by Dana Marton
“I’ll hold the wheel.” She took over with a look of fierce determination, before he had the chance to ask.
He gave her a grateful look, then rolled down the window and stuck his head out. The man behind them sent forth another round. Nicola kept the car steady. Alex squeezed off a couple of shots at the bastard, then more at the Jeep’s windshield and radiator. There. That slowed them right down.
Once again he waited a couple of exits before he got off the highway, making sure they weren’t being followed, then took side roads to backtrack to the safe house.
He took the same precautions as the day before, parking in the barn, checking the house once they were in, then walking the property after seeing to it that Nicola was safely settled in. Everything seemed in order.
He pulled her into the bathroom with him after he came inside, closed the door, tucked a rolled-up towel in the gap by the floor, then turned on the light.
“Just want to check if you’re okay.” He looked over her face, legs and arms but found nothing other than smudges of dirt and soot, a few minor scrapes from the shingles that had been as rough as sandpaper. “You look—” The alarm on her face cut off the rest of his words. “What?”
“You’re burned all over.”
NICOLA STARED at the red welts on the back of his hands and on his neck. “Oh my God.” On his right arm, the material of his shirt had melted onto the burned skin.
He pulled at it and winced. “You know, it didn’t hurt that bad until you pointed it out.” He let the shirt go. “Damn.”
“You need to go to a hospital.” And right away. All she knew about burns was that they were extremely painful.
He looked at her as if she were crazy. “That’s not an option.”
“Then I’m going to take care of it.” She meant that as a threat.
He nodded. “Do you know anything about treating burns?”
“Nothing. You should go to a hospital. Your wounds are probably getting infected as we speak.”
Her medical knowledge consisted of a handful of Chinese herbs Mei had helped her plant in the embassy garden. They had gone to the same English language high school with other children of foreign diplomats and high-ranking Chinese officials. And even those herbs, were she able to get them here, wouldn’t have helped. They had been selected by Mei to help Ambassador Barrington’s constant indigestion. Nicola knew squat about burns.
“Emergency room?” she suggested again, hoping he’d see reason.
“I trust you to take good care of me.” He bent to open the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the giant first-aid kit. “We’ve got all this.”
She opened the box and stared at the contents, a jumble of drugs and bandages that overwhelmed her. And that was before she saw the surgical instruments, IV bags and syringes.
“That one is good for pulling bullets.” He pointed to a sterile bag that held a pair of long scissors with tweezer-like tips.
Yikes. She picked out a pair of scissors, the ordinary kind. First things first.
“What do you think you are doing with that?” He stared at her.
“I’m cutting off your clothes.”
A muscle twitched in his soot-covered face. “My shirt.”
“Yes.”
She started with a nice clean cut right up the middle, then realized the shirt was soaking wet on his right arm. She hadn’t immediately seen that on the black cloth. “Why are you wet?”
He brushed his hand against the shoulder and the sleeve came away torn, his palm smeared with blood.
“Oh my God.” She peeled away more of the material that had been held in place by dried blood. There was plenty of fresh blood, too, trickling down his arm.
Alex took a closer look then shrugged. “Stray bullet.”
“You could have told me you were shot.” The man carried the macho thing too far.
“Grazed.” He grabbed a towel and dabbed at the wound.
A week ago, looking at something like that would have made her pass out. Now all she felt was concern for Alex. Amazing how two terrorist attacks in two days could harden a person right up.
“I really think you need medical attention.” Surely he couldn’t be so stubborn as to not realize that.
“And that’s what you’re gonna give me.” Alex pointed at the first-aid kit. He grabbed the shirt where she had stopped cutting, ripped it the rest of the way, then pulled it off his left arm and held it so it wouldn’t tug the skin on the right.
She hooked the scissor under the sleeve and cut away as much as she could around the melted area. Once she was finished, she grabbed the tweezers from the kit and looked at Alex. He held her gaze without blinking, his face set in a hard mask.
She lifted the edge of the burned piece of cloth expecting the worst, but for once it seemed they caught a break. “It’s just melted into your hair, not your skin.” She tugged with the tweezers.
“Why don’t you try one of the surgical knives?”
She cut the coarse hair, mindful of the reddened skin underneath. Even with a knife as sharp as she used, it had to hurt, but Alex didn’t make a sound.
When she was done, she looked over the rest of him quickly to see if he had any other injuries, but the grime of blood and soot made it hard to assess the damage. His broad chest appeared to be fine. His burns seemed to be in places where his shirt hadn’t protected his skin. No other bullet wounds that she could see. Not that the one on his shoulder wasn’t enough.
“Does anything else hurt?” She glanced at his pants.
“I’ll check the rest myself.” He looked down, and soot fell from his hair, some of it landing on the open wound on his shoulder.
“We need to get you clean.”
“I’ll hop in the shower.”
“I don’t think water hitting those burns is going to feel good.”
“Let me worry about that.” He turned off the light and pushed her out the door.
