Killshadow Road. Пола Грейвс

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СКАЧАТЬ of answering his question, she leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder. Her low alto drawl came out weak and strained. “Hold off a second, okay?”

      He put his hand on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her curls. Her skin was hot and damp, and her breath burned against his throat when she turned her head toward him.

      “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be here,” she murmured.

      “I’m here.” He stroked her hair, fighting against an old familiar ache of longing. McKenna Rigsby had twisted him into knots once, a long time ago, and it had taken years to untangle himself.

      “I know you have every reason to be mad at me, Darcy,” she whispered against his collarbone. “I wouldn’t blame you if you tossed me back into the woods to fend for myself.”

      “I would never do that.”

      She lifted her head, gazing up at him with pain-dark eyes. She lifted one bloodstained hand to his face. “I know. That’s why I came to you.”

      He couldn’t stop himself from bending to touch his forehead to hers. Her breath came out in an explosive little whoosh, mingling with his ragged respiration. “You’ll be the death of me yet, Rigsby.”

      “I never wanted to hurt you, Darcy. That’s why—” Her words ended on a soft sigh. “I don’t like to need people. You know that.”

      All too well. “But you need me now.”

      She pulled back, her gaze intense. “I do. I need your help.”

      “You have it.”

      To his surprise, tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with her knuckles. “Ready to give this torture another go?”

      He reached for the hot washcloth and the hand soap. “Are you?”

      She stripped her sweater over her head, tossing the bloody garment onto the floor, revealing her bra and a holster on her right hip the sweater had hidden. She tugged the holster free and laid it on the counter, the Glock 27 gleaming.

      Bending to expose her side to him, she told him, “Finish it.”

      He cleaned the wounds a second time, making sure to remove anything that looked like debris from the raw skin. The bleeding had nearly stopped, he saw with relief. If he could get a few pints of water into her, she should recover from the blood loss soon enough.

      He washed the blood from his own hands and opened the cabinet over the nearest sink. He had a prepackaged first-aid kit stored there, though he wasn’t sure the maker had planned for a medical emergency that included bullet wounds. There were better kits stocked at The Gates, but he was on paid leave from the agency at the moment. He could hardly sneak in and spirit out supplies without someone taking notice.

      Pulling out the best tools available—antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, sterile gauze pads and some surgical tape—he treated and bandaged the wounds as quickly and efficiently as he could. “The sweater is a loss, I fear.”

      “Just lend me a T-shirt.” She slanted an amused look at him as she picked up her weapon and holster. “You do own one, don’t you?”

      “Several, actually.” He helped her down from the sink counter, trying to ignore the silky heat of her bare skin beneath his fingers. She wobbled a little, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright as they left the bathroom and headed down the narrow hall to his bedroom.

      As he dug in the large chest of drawers in the corner for a clean shirt for her, she eyed his large bed with a hint of dismay. “Not heart-shaped.”

      “Sadly, no.” He handed her a black T-shirt and a long-sleeved fleece jacket. “It’ll get cold in the night.”

      “Where are you going to sleep?” She eased the T-shirt over her head with a grimace.

      “The sofa in my study is comfortable.”

      “I should take it.” She swayed a little, her face paler than usual.

      He caught her before she collapsed, easing her down to the bed. “Let’s get you under the covers.” He pulled back the blanket and helped her slide between the sheets. Tucking the blanket up around her, he added, “We need to get some fluids back into you. Think you could handle soup or some broth as well as water?”

      She caught his hand as he started to rise. “Wait. First, I need to tell you something.” Her voice faltered, and her eyes began to droop again. “There’s a reason you can’t trust anyone. You can’t let anyone know I’m here. Not even someone you trust.”

      “What the hell is going on, Rigsby?” He cradled her face between his palms, not liking the flushed heat rising in her cheeks. “Who is after you?”

      “I’m not sure exactly,” she admitted, her eyes fluttering to stay open. “But I know it’s someone I work with.”

      He frowned. “Someone you work with?”

      Her gaze steadied, locking with his. “Whoever shot me was working with someone in the FBI.”

       Chapter Two

      McKenna could see the wheels in Nick Darcy’s mind turning at turbo speed. Despite his recent clashes with hidebound bureaucracy, she knew there would always be a part of Darcy that tried to play by the rules. He’d grown up in a Foreign Service household, where protocol and diplomacy reigned, and not even the past few months of work as a private security contractor had freed him from those constraints.

      “Someone in the FBI?” He dropped his hands away from her face and rose from the bed.

      “You say that as if you’d never seen government corruption.” Her whole left side was beginning to ache like a bad tooth, and her throat felt dry and scratchy. “I don’t suppose we could discuss this further over a gallon of water and some ibuprofen?”

      “Of course.” He disappeared through the bedroom door as if a horde of rogue FBI agents were after him.

      She fell back against the pillows of his bed and stared up at the exposed beams of the ceiling, trying to pretend she didn’t feel like one big bloody wound. She was in a safe place, for now at least, which was a hell of a lot better position than she’d been in just an hour ago.

      Only a handful in the FBI knew the dangerous game she’d been playing for the past three months. One of them had put her in the crosshairs of a deadly group of domestic terrorists and given them the go-ahead to pull the trigger. Literally.

      But who?

      Darcy returned to the bedroom carrying a wicker basket. When he set it on the bed and opened the latch at the top, McKenna saw it was exactly what it looked like—a picnic basket containing a large bottle of water, a metal thermos and a bottle of ibuprofen tablets.

      “I didn’t think you’d want anything heavy, so the soup is just chicken broth. I packed a few crackers in there if you want them.” He set the water bottle on the bedside table next to her. “How long since you last ate?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