Bulletproof Seal. Carol Ericson
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Название: Bulletproof Seal
Автор: Carol Ericson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные детективы
isbn: 9781474078665
isbn:
“If you think you can trust her.”
“I do.” She turned at the entrance to the hallway. “Thanks for your assistance tonight, Quinn. Maybe I did want you to see that text after all.”
“You can always ask me, Rikki. You can ask me for anything.”
A smile trembled on her lips, and then she disappeared down the hallway.
Cocking his head to the side, Quinn listened as she got a toothbrush from his bathroom and then shut herself in the other one.
He sprinted down the hall and ducked into the second bedroom. He pulled out the sofa bed, darted to his bedroom, snagged a pillow from his bed and tossed it onto the sofa bed. Despite his best efforts at a quick assembly, Rikki hovered at the door of the office as he dragged a blanket across the bed.
“Just making up the sofa bed. Did you find the toothbrush and toothpaste okay?”
“Yep.” She ran her tongue along her teeth.
“Okay, then. Tomorrow.” His gaze darted to Rikki still propping up the doorjamb. She didn’t expect him to squeeze past her, did she? He couldn’t handle that.
A few seconds later that seemed like minutes, Rikki pushed herself off the door. “Nice apartment. I had memorized your address from...before. I was hoping you still lived here.”
He spread his arms. “Still here. Sleep tight.”
He practically ran from the room, slamming the door behind him. Sleep tight? What did that even mean, anyway?
He brushed his own teeth and studied his reflection in the mirror. He needed a shave—and an attitude adjustment. Rikki didn’t want him anymore. She’d made that clear before. And after he’d gone on a mission to assassinate her? Yeah, pretty much killed any thread of a chance he had left with her. Now if he could only send that message to his body.
He yanked the covers back from his bed and pulled off his T-shirt. He unzipped the fly on his shorts and hooked his thumbs in the band of his briefs as he started to take them down with his shorts. He usually slept naked, but maybe leaving on his underwear would protect him from lustful thoughts about Rikki.
He crawled between the sheets, rolled on his side, then the other side, and then flopped onto his back, one arm flung across his face. Briefs, no briefs, fully clothed, suit of armor—didn’t matter. Rikki Taylor was in his blood, and now she was back in his life.
About an hour later on the edge of another feverish dream, Quinn bolted upright in bed, his heart racing. He paused and heard the noise that had awakened him.
Someone pounded on the door again.
Quinn rolled out of bed and grabbed the gun on his nightstand. He crept toward the front door and paused, holding his breath.
The pounding resumed, following by a groan and a shout. “Quinn? Quinn, you there?”
Quinn drew his brows over his nose and released the locks. He eased open the door, and a man fell across the threshold, bruised and bloody.
“Quinn, you gotta help me. They’re gonna kill me.”
With her blouse pulled on over her panties, Rikki tiptoed to the office door, the gun Quinn had taken from her abductor clutched in her hand.
She opened the door a crack and sucked in a breath as the men’s voices, Quinn’s and someone else’s, carried down the hallway.
Had he called someone to take her in?
She rubbed her eyes. If that were the case, the guy wouldn’t be banging on the front door in the wee morning hours. She pressed her ear to the gap in the door, wrinkling her nose. She couldn’t hear a damned thing.
With the gun leading the way, she edged down the hallway and tripped to a stop.
Quinn looked up from tending to a badly beaten man stretched out on his living room floor. “Put down that gun and soak some towels with water.”
The authoritative tone of his voice had her jumping into action. She placed the weapon on the kitchen counter and scurried back to the hallway, where she rummaged through a few shelves, sweeping towels into her arms.
In the kitchen, she ran two of the towels beneath the faucet until they were soaked and dropped next to Quinn attending to the injured man.
As Quinn checked the man’s injuries, Rikki dabbed the cuts on his face with the corner of a damp towel. “Who is he?”
“CIA.”
Rikki dropped the towel and jerked back. “You called him?”
Quinn spit out between clenched teeth, “I did not. He just showed up on my doorstep like this. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing here, but he’s a friend, and I’m not turning him away.”
“O-of course not.” Rikki grabbed the towel and continued cleaning the man’s facial wounds. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t have a clue. He appeared and collapsed.”
The man moaned, and Quinn leaned in close. “Jeff, Jeff. What happened?”
Jeff peeled open one puffy eye, caked with blood. “Got the jump on me. Beat me up.”
“Who? Street robbery? Do you want me to call the cops?”
“No.” Jeff dug his fingers into the flesh of Quinn’s arms. “On the job.”
Quinn’s eyes met Rikki’s for a split second, and her heart flip-flopped. The CIA on the job in New Orleans? She couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t stay with Quinn any longer.
Quinn tugged Jeff’s shirt back down over his stomach. “I don’t see any weapon wounds.”
“No weapons.” Jeff closed his eyes. “Unless you count the guy’s fists.”
“You need some ice.” Rikki dabbed the last of the blood from Jeff’s face. She gathered the bloodstained towels and wrapped them in a plastic bag. She loaded another plastic bag with ice.
When she returned to the living room, Quinn had helped Jeff onto the sofa. Without the blood smearing his face, Jeff no longer looked half-dead.
Rikki perched on the edge of the coffee table, facing Jeff. She thrust the bag of ice at him. “Here. Can you manage?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Jeff grabbed the impromptu ice pack and pressed it against the lump forming around his eye.
Quinn started for the hallway. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen and water.”
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