“Jason. Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m getting deployed.”
“Where?”
“In Argentina near Laguna Blanca. There’s been an earthquake, and we’re going in to help. We should be there about two weeks to a month, depending how it goes.”
“I saw the news about the earthquake. There was a lot of damage.”
“Yeah. We’ll do the best we can. How are things with you?”
“I’m okay. I keep busy.”
“Yeah, you still seeing someone?”
“No. I stopped several months ago.”
Seeing a shrink hadn’t helped in the short-term. It wouldn’t help in the long term. Finding and ending the man who had murdered her sister in Thailand would be the only justice she needed.
“Because you feel better?”
“Sure,” she said, knowing that she didn’t, but to spare her brother the worry, she kept her pain to herself.
“I can tell you’re lying. Why can’t you let it go?” The three of them had been a united front against their Navy Admiral father who had expected so much from them. Her brother had joined the Marines, but he was appeased when her sister went for the Navy. Her father’s biggest disappointment was that Shea hadn’t joined the Navy. Serving as an undercover agent for NCIS didn’t count.
“You mean let someone else do my job?”
“Tracking down that dirtbag has nothing to do with your job and we both know it.” His voice grew rough. “She was my sister too.”
“Then you should understand why I have to do this.”
“Is the admiral on your back?”
“Dad dutifully calls me once a week for progress,” she bit out. He would have been much happier if Shea and her sister Madison had been sons. Shea believed he could have handled it if Madison had died a male hero, instead of by drowning after someone hit her on the back of the head.
When I get back, we’ll have lunch, okay?”
“Sure, that sounds great. Be safe and call me when you can.”
“I will. Bye, sis.”
She disconnected the call and turned on the television. The news about the Argentinian earthquake was all over the screen. Her gut clenched thinking her baby brother was going into such an unstable place. She rubbed at her temple, leaning over and grabbing the bottle of wine. Pouring herself a glass, she took a few sips.
Her brother had it so wrong. She wasn’t doing this for her father or for her family. She wasn’t doing it for NCIS or even for justice. At this point, that word had lost its meaning.
She was doing this for Maddy because her sister was the only one who mattered.
Mad Max opened his eyes and smiled softly, wincing a bit from moving his injured shoulder, the painkiller he’d been given wearing off. The warmth of Jugs lying against him gave him comfort. He heard the nurse, who was taking his vitals sigh heavily, and he opened his eyes. He’d expected that she was disapproving of having Jugs in bed with him. But this was a Navy hospital, and Max wouldn’t rest until Jugs was settled. The Malinois had been franticly barking, causing distress and mayhem until he was reunited with Max.
Juggernaut didn’t take no for an answer when it came to protecting his partner.
But when Max met the pretty blonde’s gaze, there was appreciation in her eyes.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Max said, his voice a gravelly rasp.
Something started beeping, and he looked down to see the pulse monitor had been dislodged from his index finger. She flushed and smiled.
“Carter,” a starched voice snapped out, and the young woman stiffened, turning. He leaned slightly to see his drill sergeant nurse standing there. She was a small woman in stature but what she lacked in height, she made up in sheer personality. “What are you doing?”
“Checking his meds.”
“I didn’t know that checking meds came with a side of ogling. Off with you for God sakes. Can’t you hear that he has lost contact with his pulse and heart monitor?”
She backed up as Lieutenant Marion Murphy looked at the level of medication and reattached his monitor clip. “Get on with your rounds.”
The woman scurried out of the room and Max smiled.
“What’s so funny?” she said, adjusting his IV.
“Nothing, ma’am.”
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re one of those smart aleck warriors strutting around thinking they are indestructible. You and your little dog too.”
He chuckled, and she covered up a smile as she fluffed his pillows and arranged his blankets.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Max stretched out and Murphy muttered under her breath about the inappropriateness of having a dog in a hospital. She gave Max a narrowed look and said, “Jugs. Down.” Max turned a laugh into a cough when Jugs obeyed her, and with whatever bravado he had left, went to the edge of the room and nudged at his ball. “Later, you silly animal,” she said as she turned to him. “Let’s take a look at your wound and get your dressing changed out.”
Jugs might be one of the most aggressive dogs on the planet, but Nurse Murphy certainly knew how to project that alpha dog vibe. “How is Mak…Agent Ballentine?”
“She was treated and released last night. Needed a few stitches was all.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Wasn’t your fault your through-and-through hit her.”
“You trying to make me feel better, Lieutenant?”
“Who me? Just stating the bare facts. You got me mixed up with someone who cares.”
He chuckled again, then grunted softly as she gently pulled away the dressing and studied the wound. So, he was protective of women and children, animals and the downtrodden. There was no crime in that.
“Dr. Hunsecker does some nice work. You’ll barely have a mark.”
“Aw, that’s too bad. Us strutting warriors like to impress the babes with our battle scars,” 2-Stroke said as he entered the room with a takeout bag and the rest of the team trailing behind.
Maybe she wasn’t affected by Max, but 2-Stroke made her fingers tremble a bit on the tape as she bandaged him back up. 2-Stroke was in his customary leather, his chestnut hair gleaming against the overhead lights. He was a pretty boy, and that apparently did it for the middle-aged crowd. Not that Lieutenant Murphy didn’t look good in her starched uniform, her serious bedside manner nothing more than her way of keeping her caring nature from overwhelming her. He was sure she’d seen a lot more than his simple injury. There was not only an age gap there, but a military line she couldn’t cross. 2-Stroke was all of twenty-one-years-old and she was pushing forty at least. Maybe it was something about his teammate that made the forty-somethings remember their distant youth.
Max was already thirty and had been operating for a long time. Like the lieutenant, he’d pushed away something permanent for the good of his career, and he thought in another ten years, he’d be where she was now. Thinking about settling down had been something foreign to him, even with five nagging sisters who were taking the plunge. He was a guy with no limits. The brotherhood was all he’d really needed, but he was starting to empathize with his tough-as-nails nurse. Maybe he was going soft.