Her Fierce Warrior (X-Ops #4)(16)

He was about to ask if she'd heard a strange noise, but then he decided  that would be a stupid question. If her hearing was like Tanner's, she  could probably hear people talking at the far end of the corridor. She'd  probably come out here because she couldn't sleep so far away from him.

He considered offering her the couch while he settled for the floor next  to it, but he instinctively knew that wasn't going to work. She needed  contact, and there was really only one way to do that.

Swearing to himself that this was probably really stupid, Angelo pulled  back the blanket and made room for her on the couch beside him.

Minka stared at his naked chest before her gaze slowly slid down to his  boxer briefs and bare legs. With her hybrid senses, he knew she could  see every little detail. But she didn't say a word. She simply climbed  onto the couch and silently curled up beside him. She adjusted Boris so  he wouldn't be in the way, then gently rested her cheek on Angelo's  shoulder. He pulled the blanket up over both of them, and within  seconds, she was completely relaxed and breathing deeply.                       
       
           



       

The soft purr of contentment she let out was so beautiful, it produced  an amazing sensation inside him-a need to protect this woman stronger  than anything he'd ever felt in his life.

That was when he realized he wasn't going to be able to leave Minka anytime soon-regardless of being Special Forces.





Chapter 5


Jayson Harmon stirred the burrito meat in the frying pan on the stove,  adjusting the temperature with his free hand, so it wouldn't burn. He  didn't want to have to toss the whole thing in the garbage and call for  takeout. Not tonight. Because tonight was special.

He was making dinner-and burritos were one of the few things he knew how  to make besides spaghetti and meatloaf-to celebrate the end of Layla's  probationary period in the covert division of the Department of Homeland  Security where his former commanding officer, Landon Donovan, and  Layla's sister, Ivy, also worked. Layla had been there for three months  and was now considered a fully qualified psychologist for the covert  organization. The status change meant Layla could work completely on her  own with her patients. Jayson knew how important that was to her-hence  the special dinner.

He'd met Layla Halliwell at Landon and Ivy's wedding back in June of  last year, and the connection between them had been intense and  instantaneous. She looked like a supermodel, but there was way more to  it than that. She was a bubbly, outgoing person who was as beautiful on  the inside as on the outside. It was impossible to be with her without  some of her optimism rubbing off on you, and it wasn't too much of a  stretch to say Layla and her optimistic outlook had turned his life  around.

Jayson had been in a pretty bad place when they'd met. He'd gone through  a few back surgeries, and even though most of the rocket-propelled  grenade shrapnel from that ambush in Afghanistan had been removed, there  was very little to be done for the severe amount of nerve, muscle, and  bone damage he'd sustained. He couldn't walk without support and  tremendous pain, and didn't want to think about what kind of life he was  going to have in front of him.

A little voice in the back of his head had told him this was as good as  it was going to get and that it wasn't good enough. He'd mentally  checked out of his physical therapy, started hitting the pain meds way  more than he should have, and allowed his mind to go to some dark places  where he wondered why he even bothered trying.

Then, when things had been their darkest, Layla had walked into his  life. He had no idea why someone as beautiful and vivacious as she was  had taken an interest in him, but she had. The next thing he knew, she  was coming to his room at Walter Reed every day, playing video games  with him, taking him for walks around the recovery ward, even attending  his physical therapy sessions with him.

Layla had pulled him out of the funk he'd been in, getting him serious  about his rehab and making him think that he just might have a future.  Sure, every once in a while he still found himself wallowing in  self-pity, but that shit stopped the moment he saw Layla. And when it  had been time to move out of Walter Reed and transition to outpatient  therapy, Layla had been right there with him, helping him find this  apartment and making sure he could get around it okay.

He owed her so damn much. Tonight, he was just trying to repay a little bit of his debt to her.

Jayson used a spoon to dip out a small amount of the simmering meat,  blowing on it before he gave it a taste. It wasn't too bad, but it could  definitely use a little more kick. He turned and reached for the red  pepper in the spice rack. A sharp pain immediately shot out from his  lower back, zipping down his legs and all the way up to his neck.

