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Returning my attention to her, I easily slide into a nonchalant grin. “They’re an international drug organization, so they own the corner on trouble.”
Her eyes flare wide. “I’m sorry, what?”
It’s hard not to laugh. I know the doc is just surprised. Considering she’s not as familiar with them as I am, thanks to this little run-in, I can hardly blame her.
“The Crimson Cobras. My brother was on their shit list, hence the new fashion choice.” I nod down to my side. “It’s a good thing this place is crowded and offers security.”
The doctor’s eyes go wide again, her brows reaching for her hairline even as she keeps the fear from her expression.
“Oh, and why’s that?”
“Because they’re dangerous.”
My voice is flat at that. I’m not lying and have no reason to sugarcoat it for her. It’s always better to be prepared.
Dr. Stewart offers me a smile, shaking her head slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Mr. Shaw. People get mad when they lose someone they care about. It’s normal.”
Something in my chest tightens, and I flick my eyes to the door again.
If the warehouse is anything to go by, the Cobras seem like the types to hold a grudge. And I don’t like the idea of the doctor being here alone when she finds that out for herself.
“Besides,” as she continues, and it pulls my attention back to those green eyes of hers, striking against her olive skin and jet-black hair. “You should be worried about yourself. That injury is serious, and you can’t just get up and go like you don’t have a hole in your side.”
With a light chuckle, I bump her arm with my elbow, smirking down at her likely five-foot-two build.
“Lucky for you, I’m familiar with the recovery, and I know what I can take.”
She eyes me, those dark brows up again. “Get in a lot of fights, do you?”
“Not as many as I used to.” I pull out the dog tags I still wear. “I’m retired.”
Dr. Stewart’s lips part slightly, and I can’t stop staring at them.
“Oh. Well, then.” She regards me for a moment, a flash of confusion coming over her features. “You seem a bit young to be retired.”
“Ha!” I can’t stop the hearty laugh, appreciating that my roguish good looks are still serving me. “Discharged with honors. You get injured enough, do enough good, and they’re more likely to let you out. But I still work. Just not there.”
She nods. “That makes more sense. What do you do?”
If anyone else asked, I would’ve thought it was just an attempt at small talk. Still, the way the good doc’s eyes hold mine, her pulse fluttering in her neck, I have a feeling this is a distraction technique.
Too in your head, darlin’?
“I own Diamond PR and Marketing. Little local business here in town.”
With a laugh, Dr. Stewart scoffs at me. “Little? I’m a surgical resident, and I’ve heard of you guys. And you own it? Well, damn. Good for you.”
The woman is so goddamn effortlessly charming. It’s been a few minutes, and I’m all but ready to go swimming in those teal green eyes—and very interested to see what those scrubs are hiding.
“Dr. Stewart—” a nurse comes up next to us, holding out a clipboard “—Mr. Shaw is ready to be discharged with instructions. Paperwork is here and the prescriptions you ordered.”
“Thank you, Denise,” my doctor replies.
The woman is about to leave when she spins back around, holding up her hand and gesturing for the doc to join her off to the side.
Even though the nurse speaks quietly, I lean slightly, keeping an ear out for everything she’s saying.
Because I’m too damn curious. It has nothing to do with me doing recon on my doctor.
