Page 1 of What About Love

Prologue

AMEWLING CRY LIKEthat of a wounded animal startled him awake. Instantly alert, his weary eyes shifted to the pretty brunette in the bed. Her skin was normally radiant golden brown, kissed by time spent outdoors in the Texas sun, but lying motionless with tubes and wires everywhere, she appeared ashen, only a shade above the stark whiteness of the pillow beneath her head.

Her smooth, perfectly arched brows gathered in a frown as her dry, colorless lips parted on another soft whimper. Wishing fervently he could do more to ease her pain, he pressed the call light for the nurse and waited.

T’s hands rose, fingers splayed, about to spear them through his hair as was his habit when frustrated, but the bloodstains on his sleeves, especially the cuffs made him pause. Once saturated, the material had dried hard and rough, stained a rust color. As he stared at it, he recalled the hopelessness he felt pressing his hands over the seeping wound left by the knife in her chest. Unable to staunch the flow, he’d been powerless to do more than pray for her survival as Angie Hixson’s life essence oozed up through his fingers.

His hands curled into fists, wanting to hurt the man who’d done this to her. As Richard Stapleton’s image appeared in his mind’s eye, the stains on his hands changed from Angie’s to those of her attacker as he beat him to a bloody pulp. Antonio Minelli, more often known as Lil T to his teammates, simply T to his closest friends, was more than capable of snapping the worm’s neck. Eight years in the Special Forces had hardened him, taught him to be ruthless, and trained him to kill when necessary. This was one of those times. The helpless young woman lying unresponsive on the bed deserved retribution for every whimper, grimace, and groan. He would make it happen. The former police chief for the San Antonio Police Department, Richard Stapleton, or whatever the fuck his name was, would pay.

An alarm went off, jerking him out of his bloodthirsty plotting. It was the heart monitor above Angie’s bed, screeching in warning that her pulse rate had spiked to one-eighty. A nurse ran in, her attention immediately zeroed in on the flashing display. She rushed to the bedside, checked the pulse at Angie’s throat for several seconds, and then punched her in the middle of her chest with the side of her fist.

“What the fuck?” T roared, surging to his feet.

“Procedure, sir. She was in V-tach.”

“The hell with procedure. You hit her!”

“And it worked. She converted,” she replied, calmly nodding to the monitor as she laid her fingers along the side of Angie’s throat again. “Normal sinus rhythm,” the nurse announced with a nod.

She proceeded to check her pupils with a penlight and listened to her lungs. She took a few moments to scrutinize the screen and print out an EKG strip while jotting notes on her paper. In a hurry, she murmured, “I need to page her doctor. I’ll be back.”

“Not if you’re going to beat the shit out of her, again,” he shouted as she rushed past Sean and Mara who stood just inside the doorway watching.

“Did you see that shit?” T demanded of Sean.

“She saved her from going into cardiac arrest, bud. It’s standard procedure. At least it used to be. Not so much anymore but still effective.”

Their unit’s medic for over ten years, Sean would know. T flopped back into the chair where he had camped out for the past forty-eight hours. His worried gaze locked on Angie’s pale face. Despite the hearty blow the nurse had given her, she hadn’t flinched.

“Why isn’t she waking up? That punch to the chest should have done the trick if she were able.”

“She lost a lot of blood, T.” Sean jerked his chin at the IV where the fifth or sixth unit of blood, at least, was slowly infusing. “They’re still transfusing, so she’s not where she should be quite yet. This coma isn’t necessarily a bad thing, either. It allows her traumatized body to regenerate and heal.”

Mara walked to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll stay with her for a while, T. Why don’t you go home, shower, and try to get a little rest?”

“I couldn’t sleep. What if she wakes up or—”

“There won’t be anor,” Mara assured him determinedly. She exchanged a look of concern with Sean, before offering, “How about taking a coffee break or getting something to eat?”

“No break needed,” he replied, the ragged sound of his voice disproving his words. “Coffee would be good, darlin’. Thanks.”

“No problem.” As she prepared to go, she rose on tiptoe and kissed her husband’s jaw. She also whispered, “I’ll go. You stay and see if you can convince him to shower and shave. He’s a little ripe.”

Despite the comment on his state of hygiene, his friend’s sweet subbie wife was back, and T was glad for it. They’d both been through hell, her especially, and deserved some happiness. As did the rest of his team who had, one after another, found theironesince coming home from war. It hadn’t been easy. Neither had been watching the unspeakable events each pair had to go through.

Cartel thugs had embroiled Megan Cap’s then fiancée in their fucked-up shit. They kidnapped her, held for almost a day while tied to a chair so tightly she had lingering nerve damage in her hands. Months after the fact, the sensation had returned, though not all the way, but she continued to show slow improvement.

Rick’s wife, Regan, had taken up residence over a drug dealer’s operation. Also held her at gunpoint, her street smarts had saved her and another innocent victim. A Rossi man had been shot and almost died during that clusterfuck.

Elena’s situation had been worse, with two cartel dealers coming after her in revenge. Dex and the team had taken them out, but not before the leader, a really sick fuck, took a bullwhip to her. He’d gotten one lash in, leaving Elena cut and bleeding, before the team stormed in.

Jonas’ fiancée Lexie had almost bought it when, in the wrong place at the wrong time, Victor fucking Mendoza had shot her in the chest and left her to bleed to death. T was on the way back from Laredo with Jonas when they’d gotten word of the bloodbath at the downtown clinic where she worked. Trapped in a car two hours away while the woman he loved battled for her life, his friend had nearly lost it.

Mara, estranged from Sean for nearly two years, had been there by sheer coincidence. She took two bullets, one in the gut, the other shattering a bone in her leg. That made five out of six owners women taken or harmed by the cartel. Thank fuck they lived to see the day when Victor Mendoza’s threat didn’t shadow their every waking moment. Thanks to Sean’s well-placed bullet between his eyes.

That was two days ago, and like idiots, they thought it was over. Now Angie hung onto life by her fingernails.

The difference, she wasn’t anyone’s woman. But she had worked closely with them on the investigation, and she was Megan and Regan’s cousin. Her wounds cut deeply for all of them.

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