"Shit!"

He reached out and grabbed the counter, praying his legs wouldn't give  out on him. Layla was going to be there any minute, and he sure as hell  didn't want her finding him in a crumpled heap on the floor. That would  just suck all.

He stood there sweating for a few minutes, torn between reaching for his  cane leaning against the refrigerator in the corner or stumbling over  to one of the chairs at his small kitchen table.

Finally deciding to go for the chair, he turned the heat down under the  pan, put on the lid, then carefully moved over to the table. Every  frigging step drove a railroad spike of agony through his lower back,  but he made it. As he slowly lowered himself down into a chair, he  briefly considered taking a pain pill but quickly dismissed the idea.  Tonight was all about celebrating with Layla, and he didn't want to  feel-and sound-doped up.

So instead, he sat there in the chair and breathed through the pain.  They'd tried to teach him about dealing with it without resorting to  narcotics at Walter Reed, but he hadn't been very attentive during the  sessions. So Layla had taught him to do it her way, with a mix of deep  breathing exercises, meditation, and visualization. He'd thought it  would never work, but it had, and now she had him doing it five days a  week and also anytime he had a flare-up-like now.                       
       
           



       

It wasn't magic, but putting his mind somewhere else for a while gave  the pain a chance to dull somewhat, and when he came back out of his  relaxed state, he found he could manage it okay.

He was back at the stove finishing up the refried beans and the Spanish rice when the doorbell rang.

"Come on in," he called.

He heard the door open, then close. A moment later, Layla came into the  kitchen, looking beautiful as always. Part Native American, she had  long, dark hair and the most expressive brown eyes he'd ever seen.  Sometimes, when the light caught them right, they almost looked as if  they had a hint of green in them-like they did now, as she smiled and  kissed his cheek.

What had he done to be worthy of this amazing woman's attention?

"Need help with anything?" she asked, her eyes sparkling as they roamed over the table he'd already set.

"Nah." He grinned. "Dinner's almost ready. Go wash up."

He had the food on the plates and was ladling extra salsa on the burritos when Layla came back in.

"Mmm, it smells delicious," she said as she sat down. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble, though."

Jayson sat down across from her. "Of course I did. Today was a big step  in your career, and I want to help you celebrate it. Besides, I've  wanted to do something special for you for a while, to show you how much  I appreciate everything you've done for me."

She smiled. "I would normally point out I haven't done anything  difficult, since you've done all the heavy lifting, but my mom always  told me to accept a compliment with grace, so I'll simply sit here and  accept your appreciation-and your cooking. It looks amazing."

He chuckled as he picked up his knife and fork and began cutting into  his burrito. "How was work today? Anything cool happen that you can tell  me about?"

Pretty much everything she worked on was classified, so if she couldn't, that wouldn't be unusual.

But while they ate, she told him about a new patient who had just been  brought in from the field with what appeared to be extreme PTSD and  anger control issues.

He glanced at her over the rim of his water glass. "Was she an operative who got hurt on a mission?"

Layla shook her head. "Not really. She's a person of interest that one  of our part-time field agents came across. He brought her back thinking  maybe we could help her out."

Jayson wanted to ask for more details, but it was obvious Layla was  going out of her way to give him as much as she could without letting  any classified information slip. He understood why. The work she did at  the DHS was classified out the wazoo. Even though it shouldn't have  bothered him, it did. It wasn't like she enjoyed not telling him-it was  part of the job. But there was a time, before that RPG had filled his  back full of metal fragments and nearly severed his spine, when he'd  been part of all kinds of classified operations. He'd held a top secret  clearance and had access to dozens of special programs that few people  in the world even knew existed. Now his security clearance was just a  piece of paper in his soon-to-be medically retired personnel record, and  he was a broken man limping around with a cane, living vicariously  through the career exploits of his girlfriend.