She charged forward, and once out in the parking lot, Hawke opened the driver’s door. “In,” he roared.
Suddenly, a shot rang out and Penny screamed, diving into the truck, with Hawke following behind, throwing the bag at her. He had the truck turned on, and the tires screeching out of there before she took her next breath.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“I think so.” Penny nodded, her body trembling with relief and adrenaline.
He pulled her next to him, their chests heaving together. “We need to get to safety,” he said. “Hang on.”
She barely registered the next few minutes as he drove like a madman until he finally slowed when they reached the entrance to Owl’s Head Park. He pulled into a parking space on Sixty-Seventh Street, then threw the truck in park.
Hawke glanced her way, his face etched with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she lied, unable to look at him. “Just shaken.”
He pulled her into his embrace, and she didn’t even fight it, melting against his strong chest, finding relief in the safety of his arms. His familiar scent of musk and aftershave filled her nostrils as she buried her face in his chest. His heartbeat echoed in her ears, and she felt the rapid thud under her cheek. Hawke held her tightly, his arms like steel bands around her.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, tracing circles on her back.
She nodded against him, unable to speak.
He lifted her chin, eyes boring into hers. “Penny, look at me.”
She met his gaze, seeing the worry there, and reality slowly started piecing itself back together again. And pain shot through her. “Actually, scratch that,” she grumbled, “I’m not okay. I got hit.”
“Where?” he asked, urgently.
“The back of my left shoulder.”
His touch was gentle, despite his rough exterior as she leaned forward. “Fuck.” He lifted her shirt and then exhaled deeply. “The bullet grazed you. It’ll hurt like a bitch, but you’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she said, glancing at her shaking hands.
He followed her gaze. “It’s the adrenaline letdown.” He took her hand and squeezed tight. “We’re fine.”
She got the feeling that, as he drove away, she wasn’t the only one he was telling that to.
8
Penny followed Hawke through the underground garage of his building in the West Village. They passed the doorman at the front door, before they headed up the elevator to the fourteenth floor, and when he unlocked his front door, she found a sleek, contemporary, earthy colored condo. When they stopped a few weeks ago, she hadn’t gone inside. Now she could clearly see him reflected in the space. The furniture within the space was modern and minimalistic, with sharp edges and a mix of textures. Large windows showed views of the Hudson Bay and the park, giving it an airy and open feel.
“Come on,” Hawke said, shutting the door behind her and locking the deadbolt. “Let’s see about that wound.”
She followed him as he led her down the hallway, grabbing a chair from the table as he went.
Stepping into the bathroom after him, she was greeted by sleek marble floors, a sparkling chandelier dangling from the lofty ceiling, and a spacious glass shower.
He set the chair next to the bathtub. “Straddle this and take off your shirt.”
Instant heat flared through her at the demand, but the looming pain ahead of her stole the glaring need as Hawke returned with a first aid kit.
He opened it on the sink, grabbing gauze, wipes, and ointments before sliding his hands into gloves. He stepped in behind her, and said, “Sorry, this is going to hurt.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tight and breathed past the pain as he gently cleaned the wound. “How bad is it?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Not bad,” he said, tossing the bloody wipes. “It just grazed your skin. Take a look.”
She rose, moving closer to the mirror, and saw he was right. The wound was small and looked insignificant. “Why is that so painful?”
