“He didn’t move while I was gone, right?” Sabrina cracked. As she watched the young agent stationed outside Heller’s room struggle to keep at bay the mixture of panic and confusion threatening to cloud his striking features, Sabrina took pity on the obviously tightly wound sentry. “I was kidding, Agent. Secretary Heller just had major brain surgery?” she prompted as she gave him a pat on the shoulder. “He’s not gonna be moving anytime soon—the next eight or 10 hours, for sure.” The information Sabrina relayed did little if anything to soothe the agent’s jangled nerves. “It was just a little medical humor. Emphasis,” she added mirthlessly as she entered the room, “on the little, apparently.”
A quick stretch accompanied a muffled yawn as her gaze scanned the array of monitors before easing her tired form into the chair opposite Heller’s bed. She wasn’t sleepy but she was definitely tired, one of the main reasons she’d stepped away from observing the patient just long enough to shower—if one could call the scant amount of time she spent beneath the pounding spray of water such. Her intent had been twofold, first and foremost, to wash off the eight hours’ worth of sweat she’d accumulated during the surgery; but also in the hopes of bolstering her energy in preparation for the long night ahead at Heller’s bedside.
Such an act was neither being carried out because of his role in government, nor at the insistence of his daughter. Rather, when it came to the care of her patients, such conduct was commonplace; as was the case with any high-risk surgery—whether several minutes or several hours—Sabrina would personally observe the patient’s post-op progress. If it gave the irksome Raines woman a false sense of power to believe her petulant pre- and post-surgery behavior had resulted in such attentiveness, Sabrina could care less.
Her first and primary priority was, as always, the patient.
~*~
“Agent Bauer. How may I help you?”
“How’s he doing?”
Jack’s movements were slow and measured as he drew near the foot of Heller’s hospital bed. His reaction, Sabrina noted, was not unlike that of most non-medical professionals upon bearing witness to a patient in a full-on post-op atmosphere. Then again, she acknowledged, the assortment of IVs, tubes, along with variously beeping monitors, especially when attached to a loved one or friend, was a rather overwhelming sight.
“Exceptionally well, considering the extent of his surgery,” Sabrina answered. Slowly, her gaze followed the nicely built sentry as he crossed the room, the entire time he expertly assessed his surroundings before finally grabbing the nearby chair and taking up residence at the foot of Heller’s bed, positioning himself diagonal to the room’s entrance. “But right now, visitors, even family—as I had to clarify in no uncertain terms for his daughter Audrey—do not even make the list of items I’m addressing regarding his care right now. Besides, he’s so heavily sedated he wouldn’t even know you’re here.” She offered a smile of understanding. “Trust me when I tell you, Agent Bauer-”
“Jack,” he interrupted softly, “call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack,” she nodded, forcing a smile, “I’ll make sure you’re notified if there is even the slightest change in his condition. I’ll be here all night.”
“That makes two of us, doctor.” His body language left no doubt as to the sincerity of his words. “Look, let me try this again,” he stood, softening his tone.
Jack was fully aware he was trying the beautiful surgeon’s patience, yet he found himself strangely intrigued, moved almost, by the sense of fire she harbored within that seemed to be just on the verge of springing forth.
“Secretary Heller was poisoned; you said so, yourself. That means someone tried to take him out. Now, this facility is one of the most secure in the world, and the chances of anyone being able to get past the security and weaponry housed here is virtually impossible. But what makes me the best at what I do, Dr. DeLane, is I don’t take false comfort in that. I don’t subscribe to the belief it won’t happen; I operate on the premise it will. But it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t.”
“Point taken, Agent…I mean, Jack,” she corrected, adding softly, “and call me Sabrina.”
It had been a long evening for all involved, she reasoned. No sense in creating conflict where none existed or was necessary. Also, she had to admit, she could focus better with the knowledge there was someone as undeniably capable as him around.
“What is that?” Sabrina asked, closing the distance between them. In full-on “doctor mode” she gave no thought at all to invading his personal space as she leaned in while pointing to an area on the left side of his neck; she watched as a slow trickle of blood began to issue forth from a nearly 2” cut of some sort.
