Myla Jackson - Wyatt’s War

“Was I right?” Wyatt queried.

“You know damn well you were.” She poked a finger at his chest. “If the FBI hadn’t received a report of a threat that came across their desk this morning specifically targeting the convention, I’d send you packing. Unfortunately, the Pentagon trusts that you’re the man for the job.” She snorted. “Not that I fathom why. But you report to me. Don’t make a single change without consulting with me first.”

He tried to school the smile from his face as he raised his index finger. “I’d like to suggest change number one.”

Fiona rolled her eyes and clamped her jaw tight. “Go on.”

“I’d like to bring in bomb-sniffing dogs to sweep the convention center tomorrow, first thing, before any conventioneers arrive.”

“And how do you propose to bring on enough dogs to perform this sweep on such short notice? This convention took months of planning.”

Wyatt’s grin widened. “I have a buddy who runs a dog training business here in San Antonio. He has search and rescue, protection, drug control and bomb-sniffing dogs available in his kennel.” At the skeptical frown on her forehead. “He owes me a favor.”

He’d saved Joseph Goodman from a burning vehicle when their convoy had come under attack by Taliban in Afghanistan. His vehicle had taken a direct hit and crashed into a wall. Joseph suffered compound fractures in both legs and burns on his arms. If Wyatt hadn’t been there to pull him out, he’d have died in the fire. As it was, Joe’s legs would never be the same and he walked with a limp. He’d spent weeks at SAMC’s burn center for the burns on his hands and arms. The military had medically retired him and he had nothing to look forward to. No job, no home, no purpose in life.

Deep in depression, he had no motivation to recover. Once the external wounds healed, he’d gone to a rehab facility. He’d been there when a local organization that specialized in training dogs for service had come through. The handler brought with her a golden retriever, trained to provide comfort to soldiers with PTSD. One touch and Joe had known what he wanted to do.

It still choked up Wyatt to think about Joe’s recovery. He’d been in the depths of depression when he’d been laid up in the hospital. More than anything, he’d wanted to get back to the fight, to defend his brothers in arms. Yet, here he was, safe on American soil, away from the turbulence of war, the uncertainty of each day. Kind of like Wyatt. Only Joe had found a purpose.

“Fine.” Fiona’s word cut through his memories like a knife, bisecting the real world from the past. “Get the dogs. I’ll figure out how to pay for them. But I’m warning you, I don’t have much wiggle-room. The catering and convention center costs took up most of my funds.”

“I’m sure he’ll give me the best deal he can.”

“Good, and while you’re at it, see if he can put you up at night. I need that room more than you do.”

Wyatt shook his head. “Sorry. As the man in charge of the security of this convention, I need to be as close to the convention center as possible.”

“Fine. My assistant is working on it. She’ll come up with a room for you somewhere close by.”

“And where are the majority of the high-powered delegates staying?”

Her brows puckered. “Here.”

“Aren’t you having a social event here?”

She nodded.

“Exactly. Security is not all about the convention center.”

“I can’t be expected to provide security for every one of the participants.”

“No, but if the most politically inclined are staying at this hotel, I need to be here to ensure everything that can be reasonably done is being done.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, the frown deepening.

Wyatt could almost see the gears turning in her brain.

“Let’s talk to the front desk again. Surely by now, they’ll have a cancellation.”

They exited the lounge and returned to the reception desk where a crowd had gathered. Ten men in business suits, an equal number of police officers and the hotel manager stood in front of the desk. One police officer stood with a clipboard, questioning one of the men in a business suit. He spoke Spanish and wrote as the man in the suit fired words back at him.

Fiona pushed through the crowd to the manager, Wyatt on her heels.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Oh dear, Ms. Allen.” He nodded toward the man speaking Spanish. “Jesus Rodriguez, the political delegate from Columbia, was on the way from the airport to the hotel when someone shot as his limousine.”

“What?” Fiona exclaimed. “Who? Where?”

“That’s why the police are here. They’re taking his statement.”

