He jerked, muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
It didn’t deter her—and finally she felt the tips of the instrument scrape against something hard. Praying it was the bullet and not bone, she clamped the metal around it and pulled, slow and steady until the instrument was out, a single bloody bullet in its grasp.
Cam drew a long, shuddering breath and she took one of her own.
He sank back on his hands, his face pale, and then slowly the color returned. “Good. That was good. Thanks.”
His voice was hoarse from pain.
She dropped the instrument and the bullet into the sink, where it landed with a loud clank. Then she grabbed fresh gauze and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding. “What now?”
He waited a beat and then said, “Feel like learning to stitch?”
CHAPTER
8
C
am guided her through the process of using the needle holder on the wound, showing her first on the thick skin of his fingertips how deep to stitch.
Sky stood, one hand still pressing gauze to his shoulder, her body brushing his thigh, her forehead scrunched intently.
She was close. Really close. He’d barely let himself process the closeness he’d felt to her last night, but this was altogether different, and yeah, you’d think a bullet wound would take the rise out of a guy.
He could go on the record by saying it didn’t. Despite the pain and stress of the day, the close proximity was definitely affecting him, especially when her breasts brushed his back, and her free hand traveled along his rib cage as she stitched.
Yeah, he was pretty much ready to ask her for a sponge bath.
Whether she noticed or not, she didn’t say anything, just continued to work, stitching slowly and carefully, which hurt more than a fast and dirty job.
Still, he was grateful for the help. He was damned impressed with how she’d handled herself. He just hoped she hadn’t seen the third wound, on his chest—a long thin opening, courtesy of the freakin’ paring knife the guy had grabbed from the counter.
But she noticed, traced a finger down along the slice, lightly assessing the damage. “This needs stiches too.”
“I’m fine,” he said before she could say anything. He took the needle from her—or tried to, but she took it back, saying, “Let me.”
And he did, because he knew that in a situation like this, helping made one feel less helpless.
He could tell Sky hated being helpless.
When she was done, she cleaned the area with antiseptic and watched him give himself a healthy dose of antibiotics via a needle in the arm. And then he picked up the bullet in the sink and rinsed it off before studying it. “Favored by spies—quick and deadly.”
“Funny, I tend to think of all bullets as deadly,” she muttered.
He didn’t respond, tossed the bullet in his bag and began to wrap up the bloody gauze, because no need to freak out housekeeping.
But she wasn’t going to drop it that easily—in fact, he’d been surprised she’d held it together so well on the ride over.
“Cam, I need more information about what’s going on. Please—you must know. And I have to. I think those men have my father—or at least I think they know who has him.”
He didn’t say anything just then. Letting her speak and spill was far more effective in finding out intel about her father—about anything she might know, and she did continue.
“Do you think … well, it makes sense that whoever’s after me, whoever’s sending letters, would want me for leverage.”
His own words came rushing back to him, because that was how he was supposed to see Skylar.
Leverage
. Nothing more, nothing less. And hell, how did this get so complicated? “It makes sense,” he agreed finally.
“My father must’ve had a contingency plan. We’ve got to get in touch with someone. Can’t you call anyone about this?”
Could he? Sure, and get into even more trouble. “His contingency plan is me, Sky.”
“Look, I know you’re Special Forces. Delta, probably. You have contacts,” she persisted. “I won’t sit here and do nothing. They’re not going to stop looking for me.” She stared at him, the fear shining through her previously calm gaze, the pulse at the base of her neck fluttering. And all the calm control she’d portrayed since leaving the house was fading fast.
“You keep … pulling back. Like there’s something big you’re not telling me.” She paused. “It’s about the danger I’m in, right?”
“You know what I know, Sky. I’m on the bodyguard end, not the investigatory one.” All true, since Dylan was the one doing the actual investigating.
All true, mixed with an equal amount of lies. A perfect blend.
And Sky’s instincts wouldn’t let her buy into it. She’d continue to fight him for intel in the most unassuming way. And he didn’t blame her one bit.