“Damn.” His hand now at his neck, Jack’s fingers gingerly trailed along the angry area of aggravated flesh. “Guess I almost caught one while giving Ortiz an assist out in the field.”
“I presume when you say ‘caught one’,” she leveled a disbelieving stare at him as she drew back, “you’re referring to a bullet, no?”
“Yeah,” he winced. Suddenly the area was throbbing like a bitch.
“You said you almost did, though, correct? You weren’t actually shot?”
“Nah.”
“Well, would you like me to take care of that for you, Superman?”
“Superman?” Jack looked at her, his gaze a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
“Yes. As in how it appears bullets just seem to bounce right off you?” Sabrina could not help but laugh at how matter-of-fact he was in response to his injury. “The way I see it, I figure if you’re going to be Secretary Heller’s personal guard 24/7 for the duration of his recovery, we kinda need you fully operational, no?”
Jack watched as Sabrina motioned for him to follow her and with an economy of motion directed him to take a seat atop the nearby counter as she riffled through the nearby rolling cart of medical supplies.
“Is it gonna hurt, doctor?” he cracked. He had to admit he found her teasing, lighthearted mood, much to his surprise, contagious.
The smile she gave him as she gave a graceful glance over her shoulder was one of pure devilment. “Only if you want it to.”
Minutes later, she stood before Jack, depositing the last of her supplies on the counter. Smoothly she wedged herself between his thighs, her smile fading as she did so. “Actually, this will hurt a bit.” Raising the syringe for him to view, she promised, “But only for a few seconds. You’ll feel something akin to a wasp sting.”
“A wasp? What the hell happened to doctors lying to the patient and telling them it would feel like a mosquito bite or a slight sting?” he teased, drawing back. “Hell, now that I think of it, if you liken the pain to a wasp sting that means it’s probably 10 times worse…”
“I won’t lie. Even with the numbing agent it’s going to be pretty uncomfortable for a little bit. However, it’s positively painful without it.” Smoothly, she slid a gloved hand behind his head, effectively anchoring his neck in preparation for the injection. “I need to really get down in there and clean the area out before stitching it up.” Syringe poised in her free hand, she angled it away from his neck and extended her middle finger, gently grazing the slender digit along the nicked area. “It may look like just a scratch, but a wound like that has the potential to turn nasty.”
Jack tilted his head away, surprised when she maintained her grip upon the back of his neck. He reached across, gently taking her hand that held the syringe by the wrist. “No anesthetics.” He gave a light shake of his head in response to her raised brow. “It’s not what you think. It’s not an attempt to be ‘macho.’ I just want my head completely clear; I don’t want anything to slow me down while guarding Secretary Heller.”
“Very well.” Nodding, she put the syringe aside, retrieving the dampened gauze and with the middle finger and thumb of her free hand positioned them on opposite sides of the gash, applying the faintest amount of pressure. “I will try and be as gentle as I can.” Lightly she pressed against the wound in preparation to spread the area open.
“It’s alright, Sabrina.” His gaze straight ahead, Jack bit back a smile. “Trust me when I tell you I’ve been subjected to worse in my line of work.” Moments later, she leaned in and pressed the antiseptic-laden gauze against his flesh. Jack promptly responded with a muffled, “Fuck!”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, still meticulously tending to his wound, “just a little bit longer…”
“No…need to apologize,” he offered through clenched teeth. “Just…caught me off guard, is all.”
In theory, that admission was true, Jack reminded himself.
His emphatic reaction had not been a result of the good doctor’s actions—she had not even begun to scratch the surface of what constituted ‘discomfort’ for him—but rather was in response to the doctor, herself. Their first physical contact that evening, he had dismissed. Even in light of the latent air of sensuality that seemed to swirl about the two of them, he considered it a fluke; some strange yet potent byproduct of the adrenaline generated by the evening’s events. But upon encountering her again, he felt that strange stirring once more; to attribute it to adrenaline a second time not only seemed inaccurate but also insulting. What he was experiencing in some strange way was almost primal in its intensity. As a result, when it became apparent there would be physical contact between them once more, for a reason unknown yet still heeded by him—even with the thin latex barrier of her gloves separating them—he resolved to mentally prepare himself for her touch.
To brace himself for her scent never occurred to him.