She stayed just outside so she would hear if he lost consciousness from the pain and hit the floor. A good fifteen minutes passed by before she heard the water turn off.
“Would you mind getting me something clean to wear?” he called out, making her jump.
She walked over to the hall closet, rummaged through it, and settled on a large pair of sweatpants. They had even stocked packages of underwear. She opened a multicolored six-pack and pulled out black briefs. She didn’t grab any of the T-shirts. She needed to treat his wounds before he put anything on top.
She knocked, and he opened the door a few inches. The light was off inside, and she absolutely, positively couldn’t see a thing, but her hands still trembled as she handed him the clothes.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t bother with the door.
“You can come in,” he said a minute later.
She made sure the door was closed behind her before she turned on the light.
“No injuries below the belt,” he said.
Thank God for that. Then she wouldn’t have to treat anything in that area. She washed her hands in the sink with soap, twice, then looked over the burns on his neck and hands. He also had a cut on his forehead the dirt had hidden. His worst injury seemed to be the gash on his right shoulder that was still bleeding liberally. Nothing looked life threatening, but what did she know?
Alex rummaged through the kit. “We just need some disinfectant.”
“I’ll do it.” She took the bottle from him and swabbed the wound, then let him walk her through stopping the bleeding and bandaging his shoulder.
“How about the burns?” she asked when she was done.
“Should be a bottle of Pentametlin in there.”
She looked through the drugs and came across one by that name in a medium-size white canister, much like a can of hairspray.
“What is it?”
“A white foam that contains a combination of five different kinds of disinfectants, burn medications and local anesthetics.”
“Do I just spray
it on?”
“Liberally.”
She started with the left hand. “What do I use for a bandage?”
“Nothing. It’s better to let it breathe as long as I’m just lounging around the house and there’s not much chance of dirt getting into it.”
She nodded as she moved on to the other hand then the neck, working next to the tail of his tattoo snake as it curved around from his back.
“Turn around.”
“No.”
The sudden harshness in his voice surprised her. “I want to see if there’s any other damage.”
“There isn’t.”
“Damn it, Alex. I’m not going to stab you in the back.” Did he have some hideous birthmark? Or was he embarrassed by the rest of his tattoo? Did he think she would care?
He looked into her eyes, his expression set in stone. Then he turned.
His tattoo stopped on his shoulder as if the tail was part of a painting of a snake, the rest of which had been erased. His entire back was a giant scar, not new and red like the others in front, but healed over white wells of agony and torture. A startled gasp escaped her throat. Her reaction made him flinch.
She reached out a finger to touch him, unable to believe her eyes. “Alex…”
He spun around, his dark gaze boring into hers. “Satisfied?”
He reached over her and shut off the light, then pushed by her and walked out into the living room, leaving her alone in the dark. What had they done to him? Rage and sympathy filled her at the same time. Who could do such a thing to another human being?
“You can’t go yet.” Her voice was weak, her mind stunned at the thought of the terrible pain he must have suffered. When he had said he was recuperating from an injury, she had figured he meant a broken rib or two, or a bullet wound at the worst. What on earth could make anyone go back into a job that had left him like that? “Wait. I have to treat the cut on your head.”
His only response was a grunt.
Good enough. She’d take that as an agreement. If he was too stubborn to go to the hospital, he would be forced to put up with her. Nicola washed the foam off her hands, dried them, then rummaged through the first-aid kit in the dim moonlight that filtered into the bathroom. She picked out a tube of disinfectant cream and a couple of butterfly bandages.
She found him by the window and watched him for a moment as he stared outside, his imposing figure illuminated by the light of the full moon. He had put on a T-shirt from the hall closet.
She took a deep breath. “Alex?”
He sat as still as if he’d been carved from rock. He did not respond.
“Everything okay?”
He nodded then.
“I need to look at your forehead. It’ll only take a minute.” She moved closer, half expecting him to tell her where to go, but he turned sideways to allow her to proceed and bent his head to give her easier access.
She pushed his wet hair out of the way and spread some cream on the wound, grateful for the moonlight that made her work possible. His skin had been sliced by something sharp, probably as he’d fallen with the garage roof. But on closer inspection, the cut wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. Three butterfly bandages were enough to hold it together.
“That’s better.” She screwed the top back on the tube and smiled at him.
“Thank you.” He did not smile back, the expression on his face unreadable.
Then she saw his neck, the spot where the T-shirt rubbed against the burn and had already taken off most of the medicine. That wouldn’t do. “Hang on for a second.”
She returned to the bathroom, dropped the cream and extra bandages back in the kit, and grabbed the scissors and the Pentametlin. She wanted to do whatever she could to help him. Although he did not complain, he had to be in pain. Easing it to the best of her abilities was the least she could do. Especially after all he’d done for her.
He waited by the window. On duty. He never stopped, did he? She thanked God for that. It was the only reason she was still alive. She knew precious little about the man, but she knew this: as long as he breathed, he would guard her with his life.
