“Take it easy, Hunter. I’m coming,” she called out softly, pitching her voice so that it would reach him but not echo through the woods.
Instead of calming him, her words had him thrashing around and muttering about swords and killers and guns. Was he experiencing another flashback, or trying to warn her? It didn’t matter; she wouldn’t abandon him. Once she knew how badly hurt he was, she would call for help.
She sat down and scooted down the hill on the seat of her pants, exchanging a bit of dignity for safety. When she reached Hunter’s side, she shifted her position to kneel beside him. He’d lapsed back into a silence more worrisome than his earlier agitation.
“Hunter, I’m here. Are you okay?”
He clearly wasn’t. Time to call in the cavalry. But when she flipped open her phone, she groaned. No reception. She’d have to administer rudimentary first aid, and then climb back up to where she might be able to call out.
Holding the flashlight in one hand, she started at his head and worked her way down his powerful body, checking for injuries. She ignored the scrapes he’d collected on his slide down the hill, knowing they’d be painful but not life threatening. The deep gash on his arm was a different matter.
She pulled off her flannel shirt to use as a bandage. The fabric proved to be too strong to rip into strips with just her hands. Hunter seemed the type to carry a pocketknife, but before she could search his pockets, she saw what he had clasped in his other hand. Was that a blade of some kind? She reached across his chest to yank it from his hand.
She recognized the wolf’s head immediately and was surprised at how long the actual blade was when she finally worked it out from under Hunter. What was he doing with a sword? Even as she started cutting into the flannel, she put two and two together. The black tube was the sheath for the sword, allowing Hunter to carry a lethal weapon in plain sight. The question was why he felt the need, but she’d have to wait until later to demand an answer.
“I’m sorry if this hurts, but I’ve got to stop the bleeding,” she explained as she wrapped his arm, although he gave no sign of hearing her. The cloth was already soaked through by the time she tied the knot, so she wrapped one of the shirtsleeves around his arm, hoping to slow the bleeding until the medics could get to him.
“I’m going to check the rest of you for injuries, Hunter. You look pretty banged up, but I think most of it is from falling down this hillside.”
She kept up a one-sided conversation as she searched for other injuries. His other arm seemed sound, and his legs were both straight, with no obvious breaks or open wounds. Then she pulled up his dark T-shirt, realizing for the first time that all the blood wasn’t from the cut on his arm. She’d never seen a bullet hole up close before, but she was looking at one now.
“This is going to hurt, but I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
She braced herself for the worst and rolled Hunter toward her to check for an exit wound. Was it a good thing that she found one? How the heck was she supposed to know something like that? They sure didn’t cover that topic in the first-aid course she’d taken. But a bleeding wound was a bleeding wound, regardless of the cause. She hacked up some more of her shirt to make a couple of thick pads. Now, to hold them in place. The question was how. His belt might work. She unbuckled it and yanked with all her strength to pull it free from the loops in his jeans.
That was the easy part. It was much harder to work it under him and cinch it down over the makeshift bandage. There wasn’t any more to be done until she got some help, although she hated to leave him alone even that long. Would his cell phone work when hers hadn’t? It was worth a shot.
“I’m going to try your phone, because my cheap service doesn’t do well down here.”
She patted down his pockets, hoping he hadn’t lost the phone or broken it in the fall. Luck was with them. The reception wasn’t great, but she should be able to get a call through to 911.
“Hang in there, Hunter. I know it feels like we’re out in the middle of nowhere, but the fire department and the aid car will be here in no time.”
And the police as well, but she didn’t say so. She hoped Hunter had a good explanation about how he’d come to get shot and stabbed, not to mention why his own sword was covered in blood. At least the inquisition couldn’t start until he was stabilized and conscious.
“Okay, I’m dialing. Help’s on the way.”
“Don’t call.” Hunter’s voice was rough and weak; there was no mistaking the steel behind his demand.