But if he let her in on the truth now, there was no telling what she’d do—she might run, call the police … put herself in more danger.
He was her best choice right now.
He wanted to be her best choice for a long time. “Your father never mentioned any recent threats to you—or even not so recent ones?”
“I told you, I haven’t seen or talked to him in months.”
“But before that—was there ever a time you were threatened?” he persisted, and he saw it, the crack in the foundation. She turned away and walked out of the bathroom.
Still shirtless, he followed her.
She sat on the brown comforter, pulled her legs up to her chest, as if protecting herself from some invisible force. He sat next to her, said her name quietly a few times until she responded.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Cam.”
He didn’t push her. Something was there and it would come out eventually, but he’d learned a long time ago that forcing someone to spill wasn’t the most effective way to keep their trust.
He wanted her trust—and not for the same reasons he’d wanted it two nights ago, or even last night. No, the look in her eyes when she saw he’d been hurt, the pure concern … he wanted that to be real.
It’s all going away when she finds out the truth
.
Yeah, well, he’d let it play out. For now, she was safest with him.
“I think I need to rest,” she said. “I’m still … I get tired a lot.”
More mental than physical at this point, he supposed, but no matter which, she needed the shut-eye. “Go for it. We’ll most likely leave when it’s dark—roads should be clear and we can make tracks without worrying about being followed. I don’t want to stay in any one place too long.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Yeah, I noticed. A job requirement, I guess.”
She wanted more information—more from him than he was ready, willing or able to give—but he simply pointed to the pillows and said, “Sack out.”
She scuttled backward willingly and pushed the covers down so she could get under them.
It didn’t take long before he noticed the easy breaths of a deep sleep. As he’d noted last night, she was a heavy sleeper, which was good for him.
She looked pretty—and peaceful. He slid outside, closed the door gently behind him and dialed Dylan’s number. “You got my texts, I’m assuming.”
“Yeah, I got them. I love hearing in a text message that you’ve been shot,” his friend said.
“Hey, I used code.”
“What the hell, Cam?”
“Creighton’s in trouble.”
“And we give a shit about this why?”
“Because Sky’s life is also in danger. There was a break-in—probably from the same men who have Gabriel. They were going to kidnap her. Told her they would bring her to her father.”
“Did you believe them?”
“They were carrying enough morphine to tranq a small horse.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
“How badly are you hurt?”
“I took care of it.”
A long sigh and then, “I’ve got the intel—Zane ran it for me. Plates were stolen, so’s the car. There were four sets of prints in the car—one didn’t show up in the system, probably the truck’s owner. One set of prints belongs to a Jess Jones. He’s done time for voluntary second-degree manslaughter. Pretty long rap sheet. Hired gun. The second guy is wanted too—selling military surplus, being looked at for some arms trafficking. Third guy must be new, or really good—there’s nothing that comes up for him, but he’s listed as a known associate.”
Cam leaned against the building and stared out into the gray day, remaining mostly hidden by his truck, just in case.
He’d already changed the license plate to one of the many he kept in the back. They wouldn’t be able to trace him through that.
“Do you think Gabriel knows you’re with Skylar?”
“I don’t know how.” Then again, how the hell Gabriel had found him two nights earlier was a bit of a mystery. Cam had come right from the post, so it was likely Gabriel tracked his missions and his comings and goings that way … but still, the thought of Big Brother watching him—especially these past five months when he thought he’d been truly free, for the first time since he was seventeen—was unsettling.
“So what now?” Dylan asked.
“Dylan, I can’t do this … not the way we planned. Sky’s not in danger from me, not anymore. I’ll keep her with me, yes. She’s still my way out of this mess with Gabriel. But in the meantime I’m going to do everything I can to keep her safe.”
And then he waited for the fallout.
Y
ou’ve gone from being her kidnapper to being her rescuer in less than forty-eight hours. Jesus, Cam.” Dylan rubbed his head, tried to be pissed, but was secretly relieved that his friend wasn’t a hardened fuck.
