Complicated Creatures: Part Two Read online

  “My wife?” Jack blinked at the doctor, Samantha still inert in his arms.

  “She’s Sam Roman, yes?”

  “Doctor, please give him just a few moments with his wife,” Evan Rush said as he donned a surgical mask just inside the door. “He’s had the scare of his life. His brother and wife were both caught in the riots. I’m sure you can understand how overwhelmed he must feel.”

  Jack’s eyes met Rush’s. Rush nodded to him briefly, as if to say just go with it.

  “It’s terrible what’s happening in Rio. Just terrible—” the doctor muttered, shaking his head in sympathy as he glanced back at Jack. “Please take just a few moments. I’ll be just outside.”

  Rush followed him and the nurses out, closing the door behind him. Jack ran a trembling hand down Samantha’s face, all his anger dissipating in the wake of the realization that he’d very nearly lost her too—really lost her. Seeing her this vulnerable made him keenly aware of what he had been denying. And the doctor asking Jack if she was his wife forced him to recognize the truth.

  Sam Roman.

  Samantha. His Samantha.

  His partner. His lover.

  His wife…

  As angry and frustrated as he was with her, Jack knew, knew to his core, that he wished that statement were true. In that instant, he realized he’d have to find a way to make this work with her, because now that she’d come into his life, he quite literally couldn’t imagine it without her. Even as out-of-his-mind-crazy she made him. Even with all her darkness and her secrets and her lies, he wanted her. Wanted her like nothing or nobody else.

  All of her. Everything.

  But would she ever give that to him? Would they ever get there?

  “You scare the absolute shit out of me, Samantha,” Jack told her, cradling her recumbent body to his chest, willing her to hear him. “But I love you. I love you more than I could have imagined. More than you deserve for all the secrets and lies you keep hiding away from me…” he chastised gently, pressing a kiss to her brow as he rocked her, seeking to calm himself through that small, primal comfort.

  “Come back to me, tesoro,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her brow. “We’ll find our way through this if you just come back to me…”

  Chapter 5

  December 2nd—Present Day

  Hospital Copa D’Or in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  J A C K

  “You look as bad as I feel,” Jaime croaked, struggling to lift his hand toward the cup of water resting on the hospital table in front of him.

  “Madre di Dio, you’re up!” Jack leapt to his feet to help Jaime as he struggled to sit up.

  “Just long enough to wonder why I feel like I got hit by a car twice,” Jaime muttered, his voice cracking from the residual dryness of being intubated. “Holy shit, I hurt…” he groaned, dropping his head back futilely as the pain hit him in waves.

  “Let me help you,” Jack offered, holding a cup and straw to Jaime’s mouth like he had when he was a little kid.

  Jaime sucked down the water gratefully, his eyes fluttering closed as he sank back against the pillows. He winced as he felt the wound in his back.

  “What happened to me?” he asked in a weak groan. “I was lying here, trying to remember, but all I could think of was whether I remembered to pick Maddie up from ballet…”

  “You’ll long for the irritating domesticity of thirty squealing girls in pink tutus after you hear what happened to you here in Rio,” Jack told him grimly.

  “I’m in Rio?” Jaime’s eyes opened slowly, confusion pulling his brows together.

  “You’re in Rio,” Jack confirmed, patting his shoulder. “You took a bullet in the back while you were trying to get out of the demonstrations downtown.”

  Jaime’s eyes widened. “Maddie—”

  “She’s fine,” Jack told him quickly, pressing a gentle hand on his brother’s chest as he struggled to sit up again. “Mom and Dad have her. They’re in Chicago.”

  Jaime’s eyes closed again in relief. “How long have I been out?”

  “Couple days.”

  “You look like shit,” Jaime muttered, his eyes still closed.

  “Yeah, wise guy?” Jack smirked as he leaned over his brother, adjusting the pillows. “You don’t look so hot either, coglione.”7 Jack felt unaccountably relieved to hear Jaime’s sarcasm despite his obvious pain and exhaustion. Surely that was a positive sign. “You try hearing that your brother and your girlfriend got shot and see if you do better,” he said, signaling a passing nurse.