Good, he was awake, but he still needed help. “Sorry, but I can’t get you back up the hill by myself. I have to call for help.”
Before she could enter the second number, Hunter’s hand clamped down on her wrist hard enough to bruise. The sudden motion startled her into dropping the phone. As she scrambled to pick it up, she tried to tug her arm free of his grasp.
“Hunter, let go of me.” Her voice cracked with fear. “Even if I could get you up on your feet, you’re bleeding too badly to make it back to the house.”
“I’ll be fine. No calls. No police.” His eyes burned with intensity, giving his words the strength his voice lacked.
She shivered. “You’re scaring me, Hunter.”
“Sorry.”
He closed his eyes and waited for the world to quit spinning. She was right; they needed help, just not the local authorities. The question was, who? His list of possibilities was short. Then there was the problem of getting Tate to go along with his choice. Hoping it would help convince her that he wasn’t crazy, he released her arm. Good. She stayed next to him rather than bolting for cover.
“D.J. is seven on my speed dial. Call him.” He drew a ragged breath, the pain from his arm and his side making it hard to concentrate.
“What good’s he going to do? Especially if he’s any distance away?” Despite the doubt in her voice, she was already flipping the phone open.
“Tell him what happened. He’ll know what to do.”
She nodded as she waited for D.J. to pick up on the other end. Bright woman that she was, she put the call on the speaker phone so Hunter could hear and be heard.
“Yo, Hunter. What’s up?” The Paladin sounded like his usual carefree self.
Hunter felt Tate brace herself. “D.J., this is Tate. Hunter’s been shot and stabbed. He needs help but won’t let me call nine-one-one. I’m going to anyway.”
When D.J. spoke again, he was all business. “No, don’t. He’s right, Tate. That would only put him in more danger. Where are you now?”
“We’re about halfway down the trail to the beach that starts at the back of my yard, right below that sharp switchback. He fell down the hillside, so we’re off the trail completely.”
“Are the bastards that did it still around?”
Tate’s head whipped around, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her. “No, at least I don’t think so. I heard a truck leave right before I came looking for him.”
D.J.’s voice sounded more relaxed. “Okay, that’s good. Keep an eye out, though. Can Hunter walk?”
“I don’t think so. He’s bleeding from a bad cut on his arm and a bullet wound on his side.” Her voice grew calmer the longer she talked.
“What have you done for him?”
“I cut up my shirt with his sword and used it for bandages.”
That last remark set off a string of curses that had Hunter wincing. This was a clusterfuck of monumental proportions, and experience told him it was going to get worse as the cold chill of death crawled up his extremities.
D.J. gave them their marching orders. “Okay, Tate, here’s what you do. Stay with him. I’m just pulling up your driveway, so I’ll be there with reinforcements in a matter of minutes. Stay put and we’ll come get him. Got that?”
She shook her head, as though D.J. could see through the phone. “He’s hurt too badly to wait much longer. The authorities can transport him to the hospital for treatment.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “Oh, God,
D.J., he’s lost so much blood.”
D.J.’s voice softened. “Look, Tate, I know it looks bad, and maybe it is. But if he’s awake and talking, he’ll be fine. The last thing Hunter wants or needs is to end up in a civilian hospital.”
“Civilian? Are you telling me that you two are in the military?”
Skepticism dripped from every word as she stared at the bloodstained sword lying on the ground beside him. Hunter didn’t blame her one bit, but all that mattered was that she did as D.J. asked.
“I’ll give you ten minutes. Any longer than that, or if he gets worse, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him the help he needs. Got that?”
D.J. laughed. “Yes, ma’am. Call me if anything changes.”
“I will.” She closed the phone.
“Thanks, Tate,” Hunter whispered.
He tried to touch her hand, hoping to offer her a bit of comfort, but he couldn’t move his arm. Poor Tate—while he knew his body would eventually start working its special healing mojo, she didn’t. As far as she knew, he was an ordinary man, one who could die and stay that way.
