, showing off her figure to advantage. Mac was pleased to note that while she was not overweight, neither was she too thin, as so many women tried to be these days. If she wore makeup, it was with subtle application that left one wondering if she really wore any or naturally looked that spectacular. And her eyes, he noted, no longer hidden behind thick glasses, were the color of stonewashed denim.
Oh, yeah, Ms. Lanie Weber was definitely hot, and from her embarrassed blushes and the Utile looks she sneaked at him, he knew the attraction was mutual.
If they'd been anywhere else, under different circumstances, he'd be tempted to see where this mutual attraction might lead, but this was Taribu and her father was dead, as were Burton and nine other men. He had enough problems to contend with; he couldn't let her distract him from what was important.
Realizing that his finger was still under her chin, he dropped his hand and took a step back, needing to put space between them. He turned to the gurney and picked up the shirt Sanchez had brought him. Though he felt her watching him, he didn't look up.
He tucked the tail down the front of his pants and heard Lanie's quick intake of breath. He looked up to see her turning around, belatedly giving him privacy, her cheeks burning a bright pink. Despite his earlier resolve, he gave a silent laugh at her reaction. She could fend off a savage beast without batting an eye, but Mac tucking in his shirt unsettled her. For someone who'd almost died the night before, he was feeling in surprisingly good spirits.
The sound of footsteps had him turning toward the door in time to see a familiar blond, GI Joe-looking man in his mid-thirties walk into the lab.
"Doc, how's our boy doing?"
"By all rights, he should be dead," Sanchez responded from his desk. "But I think he's going to live."
"Damn right he's going to live. It'll take more than some wild creature ripping out his throat to bring
this
guy down."
"Dirk Adams," Mac said, shaking hands with his old friend. "Don't tell me they put
you
in charge. What's the world coming to?"
It'd been a year since Mac had last seen Dirk. They'd first met in boot camp, and Mac had a healthy respect for the man who'd served as a member of his SEAL team a
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