He tilted his head then raked his hand through his messy locks, somehow managing to make himself look even sexier than before. “I’ll go get Jericho?—”
“No. Really, I’ll be fine.”
“You really won’t.” He moved in a bit closer. “Jericho’s great. You’ll like her. And she’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal, so, she won’t freak out over seeing the cuts and bruises. In fact, she helped stop the bleeding while we were waiting for Ice to arrive.”
Ellis inhaled. A Deputy U.S. Marshal? Christ, had the woman called in the incident? Ellis had been shot, so it was standard protocol. Notifying the authorities. But if they used her name…
“Whoa, El, the color just drained from your face. Are you feeling faint? Like you’re gonna puke?”
She met his concerned gaze—did her best not to make any of his questions a reality, before managing a breath. “She’s a marshal? God, Brett, please tell me she didn’t report this? Shit, if they know I’m here. That I’m still alive?—”
“Easy, sweetheart. She’s been around us long enough to know some matters can’t go through the regular channels. Showing up bloody with armed men shooting through the door… It wasn’t hard to figure out this needed to be kept on the down low. And the last thing she’d want to do is put your life in jeopardy. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re a Jane Doe over at Harborview. Jericho used her connections to get it on the books. It won’t last long, but we’ll hopefully have more intel by then—know better how to keep you safe, so…breathe.”
More intel? How to keep her safe? Christ, all she’d wanted was to get some help. A few pints of blood, or a lift to thehospital that she’d planned on ditching the moment she woke up. And now, it sounded as if she’d amassed her own squad.Brett’ssquad. All without saying a word. By just arriving on his doorstep bloody and broken. Which seemed crazy. They hadn’t come looking for her before. When she’d actually meant something to Brett. When she’d needed them to hold true to the code—not leave her behind. Thinking they might rally, now, after all this time…
It made his request to breathe impossible. Not when everything was spinning out of control faster than she could regain her footing?
She sank down onto the side of the tub, hoping that the shakiness in her legs was from the blood loss and not the prospect of spending more time with the man standing in front of her.
He followed her down, gently touching her chin then lifting it. Their gazes locked, and damn if her stomach didn’t flutter, again. The man was just too handsome.
He smiled. “You never were one to accept a lot of help. Always something to prove.”
“Please, the military is still very much a boy’s club. I was expected to prove myself.”
“Doesn’t look like your new job is any better in that department.”
Shit. Now, he was asking about her job. While he hadn’t said the words operative, agent or CIA, she knew that’s what he was thinking. What they were all likely thinking based on how she’d arrived on their doorstep. And she wasn’t sure if she could go down that road. Talk about what had happened.
He grunted at her silence. “Okay, then how about a compromise? I’ll help you into the tub, where you’ll sit, just like this, on the back edge. I’ll get the water and soap ready for you, then turn around while you lose my shirt and use the handspray to wash off the important areas—avoiding the wound Ice stitched closed. Then, when you’re done, you can lean forward, and I’ll run the water through your hair. It won’t be the same as standing under the spray, but you’ll feel better, and Ice won’t want to kill either of us for putting your safety at risk. Deal?”
His shirt? Of course, it was his shirt. She was in his apartment. His bedroom. But, she’d managed to ignore that fact, until now. No wonder it smelled like him. And had he actually suggested she get naked while he was still in the room? Modesty or not, she wasn’t sure she could do that and remain sane. After years of wishing she could have one more night with him—a chance to say a real goodbye, because love or not, she couldn’t be near him while involved in the CIA. Wouldn’t put him in the crosshairs that came with the job—even sitting there bent over as he washed her hair seemed dangerously intimate.
“El?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Where the hell had that come from? Hadn’t she just told herself it was a bad idea? That this was risky territory she shouldn’t be considering?
A smile. Not a real one that reached his eyes, but a fairly convincing fake one. “I think I can manage.” He reached for her hand. “Ready?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
This was insane.Hewas insane. No man in his right mind would willingly volunteer to help his ex-girlfriend—the extremely sexy one he was still hopelessly in love with. Who’d ripped out his heart with a lame ass Dear John letter in the middle of the damn desert and had probably planned on strangling him with his own leather belt just thirty-six hours earlier, unless he’d lost his freaking mind.
Yet, here Colt was, hand extended, his stomach lodged somewhere up in his throat as Ellis placed her small palm against his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She wobbled, and he reacted—catching her against his chest.
Holding her, even innocently, clinically, shouldnotfeel this good. Make his chest tighten and his damn dick hard. Thank god he had the good sense to ease her away before she felt the thick length against her stomach. Another few seconds, and he’d have been busted.
Might still get caught if she decided to look down—stare at his groin. He’d rearrange his shirt once he was convinced she wouldn’t Peter Pan onto her head if he let go. Because despite everything—the way she’d left. The hurt she’d inflicted that, five years later, still felt fresh. Still raw and bleeding. The thoughtof seeing another drop of her blood hit the floor sickened him. Made him want to seal her away in bubble wrap until this entire ugly mess was over.
He couldn’t. They needed answers, and only Ellis had those. And there was the part where they weren’t together. Where he couldn’t dictate certain aspects of her life. Couldn’t insist she let him and his team handle whoever had worked her over. That their training surely outweighed hers, CIA agent or not.
Ellis had yet to substantiate those assumptions. Confirm which government agency she worked for—even though he’d given her a chance. A subtle one, but she’d understood what he’d been asking. The way she’d tensed, breaking eye contact. It was painfully obvious she didn’t want to talk, yet.
But she’d have to. Tell them why she’d been in that warehouse. What she’d stumbled upon to get her at the top of some hit list. Who she worked for. But after all he’d witnessed, he didn’t doubt she was CIA. It was the only answer that made sense.
All of that would have to wait, though, because he’d made a promise. And he didn’t break those. Didn’t quit once he’d set his mind on something. And somewhere between the bed and the bathroom he’d promised himself to see to her every need. Whether it was a conscious decision or not, didn’t matter. He’d honor it, regardless. Do whatever he could to ease her pain.