Apparently, neither was he, even though he’d always thought of himself as one. Because, somehow, everything had seriously shifted and he needed to put his assigned game face on and figure out what the hell Riley knew about Gabriel. At least before she tried to put another bullet in him.
He rubbed his chest where she’d shot him. It had left a massive bruise below his heart that had hurt like a bitch for weeks. Sometimes, he swore he could make it ache by just thinking about her.
“I like her,” Cam said quietly. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“It happens.” Dylan paced the small space in front of the sliding glass doors and the view that overlooked Riley’s house. Because how could he tell his friend that he was wrong, that it was simply lust. Fucking.
Cam was way more cautious than that. He was no sucker. And this situation had gotten more complicated than Dylan could have ever predicted.
Cam had nearly killed him for not telling him about Sky earlier—could Dylan really keep what he’d learned about Gabriel and Howie a secret for now? And what the hell good would it do?
His friend would need to learn the truth eventually. “Gabriel will probably have you killed for making contact with his daughter in the first place. For even knowing she exists.”
“I know that—but, like you told me, you’re my backup.” Cam’s voice got fierce. His
You can’t talk me out of this so don’t fucking bother trying
voice.
Dylan knew the tone all too well. His friend’s resolve was legendary. He had to respect the man’s morals even if he didn’t agree with them. And now was the time to tell him what he’d found out from Zane.
I’ve got some intel for you, on Cam’s father
, Zane said when he’d called, his voice hard and flat. Not like Zane’s usual party-in-a-box drawl.
He’d tell his friend fast—yanking off the Band-Aid so the shock factor stopped the sting. “Zane met with an OA who knew Howie. Said he saw Howie get shot by another OA the night you were arrested.”
He waited, heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. And he continued to wait, could picture Cam standing there, his face set in stone, refusing to admit any of this bothered him.
Dylan knew better.
Finally, Cam spoke, his voice choked. “He was sure it was the night of the murders?”
“Very sure.”
“So my father couldn’t have come for me,” he said quietly. “All these years, and I’ve hated him as much as I hate Gabriel.”
“Howie should never have allowed you into his world. You and I both know that. It’s no place for a kid, and that’s what you were. And I think Howie finally realized that.” Dylan wished he didn’t have to do this over the phone.
“You think Howie was sending me to safety, that he knew something was about to go down and he was sending me to the FBI agents so they could help me?”
“It makes sense. But there’s only one man who knows for sure.” Dylan paused and then, “The OA said that a member named Sinister killed Howie. And when Zane showed the guy Gabriel’s picture, the one you took from Sky …”
“Sinister and Gabriel are one and the same,” Cam said dully.
“I don’t know whether to say I’m sorry or not, man. You’ve been waiting for this intel for so long.”
“Where do they all think Sinister’s at now?”
“Killed by the police.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Cam muttered. “And Gabriel got off scot-free for his part in the mission.”
“According to the OA Zane spoke with, Sinister was working with a Colombian cartel, making big deals before the huge CIA bust. The FBI was involved and there was a rumor that an ATF agent had infiltrated the OA and was killed then too, along with the two FBI agents.”
There was such a long silence, Dylan thought they’d lost the connection. Finally, Cam spoke. “It’s not Sky’s fault.”
“She’s his blood. If she’s going to choose …” Dylan trailed off, not wanting to push too hard. “I’m still following a lead on Creighton.”
“Through Riley?”
“She knows where he is. Claims that, as of yesterday, he’s still alive.”
“You’ll follow her.”
“Yeah. What about you?”
Another long pause filled the line and then, “Nothing’s changed.”
But they both knew that wasn’t true at all. “You could call the CIA. Let them know where she is. And then get your ass to the house you built and disappear. No one knows about that place. It’s secure.”
His friend let out a long sigh on the other end of the phone. “She had a fucking kidney transplant less than six months ago. She’s strong. But scared. And she doesn’t deserve this.”