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The heat from the cooking equipment encased her as they hurried over the tile floor. Warring scents wafting from the industrial grill and ovens made her stomach turn.
“Hey, employees only!” a deep voice shouted, and she glanced over her shoulder. The voice hadn’t been directed at them, but the camera-wielding reporter. A man in chef whites noticed them approaching and opened the door at the end of the kitchen. The whoosh of fresh air pulled her hair back and away from her cheeks. Gus steadied her as they climbed down the steep concrete steps. With each stride, the sides of her feet pinched between strappy heels. She’d pay with blisters later. Once they hit the pavement, Gus took the key fob out of his pocket and clicked the remote.
There was a blinding light, followed by a blast of heat. Rough hands grabbed and pushed. Her feet were on the ground one moment, and the next, the world had tilted and she was lying on the pavement. Gus’s full weight was pinned against her. The world was soundless, and although there was pressure against her back and front, there was no pain. Shouldn’t there be pain? A trickle of panic unfurled in her chest. God, was she paralyzed? Was Gus? Black smoke billowed around them. Gus shifted to his feet. She could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t make out the words. Then she was lifted, braced in Gus’s arms. Her body jerked as he ran, and then he was placing her down, propping her back against a hard surface. His facial expressions were twisted, his mouth still moving. Something wet trickled down the side of her face, and she lifted her hand to swipe it away. Her trembling fingertips were dripping with crimson.
****
Something woke her with a start, a scream poised on the tip of her tongue. She tried to sit up, but pain exploded behind her eyes, and there was a strong pinch inside her elbow.
The scuff of sneakers sounded at her side. “Easy there.”
After a moment, she fought to open her eyes, trying to find the source of the feminine voice. She blinked. A woman with hazel eyes so like Gus’s stared at her with a worried expression. Her long, straight caramel hair hung to her waist, and she gently put her hand on Sasha’s shoulder.
Did she know this person? The blast, the heat, blood dripping down her face. “Gus!” In her mind, the voice was a scream, but the word was hoarse and choked. “Where, what—”
“It’s okay. Gus is fine. The doctor needed to remove some shrapnel from his back, and he asked us to watch over you.” Her words, soft and even, eased the panic that detonated inside her chest.
Gus was okay. A tear slid down her cheek.
“I’m Julie, his sister. And really, he’s got a thick skull, so he’s hard to take out.”
“She’s right. I’m Easton, Gus’s brother. And over there guarding the door is Isaac. The uglier twin.”
She tried to offer him a smile, but a stinging sensation pulled along her skin. She ran her tongue over her lips, finding them dry and peeling. His comment was amusing though. Even if the men weren’t related to Gus by blood, they were all tall, built, and easy on the eyes, while Julie was just lovely.
“How long have I been here?” When she found her art torn apart at the gallery, it had been nearly six o’clock on Friday. There was bright light streaming through the hospital window.
“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon on Saturday.” The man towering in the door frame—Isaac—told her. He dropped his tightly crossed arms and gave her a wave. “Nice to meet you. Feeling okay? Any pain?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. She really wasn’t sure. After the explosion, she felt nothing at all. Must’ve passed out shortly after Gus had carried her to safety. She wiggled her toes on the right, then the left before working her way up her body, contracting and releasing her muscles. “I’m fine. Just a bit stiff. Gus shielded me. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt if he wasn’t protecting me.” She looked away and dipped her chin to her chest, unable to meet their eyes. Thank God he was okay.
“He doesn’t care about a few scratches.” Isaac’s face was drawn in a severe expression. “What he cares about is you, or he wouldn’t have asked us to be here.”
Her throat tightened painfully.
“He’s never, ever asked us to help him with anything.” A smile materialized on Julie’s face, dimples popping on her cheeks. “So when he sent us an SOS text from the ambulance, we knew you were special.”
She didn’t want her insides to feel warm and fluttery at their implication that Gus cared, but there it was anyway.
“Me and Jules here live close, but Isaac is the wanderer.” Easton pushed his glasses up his nose and continued to stare down at her. This family was chatty, but it was better than uncomfortable silence, and it did distract her.
“He just happened to be back from a mission early and graced us with his presence.” Julie sent Isaac a pointed glance, held it.
“I was lucky to be handling some business on a nearby base,” he responded, looking only at Julie. She wasn’t sure what was going on with the dynamic between them, but the tension in the room grew thick.
“Is she awake?” The low rumble came from just outside the door. A voice that made sparks light over her skin, yet brought peace to every shattered fragment of her heart. She wasn’t going to be able to hold back the tears. Isaac murmured something, and then Gus stepped inside the room and looked her over for a long moment. He crossed the floor, already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe he’d been discharged. Julie stood to the side, leaving space for Gus at the head of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, hand trailing over her cheek.
“I’m okay. Your back, does it hurt?” Her voice was heavy. Guilt, tears, they all wanted to come pouring out of her.
“No, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning closer. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Silent tears coursed down her cheeks, and he bent down to kiss them away. Then he brushed his lips over hers once, then twice. It didn’t matter that his family was in the room with them, she kissed him back, opening her mouth, clasping her hand around his neck to lock him in place. Shit. She’d almost lost him. How had she come to care for him so quickly? And now that she did, what the hell was she going to do about it?
Chapter Twelve
Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Gus briefly rested his forehead against hers before turning in the direction of the sound. He’d been a coward. After leaving her house that morning, he hadn’t returned, even asked another officer to go with Detective Wright to her home so he didn’t have to see her. The mixture of guilt and longing was an acidic cocktail burning through his gut for the past week. He’d watched the interviews from the one-way mirror in the barracks, wanting to rush in and tell everyone to fuck off. That Sasha was innocent. He hadn’t, though. He didn’t deserve a hair on her head.