  “Sam?” Jaime asked in confusion. “Sam was with me?” He blanched as Jack and the nurse gently lifted him forward to check his dressing. The nurse dialed up the morphine, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief as Jaime’s pained expression relaxed slowly under the euphoric haze.

  After she checked Jaime’s dressing and adjusted his IV drip, Jack sat back down, pulling his chair closer to Jaime’s bed.

  “Samantha’s okay,” Jack assured him, sensing his brother drifting off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Non capire un’acca…”8 Jaime mumbled, falling back to sleep.

  “That makes the two of us,” Jack murmured quietly, sitting beside Jaime for a while longer, watching over him.

  “He alright?”

  Jack’s head snapped up at the sound of Rush’s voice behind him. He nodded wearily, rubbing a hand over his gritty eyes.

  Rush picked up Jaime’s chart, glancing it over.

  “You a doctor now, too?” Jack asked, his voice gruff with exhaustion.

  “Field-trained medic,” Rush replied, flipping through the chart. “Jaime’s got enough morphine in his system to tranq a horse, man,” he told him. “Let me take you to the hotel. Just a few hours of sleep and you’ll be right as rain.”

  “I’m not leaving him or her,” Jack replied, leaning back in his chair.

  “Sam’s still out too,” Rush informed him. “The internal bleeding’s stopped. She won’t need surgery—thank God—just rest.” Rush slid the chart back into the holder at the end of Jaime’s bed. “There’s nothing they need that you can give ’em right now, Jack. At least crash out in one of the on-call rooms. I bet I can get one of the nurses to give you one for a few hours.”

  Jack’s thoughts swam around, his mind dizzy with exhaustion. He could deal with an on-call room, but leaving the hospital was out of the question.

  “Come on, man.” Rush patted him on the back. “Neither of them will want to wake up to you looking like this. You’re starting to look as worn out and tired as the night you took on Vic Vidal in the ring.”

  Rush was right. Jack knew he was toeing the fine edge of worried fatigue leading to outright mess. He stood slowly, stretching his neck.

  “Lead the way,” he gestured.

  As he and Rush left Jaime’s hospital room, Rush glanced him over. “You need to eat anything?”

  “Yeah, I could eat,” Jack nodded, his stomach rumbling at the idea. He hadn’t had anything more substantial than stale crackers and chips from a vending machine since he’d arrived.

  Rush led him to the cafeteria. A simple sandwich and a side salad never tasted so good. Rush drank a cup of coffee, watching him speculatively as he sat back in his seat.

  “How is she?” Jack asked. He hadn’t seen Sam in a couple hours. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew more, but after getting soundly and permanently kicked out of the ICU for barging in to Samantha’s room, he was left to pace outside when he wasn’t with Jaime.

  “She’s out of ICU. She’ll be sore, but she’s fine,” Rush explained.

  Jack nodded, sitting back in his chair, sipping his water.

  “And Carey?”

  “He’s okay,” Rush nodded. “Out of the woods for the most part. I think he’ll be out of ICU in the morning.”

  “Thanks for telling them I was her husband.”

  Rush shrugged. “It was the least I could do. I know you would have lost your mind if they didn’t tell you a
nything about how she was doing.”

  “You guys disappeared,” Jack pointed out after a pause.

  Evan nodded, sipping his coffee. “Went into lockdown mode with Talon and the guys. We’ve got a lot of moving parts right now. Had to line up our resources and figure out the plan while the bosses are down.”

  Jack wiped a tired hand down his face. He was completely enervated, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing what was going on.

  “You still haven’t told me what the hell happened with them,” Jack pointed out, draining his water while waiting for Rush to tell him what he needed to know.

  Rush sat back from the table. “I wish I could tell you, man, but I can’t say anything until we know Sam and Carey are out of the woods,” Rush admitted regretfully.

  “There’s another reason you told them her name is Sam Roman,” Jack guessed. “They’re calling Carey ‘Keven Chapman,’ saying they were both journalists.”