Wyatt suspected that the shot taken at the limousine was some dumbass taking a pot shot at the pretty, expensive car. But was it more than that? Was this the reason he’d been called in to head up the security? The piece of cake job might be more interesting than he first thought.

The manager gave Fiona an apologetic look. “By the way, I had a cancellation.”

Fiona’s face brightened. “That’s great.”

Wyatt didn’t think it was. In fact, he was somewhat disappointed at the news.

“Ms. Allen, Mr. Rodriguez is demanding a room for the additional bodyguard he wants on the premises to protect him while he’s here. What do you want me to do?”

Wyatt choked back a chuckle. The redhead couldn’t win. “Give him the room,” he whispered near her ear.

“What, and let you have our room?” She chewed her lip some more. “It’s even more important for me to be in the same hotel. I need to be where the high-profile delegates are staying.”

“Same here,” Wyatt said. “Even more so.” He crossed his arms. “How about this…we share the room—” He raised his hand when she started to open her mouth. “Hear me out, please.”

“Fine. Talk. But make it quick. The manager needs to find you a room.”

“I’ll bet they have a rollaway cot we can put in the room. I can sleep on the cot—I’ve slept on worse—you can have the bed and we can take turns in the shower.”

“No.”

“At least until the manager has another cancellation.”

“I’m not sleeping in the same room as you. I don’t even know you. You could be a pervert, or worse.”

Wyatt gave her his most convincing smile. “Or I could be nice guy forced to share a room with a very inflexible event planner. I can be trusted. If you don’t believe me, check my references.” He handed her his phone. “Call my boss. Better yet—” he took back his phone, “—call your contact with the government. They can get a background check on me faster, and they’re not biased.”

She glared at him. “I need the room to myself. How am I supposed to work with someone else in there?”

“The room is to sleep in. And I’ll be out checking on security staff at the convention center during the day and into the evening hours.”

The manager had been watching their exchange, his gaze shifting from Fiona to Wyatt and back with each verbal lob. Finally, he glanced at his watch. “Ms. Allen, I need an answer. The hotel is full and my people are working with a system that has proven less than reliable. I need to help them out.”

Fiona nodded. “Fine. You can give the bodyguard the open room. Mr. Magnus and I will share our room. If you can get us a rollaway bed. Now all I need is a gun to tuck under my pillow in case he tries anything funny.”

The manager’s eyes widened. “Ms. Allen, talking about guns might not be prudent at this time.” He nodded toward the cops.

Fiona flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “Fine.” Then she turned to Wyatt and whispered for his ears only, “I will be checking on your references and I have my concealed carry license, so I will be packing should you think you can take advantage of me when we’re alone.”

Wyatt wanted to laugh out loud and would have if he didn’t think she was serious. Fiona Allen carrying a gun scared him almost as much as the radical and dangerous Somali militants. But he wouldn’t let her know that. He’d just have to show her how trustworthy he could be.

Following her up to their shared room, he began to wonder if he could keep his hands to himself. The sway of her hips and the ramrod straight back on her petite frame practically begged to be loosened. And he knew just how to massage the stiffness out her. If she’d let him close enough, and if she didn’t shoot him first.

Fiona swiped her card and entered the room first, every nerve cell in her body completely aware of the man behind her. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t share a room with a perfect stranger.

And based on her earlier observations of his naked body, he was perfect in every physical way possible. All the more reason why she couldn’t sleep in the same room with him.

Hell, sleep would be the furthest thing from her mind. As another thought occurred to her, her pulse leapt and heat rose up her throat into her cheeks. Did he sleep naked? Holy hell.

She made an abrupt about face. “I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work.”

“So you’ll be leaving?” he asked.

“No, you will.”

He shook his head. “I’ve done my share of sleeping on the hard ground. I’m in a hotel, not a campground. If you want to leave and let me have the room, fine.”

A knock on the door made Fiona jump.

Wyatt opened it to a bellboy with the rollaway.

Just when she didn’t think it could be worse, the bellboy had to be prompt.

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

Wyatt pointed to a space near the desk and an easy chair. “Right there for now.”