Galaxy Girls

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“Madre de Dios. Jesus. God.”

Elena’s alarmed voice pierced the fog shrouding Hawk’s mind. He felt her hands on his chest, then her fingertip pressing into his carotid pulse. Heard her panting breaths, felt the warm puffs on his forehead.

The finger eased off and the breaths pulled away. Something clunked on the hard surface beneath him.

Fuzzy bits and pieces came together.

The hard surface belonged to their surveillance van. Where he lay like a passed out hooker. Sprawled on his back on the van floor.

A cool whisper of air touched his groin... His bare, naked, unclothed groin.

He was lying on the van floor with no pants on.

In front of his teammate.

“Fucking phone,” Elena said.

He should get up. He should cover himself. He should tell her he was okay. But his eyes felt Velcroed shut, his body limper than a discarded condom. He needed coffee, caffeine-loaded, infused into his veins. No, that wasn’t true.

He needed her.

“Wake up, Hawk, wake up.” Elena’s voice shook. “If you don’t wake up, I’m calling the team. One, two, three... Right now.”

His eyes snapped open. His hand whipped out and wrapped around Elena’s wrist.

She shrieked, dropping the cell phone. “Jesus, you’re awake. What happened? Are you hurt? Should I call –”

“Call no one.” He dragged himself up, fighting the lethargy that weighed on him like cement blocks. The exertion made him pant, sweat beading on his neck and armpits. “Clothes,” he said.

She tossed his jeans on his lap. The keys in his pocket scored a hit. He hissed his breath in and grabbed his bundled pants against his groin.

“You sure you’re okay?” Elena picked up her cell phone.

The sharp pain dulled a notch. “Don’t call anyone. Turn around.”

She rolled her eyes, a five-foot three-inch sturdy Latino woman spiced with brains and bravery. And a hell of a lot more integrity than his last teammate he worked a case with.

Snorting, she stood and turned her back to him. “Like you’ve got something I haven’t seen before.”

He grunted. He wanted to slam his legs into his briefs and then his slacks. Instead he dressed in increments that seemed to take hours before he tottered to his feet. As slow as his father the last two years of his life while disease rotted his organs, one by one.

“I’m done.” Done in more ways than one. Done like road kill. He was the fox crossing the road and that... female had been the semi.

He lurched to the closest three-legged stool. Light gleamed through the side window they used for surveillance. Peering outside, he saw the sun still shining brightly. He looked at his watch. He’d been unconscious for over an hour.

Frowning, he looked across the street at the back of the casino. The van was parked across the street now, the back of the casino was empty. No goons, no gals, no guns.

He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to activate his sluggish brain cells. One of the “ladies” must have driven the van back to his surveillance position, with him passed out naked in the rear, oblivious, in a sleep too deep for dreams or nightmares.

“You need anything?”

“A safety pin.”

She nodded at the unbuttoned waistband of his pants. “Pull in your gut and your pants won’t fall off. Believe me, I’m the expert on popped buttons. What else?”