  “Yeah,” Rush nodded. “We need to keep their identities off the books for now, and I knew if they didn’t tell you how she was doing, you’d go crazy. It’s better if they think she’s your wife.”

  “And you won’t tell me why,” Jack pressed again, though he suspected it was futile.

  Rush at least had the decency to look remorseful. “All I can tell you is Carey was threatened and Sam saved his life. It’s important that no one realizes they’re both still alive yet.”

  Jack nodded, toying with his water glass a moment.

  “Does this have anything to do with the guy who was staring at her like she was his reason for being?” he finally asked.

  A look of discomfort flashed over Rush’s face.

  “Wes is our client. I was protecting him,” Rush began cautiously. “He’s a photojournalist, and when he heard that your brother was caught in the riots, he wanted to get footage. He ended up helping to save Jaime’s life,” Rush informed him, his expression guardedly neutral.

  “I should thank him then,” Jack murmured speculatively. “After I beat his ass for even thinking about making a play for my wife,” he added with a pointed look.

  “Don’t make me get between the two of you,” Rush shook his head. “I’m obligated to keep that guy alive. But I consider you a friend, Jack.”

  “Likewise,” Jack replied in kind. “So where is he?”

  Unease coated Rush’s face before he glanced away. “He’s checking in on Sam.”

  Jack rose swiftly.

  “Jack—wait.” Rush grabbed his shoulder.

  “This get-some-food-and-rest act was a ploy, wasn’t it?” Jack asked pointedly, seeing red.

  Rush shook his head, hands up. “I’m trying to make this completely ass-up situation bearable for you, Jack. That’s why I signed Sam in as your wife so you’d have access to her, but there’s history between them, Jack,” he told him. “I couldn’t keep Wes from her any more than I could hold you back either. The least I could do was to make sure that you’re in decent enough shape when Sam and Jaime come to again.”

  Jack jerked away, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He couldn’t afford to fly off the handle. Not with two of the people he loved most in the world recovering in the hospital under terrible circumstances.

  “Then tell me: who the hell is he and what do you mean by ‘history’?”

  Rush shifted, moving to sit back down.

  “I don’t know much,” he admitted. “Just a little of what Wes has told me.”

  “Then you better start talking, or I will go up there and lose my shit all over that guy right now,” Jack promised, a part of him finding the idea incredibly appealing after feeling so emotionally mangled and helpless the past few days. “You have no idea the hell I’ve been going through the past seventy-two hours. Don’t fucking test me, Evan. I mean it.”

  Rush sighed as Jack took the seat across from him again, glancing around. The cafeteria was nearly empty this time of night. Rush fiddled briefly with his coffee cup.

  “Wes told me they were together in college,” Rush told him. “But it didn’t end well.”

  The pieces of a puzzle Jack had opened the night he took Samantha to Bavette’s Bar & Boeuf snapped into place with startling clarity.

  She’d fallen for someone in college.

  An artist—No, he was a photographer. V-card guy, Jack realized, recalling their conversation. Her first love. The only guy she’d ever let break her heart when she was just a girl. The guy she still struggled to acknowledge. The guy who’d hurt her so bad, Jack was the one left paying for his mistakes years after the fact.

  And Jack had a name now for the reason Samantha wouldn’t open her heart to him. He had a person to blame for all the layers of Samantha he couldn’t seem to penetrate.

  Wes Elliott.

  Jack stood slowly.

  “Jack, man, what are you doing?” Rush stood with him, eyeing him warily.

  “He’s with her now?”

  “Jack—” Rush called out, as Jack stalked out of the cafeteria toward Samantha’s room. Rush managed to jump in front of him, pushing him back. “I can’t let you do that, man. I can’t let you hurt him.”

  “Get out of my way, Rush,” Jack warned, his teeth gritted. Jack may have been exhausted but he had just enough anger and adrenaline left to fuel the burn. And Lord knew he was spoiling for a fight…

  “Jack, I don’t want to have to put you down—”

  Jack delivered an uppercut and a cross, drawing a surprised grunt from Rush before he was twisted into a sleeper hold so quickly, he didn’t fully comprehend how he’d gotten there.

