Peggy rushed in, took one look at Young, and turned from Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll. “Oh.” She gave Owen a grin, one that made her look far less crotchety and a hell of a lot younger. “No wonder he’s trying to launch these things through the roof. But, then, you kinda have that effect on me too, Colonel.”
Owen grinned. “Good morning, Peggy.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” She slid her blue gaze up one side of Owen and down the other on her way toward the monitors. “Thanks for turning it around for me. Mmm-mmm. Definitely something about a man in uniform.”
“That is the worst display of unprofessional behavior—” Gil started.
“If you can’t keep yourself calm, Senator, we’ll damn well do it for you.” The wench turned right back into Mr. Hyde, fur, fangs, and foul mouth. She silenced some monitors, messed with others. “I’ve had it with you and your temper. If you want to die, I’ll call over to Bethesda Naval Base and ask Trina to pay you a visit. She’s been begging me to let her come spike your IV since you got in. Seems you’ve made your share of enemies in the nursing population.”
“I knew you weren’t very smart.” Gil spoke to Peggy, but shook his finger at Owen. “Now I have a witness to your murder conspiracy.”
Peggy slammed the door of the IV pump again and gave Owen a long-suffering look. Owen just chuckled and Peggy slid past him with a hand on his bicep and a murmured, “Don’t leave without saying good-bye, Colonel.”
When the door closed behind him, Owen’s smile vanished. “What does the FBI want?”
“I’m the one suffering here, not that bitch.”
“Senator,” Owen said, drawing his attention away from the door. “What does the FBI—?”
“They’re asking about my relationship with Classified Chemical. My name must have come up during their investigation into this.” He rattled the paper.
Owen’s gaze narrowed. “What the hell aren’t you telling me now?”
“Nothing! There is nothing to tell. There is no connection between me, Classified, and that chemical bomb in Syria. You’ve got to be asinine to think I’d jeopardize my position in the Senate or on the Armed Forces Committee by getting involved with something like this.” One monitor started beeping again and Gil growled, about ready to rip off every wire, every tube. “That’s why you need to get them off my ass. There’s nothing to sniff. Make it happen, Owen.”
“You want me to control an FBI investigation. Why not just ask me to bring you every Taliban head on a silver platter, Senator? I think staying here for a while is the best idea, because your head still isn’t on quite right.”
“Owen—”
“And because Abernathy is among the many who are starting to believe you’re not going to come out of this coma. They’re all starting to feel safe. Starting to make moves. If you show yourself now, they’ll all go underground like rats in the light. The last few weeks will be a complete waste. The guys I have on Foster and Beloi’s trail will be screwed, and Abernathy will be working underground. They’ll all be as impossible to stop as that FBI investigation.
“And we both know that if Foster doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found. His resources in the military community are endless. His finances, thanks to you and Classified, and that damn chemical leak at Lejeune, are deep. Every member of the team that supports him has powerful abilities your sick games gave them.”
Gil’s jaw had clenched, his fingers curled into fists. “Watch your step, Owen,” he said, his voice breathless with the increase of his heart rate and breathing. “You’re making me see black.”
“Welcome to my world, Senator.” He lowered his voice and never broke eye contact. His warrior instincts were in full swing, and putting Gil even more on edge. “You created this problem. You dragged me into it. You threatened my future and my life. So you’ll just have to deal with my way of repairing your fuck-ups.”
Arrogant, condescending sonofabitch. Gil reached over to a bedside table and picked up a folder of information he’d printed out from the mini-office set up in a corner of his hospital room.
“I don’t care how you make it happen, Owen, just make . . . it . . . happen.” Gil slapped the file against Owen’s decorated chest. “Here’s a file on the agent who’s got her fangs out for me. A Special Agent Sofia Seville.”
That name made Owen’s gaze dart back to Gil’s and remain. Made him reach for the folder and hold on to it.
Gil let go, triumph sliding through him. “I see you recognize her name.”
“We served together in Afghanistan,” Owen said, guarding his expression again. “I knew she’d retired from the army and gone to the FBI, but last I’d heard, she was working out of Virginia.”
“Well, she’s here now and obviously trying to come down hard on me to make a name for herself. Use your past relationship with her, Owen. Create a new relationship with her. I don’t give a fuck how you do it, but pull her fangs out of me.”
“Senator, Seville and I only have a distant professional—”
“Don’t give me that shit, Owen. I’ve seen her picture. Don’t tell me you weren’t doing her while on tour together in Afghanistan. A man can’t even get a decent whore in that place without the fear of getting his cock blown off by a suicide pussy bomber.”
“You’re mistaken, sir—”
“Don’t argue with me, Colonel. Just make it happen now so I can get the hell out of here without having to worry about them ambushing me at home.”
Mitch pressed his elbow into the leather armrest and rubbed his eyes as Seth’s cell rang in his ear. He had a hundred more questions for Halina, but he needed to get ahold of his emotions and gather his temper before he continued. This was too important to blow over a seven-year-old hurt.
“Chief Masters,” Seth answered, all business.
“That sounds like a porn name,” Mitch said. “You make the ladies call you that?”
“I might . . . if my divorce was final.”
“Shit.” Mitch scraped a hand through his hair. “Is that still hung up? Those papers should have arrived two weeks ago. Did you call my office?”
“I’m on a first-name basis with Megan. She says they’re sitting on Tara’s attorney’s desk.”
Mitch’s secretary was the best in the business at follow-up. But it was Mitch who would need to call to light a fire under the attorney who was pulling a new trick from under the carpet every other week to stall the divorce—at the direction of his client, Tara Masters. A woman who’d committed murder to send Teague to prison in an effort to hold on to custody of Kat Creek. Of course, Schaeffer had been the one to manipulate Tara’s already twisted mind.
“Sorry about that, Seth,” Mitch said. He felt for the guy. “I’ll call today.”
“Hey, it’s not like I’m exactly eager to get back on that playing field again. When I am, I’ll be on your doorstep. Right now, this is more important. Keep your focus right where it is.”
Mitch had one hell of a lot of respect for the guy. He hadn’t cheated on Tara during their marriage, even though she’d stopped sleeping with him a year before he initiated the divorce. Remained faithful even after Tara had been found guilty of murder and kidnapping, declared mentally unstable, and sent to the state mental hospital.
“Are you on duty? I thought you were—”
“No, I’ve got another two weeks of vacation and it’s weird going from twenty-four-seven for months at a time to nothing. Habit,” Seth said. “Listen, something bad is going down here.”