Tate moved away and avoided looking at him, focusing all of her attention on the trail above, as if she could make D.J. appear faster through sheer willpower. She sat with her arms wrapped around her waist, looking so alone and scared. Hunter hated knowing that her fear was because of him. A situation like this was exactly why there could never be anything serious between them. He just hadn’t expected that truth to hurt more than being both skewered and shot combined.
“Sorry you got involved in this.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d spoken aloud or if he’d only thought the words. Maybe it didn’t matter, because if Hunter died in front of Tate, Devlin would be forced to replace him. One way or another, this could be his last night with her. He sucked in as much as air as he could and tried one more time.
“Sorry, Tate.”
This time she looked directly at him, but her silence was nothing more than he deserved.
Chapter 13
Joe signaled and moved over into the fast lane, hoping to get this screwed-up night over with as fast as possible. Knowing the explosion was coming any second, he kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead and counted off the seconds until his employer finally blew his cork.
Mr. White slammed his fist down on the dashboard. “What a fucked-up mess!”
Now wasn’t the time to speak up. Better to avoid drawing any attention to himself while the old bastard vented. Mr. White would get around to berating Joe eventually, but later was better than sooner. If there was a God in heaven, they’d be back in Seattle before his name reached the top of the list of things his employer was pissed off about. Unfortunately, Joe’s luck ran out only seconds later.
“And what were you thinking, shooting your gun like that? We’re lucky no one called the cops before we got away.” By now, Mr. White’s voice lost all its heat and became ice cold.
“That guy was about to kill your business partner. I was thinking that would be a bad thing.” If it wasn’t, that made it pretty clear how far professional loyalty would get him with his boss. At the first sign of trouble, Joe would be jettisoned just like that pale-eyed bastard had been.
“I don’t pay you to think.”
He was getting damned tired of the insults. “No, you pay me to drive, and you’re the one who wanted me to carry a weapon. If you meant it to be just for show, you should’ve said so.”
Silence. The adrenaline from actually pulling the trigger had left him riled up and ready to fight. Maybe he shouldn’t have shot his mouth off, but at that moment he didn’t much care. If he got fired, Joe would miss the money. But sometimes cold, hard cash wasn’t worth the bullshit you had to put up with to earn it. Maybe he’d calm down long to apologize before the trip back to town was over, but he doubted it.
To his surprise, Mr. White blinked first. “You’re right, of course, Joe.”
That was the first time the man had called Joe by his real name. Somehow it didn’t leave him feeling all warm and fuzzy. More like chilled to the bone and wishing he had installed an ejector in the passenger seat. He’d be using it right now and celebrating when Mr. White bounced off the highway and into a ditch. If that didn’t kill him, then at least Joe would’ve had a head start on getting out of town.
“Do you think your friend will be all right? Or the one I shot?” It was hard to tell how badly hurt the one man had been since his weird coloring was so pale to begin with. The other one had tumbled down the hillside before Joe had had a chance to see how much damage the bullet had done. He guessed he’d know for sure when he read the morning headlines.
Mr. White shrugged, clearly not concerned. “The one you shot was most likely dead before he hit the bottom of the hill. If not, who’s going to believe anything he says anyway? Especially about being stabbed with a sword.”
He laughed and turned his cold eyes in Joe’s direction. “As far as my associate, if he received care soon enough, we should hear from him tomorrow or the next day. If so, we’ll be returning to the cave again. However, if he doesn’t contact me, it may be awhile before I need you again. I’ll have to wait for his replacement to make contact.”
Okay, so maybe Joe wouldn’t die for shooting the crazy jerk who’d pulled a sword out of nowhere when Mr. White’s business associate had gone on the attack. This whole situation just kept getting weirder and weirder. Who goes around carrying a sword in the first place? Well, besides the guy they were up there to meet, that is.