  “Jack, don’t take this personally,” Rush said in his ear. “But it’s my job to protect Wes, and if that means I gotta knock you out for you own good, I’ll do it.”

  Jack struggled against Rush’s hold but it was no use. The combined fatigue from days of sleeplessness, along with the expenditure of seemingly endless amounts of angst and worry, dragged Jack deep into a debilitating ravine of exhaustion. He pushed uselessly against Rush’s hold. Finally, after long moments of struggle, Jack felt the fight drain from him. He collapsed to his knees, seeing spots as he lost consciousness in Rush’s grip.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Rush told him. “But right now, it’s for the best…”

  *

  December 2nd—Late Night

  Hospital Copa D’Or in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  W E S L E Y

  It was close to midnight—nearly an entire day since he’d witnessed Carey and Sam getting shot, and Wes didn’t think he was any closer to getting those harrowing visuals out of his mind. But he was so incredibly relieved to hear that Sam was moved out of ICU and into a regular hospital room by the second night, he’d convinced Evan to take him back to the hospital after the day’s filming of the Rio riots were turned in to the bigwigs at NBS.

  Now he sat next to Sammy’s bed, eyes tracing her features. She’d been lovely as a girl, but she’d grown to become a stunning woman. Even pale and bruised, she still managed to steal his breath away. She’d lost some of the softness of youth, her cheekbones just a little bit sharper and her jaw just slightly more angular. He noticed new scars—a jagged horizontal line on her arm, the stitches just discernible, a little cut on her brow, long healed.

  Whenever he was back home in Austin, he’d pour over the pictures he’d taken of her—self-inflicted pain at its finest—but those emotional thrashings were nothing compared to the pain of laying eyes on her now, realizing how much she’d changed and what she had gone through… without him.

  “You’re staring.”

  Wes’s eyes locked onto hers. She pinned him with a knowing look.

  “What’s new?” he replied, his smile self-deprecating. “Been staring at you since you were nineteen, Sammy.”

  She closed her eyes, raising her hand to touch her chest. She flinched a little, adjusting the automatic bed up. Wes stood to help her.

  “Thanks,” she muttered. “God, I feel like death warmed over.”


  “Well, you don’t look it,” he assured her.

  “You’re still a terrible flirt, Wes,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “How’s Carey?”

  “He’s good. Evan’s been getting updates every couple of hours,” he told her. “Looks like he’ll be out of ICU soon if everything stays on course.”

  She nodded, relieved. She’d put up a fight when the doc had finally separated them, telling her she wouldn’t need surgery after all. But after being assured that Carey was mostly out of the woods, she’d conceded, allowing them to transfer her to the private room she was in now.

  “I want to thank you for helping me,” she told him quietly, her eyes somber. “The irony’s not lost on me—that we were here to protect you, and yet you’ve helped out all of us. Twice.” She touched her chest again absently. “I care about Carey and Jaime a great deal. So thank you for helping to save them, Wes. Sincerely.”

  Wes leaned forward in his seat, clasping her hand. “What wouldn’t I do for you, Sammy?”

  “Oh, I can think of a few things,” she replied, pulling her hand from his to reach for the cup of water on the nightstand.

  Wes took a deep breath.

  Leave it to Sammy to wake up from a life-threatening situation and get straight to the heart of the matter.

  “Well, while we’re making heartfelt confessions, I owe you an apology,” Wes admitted in a low voice.

  Sam sipped her water, not saying anything, her gaze assessing, as if she wondered what on earth he had to say to her after all this time.

  “I’m ashamed of how I ended things with you,” he confessed, leaning forward to rest his chin against clasped hands. “I don’t have any good excuses, but I want you to know that at the time, as young and stupid as I was, I thought I was doing the best thing for you—” he glanced away, swallowing. “For the both of us.”

  Sam raised an incredulous brow. “You thought leaving me with a ‘Dear John’ letter during the worst time of my life was the best thing for me?”