“Let me cut around the neck of that T-shirt so it doesn’t rub against anything sensitive.”
“Have a thing for cutting clothes off me, huh?” The hard look disappeared from his face suddenly, and he flashed her a cocky grin.
She was smart enough not to go there. Instead of giving him an answer and fanning his ego, she made quick work of the shirt and reapplied the medicine. He leaned forward, his head inches away, his dark gaze searching her face before it settled on her lips.
They tingled in anticipation. It was insane. He hadn’t even touched her yet. “Um, I should—” She had no idea what she should do, only knew what she wanted to do, wanted more than to take her next breath.
He ran his hands up her bare arms in a gentle caress, and her mind went blank. In that moment nothing existed but the two of them in the moonlight. She lost herself in his touch, in the swirling black pools of his gaze that drew her to him irresistibly.
“Nicola,” he whispered her name into the night, the sound soft and light, running across her skin like dancing butterflies.
And she knew he was going to kiss her.
Chapter Seven
Alex drank in the picture before him—Nicola’s upturned face in the moonlight, her wide-eyed expression as she read his intent, her full lips parting on their own. If there was a man on this earth who could resist such temptation, it sure as hell wasn’t him.
Mad for a taste of her, he took what she willingly offered, not because he was aroused—hell, he’d been that from the day he’d first seen her—but because he needed her. He needed to feel her to know they were both truly alive.
Her mouth was soft and warm, making him forget every one of the dozens of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this. Then she brought her hands around his waist and kissed him back, and he couldn’t remember anything ever feeling this right.
His fingers ached to roam her body, but the Kevlar blocked them at every turn. She still wore the vest, and without her clothes showing, she still looked naked under it. The thought still drove him crazy.
She moved to take off the vest but he held her hands still. She definitely needed that for protection. From him.
While she wore that vest, she was safe. Reasonably. He couldn’t guarantee that she’d be completely safe from him as long as they were on the same continent.
He kissed her eyes, then covered the rest of her beautiful face in kisses before moving on to her neck and ears, aching to go on, wanting more, so much more. Her lips searched his and he obliged them gladly, drinking in her sweet taste. Having spent plenty of time in the desert, he knew what true thirst was, but he had never been as thirsty for water as he was for her.
She sneaked her hands under his T-shirt, over his abdomen, up his rib cage, and her light caresses left him mindless with desire. And then it got worse. She brushed her fingers over his chest, his nipples, and he sucked in his breath, afraid if she did much more he might explode.
But when her hands wandered to his back, he froze.
“Alex?”
In his mind he could see her delicate hands touching the loathsome welts that had once been his skin, and waited for her to recoil. Then he couldn’t wait any longer and pulled away.
“I’m sorry.” She moved toward him.
He moved back.
“How did it happen?”
“Leave it, Nicola.” He hesitated for a second, then stood and set her aside. “I’m going to check outside.”
He walked away without looking at her. Distance was what he needed and a little fresh air to clear his head. But his head had a hell of a time clearing. He shivered in the balmy night as he walked the perimeter to check for anything suspicious. He took his time. Only when he couldn’t find any more excuses to linger, did he go back in.
She had already opened the couch and was lying under a thin sheet. She didn’t move as
he walked by her to take up his post by the window. Good. She was sleeping or pretending, he didn’t much care which as long as she stayed away. He didn’t seem to have any control over his actions when she was near him.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. When did he work that up? He’d been cold a minute ago. He stared out the window and saw a bush move. Instantly alert, he grabbed the Makarov from his waistband. Movement again. But this time the entire landscape seemed to sway. He blinked his eyes, his head swimming as he sank down onto the chair behind him.
Damn.
He wiped his forehead again then stood and scrutinized the front yard. All seemed still. He was just dizzy. Can’t afford to get sick now. He went to the bathroom to wash his face in cold water, his lungs feeling heavy. Smoke inhalation sometimes didn’t present symptoms until as much as twenty-four hours afterward. That’s all he had, nothing more to it.
A bang next to him made him pick up his head. His gun had fallen to the floor. Had he dropped it? He opened the tap full strength and stuck his head under it.
“Are you okay?” Nicola stood in the doorway.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” she asked again, worried when he didn’t respond. Was he ill?
He straightened and swayed.
She grabbed his arm. His skin was hot with fever. “Can you walk to the bed?”
He nodded and moved forward, leaning on her heavily. The trip to the pullout couch took several minutes.
She didn’t have to tell him to lie down.
She rushed to the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light. There had to be something in that kit that would help him. She rummaged through the dozens of bottles. Lucky for her, next to the pharmaceutical name, each label also contained a plain English description scribbled on by hand. She grabbed three—“fever,” “pain” and “antibiotic”—then read the dosage.
She wet a towel before she shut off the light and went back to Alex. He would feel better soon. He had to. She draped the folded towel over his forehead and set the pills on the floor next to him until she got a glass of water. She took one pill from each bottle then held them out to him.