Joe had tried to convince himself from the beginning that the guy was some kind of reenactor, but despite his odd clothing and insistence on wearing his sword, that was clearly not the case. Even in the dead of night it had been easy to see that the two men had known how to swing those swords and had seriously meant to kill each other.
“You’re thinking too hard about things that are none of your concern, Mr. Black. Tonight’s events have complicated the situation, but we’ll deal with it. Wake me when we’re at the drop-off.”
They were only about twenty minutes out, but Joe was just as happy to let him doze off. As long as the man was sleeping, Joe could pretend he was alone and everything was under control.
Even if it wasn’t.
Tate wished Hunter would say something, anything, especially if he could tell her this was all a bad dream. Not that she’d believe him. It was hard to ignore a bullet wound, not to mention a vicious cut from a sword. Then there was the pungent smell of drying blood in the air.
A bubble of confused laughter threatened to break loose. Here she was, an aspiring romance writer who loved swashbuckling heroes and had a thing for a certain badass gunslinger, yet there was nothing at all romantic about this situation. Unlike the spunky heroine in her book, Tate was scared. Terrified, in fact. It wouldn’t take much to shatter her control—a loud sound, a footstep, a leaf falling from overhead.
Gunshot and sword wounds were ugly, bloody messes, even though Hunter wasn’t complaining. Actually, other than that last sigh, he’d been totally silent. Oh, God, was he even breathing? She scooted closer and rested her fingertips against his throat, hoping against hope to feel a steady pulse. His skin was cold and clammy. One beat… two, then his chest moved slightly, enough to reassure her that he was still breathing, though it seemed awfully shallow and irregular.
Where the heck was D.J.? She checked the time. Another two minutes and she’d start dialing whether Hunter and D.J. liked it or not. Then she heard the welcome sound of rapid footsteps on the trail above. At least she hoped they were welcome. She stared up the hillside, grateful for the shadows concealing their location but also wishing she could see more clearly.
Hunter shifted next to her. He rolled slightly to his left and tried to push himself upright before she could stop him.
“Stay still or you’ll start bleeding again.”
Ignoring her advice, he continued to struggle to sit up, leaving her no choice but to help him. That didn’t mean she had t
o like it.
“If you bleed to death, don’t blame me.”
Hunter winced in pain as he used her support to get to his feet. “Tate, unless you’re the jerk who shot me or the one who stabbed me, none of this is your fault.”
She moved to stand beside him so he could lean against her. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“Not by name.”
Okay, she knew he was hurting, but cryptic answers weren’t going to cut it. Not when she had his blood on her clothes and hands. Had the attack been directed specifically at him, or had he stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time? She kept her voice low even though she really wanted to rip into him.
“But you did expect something like this could happen, or why else would you be carrying a sword.” She felt him stiffen, warning her that he was going to choose his words very carefully.
Finally, he sagged back against a tree for support. “Tate, you have to believe that I never meant for you to get drawn into this.”
Which was sort of an answer, she supposed. “Why the sword?”
His words came in stutters and starts. “A friend knew I was having… problems… from my injuries… like the other night in the restaurant… holding the wolf’s head helps me focus. The cane… a family heirloom made in the late 1800s.”
That didn’t explain how Hunter had come to be stabbed or how he’d managed to draw blood with his own weapon. But right now, she was too tired to care. Once help arrived, they could take over Hunter’s care. Personally, she planned on going home, jumping into bed, pulling the blankets up over her head, and doing her best to pretend none of this had happened.
Later, when she was rested and could think more clearly, she’d corner Hunter and demand better answers to her questions. If he refused to respond, or if she didn’t like what he had to say, she’d be looking for a new renter.
Yep, that was her plan.
Before she could convince herself that it was a good idea, she asked, “Who exactly is them, Hunter?”
“Shhhh!” he hissed, his eyes wild, his mouth grim. “Not now. They’re coming.”
Defeat the Darkness (Paladins of Darkness 6) Page 19