Page 55 of Burning Justice

Tori unclipped her bag, then tore open a package and snapped on tight-fitting examination gloves. While she sifted her fingers gently through Gemma’s bloody hair, Gemma looked into the woman’s amazingly bright green eyes. Beautiful, successful, composed, and a doctor, no less.

What exactly was Brett’s relationship with Tori Sampson? He’d said she was “a friend.” One he had on speed dial and who’d come running the second he’d called. What kind of a “friend” did that make her?

Tori clicked on a pen light. “Follow the light with your eyes.” She did as Tori directed. Up, then down. Right, then left. When she flicked her eyes left, she caught Brett in deep conversation by the door with the other men. “Good.” Tori clicked off the light. “Any blurry vision?”

“No.”

“Did you lose consciousness at all after this happened?”

“No.”

“Do you feel nauseous, dizzy, or have ringing in your ears?” Gemma shook her head, regretting it when the throbbing in her forehead worsened. “What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Sitting on a sawdust-covered sofa in my money pit of a house.”

Tori smiled. “Aside from the cut itself, how do you feel?”

Good question. How did she feel?

Angry. Scared. Violated. Confused. How could Brett have kissed her if he had something going with the beautiful doctor? “Just a little headache.”

Gently, Tori examined Gemma’s bruised neck, then dug into her bag, pulling out several thin white pouches. “The good news is I don’t think you have a concussion, and I don’t think there’s any permanent damage to your neck. But you really should go to the hospital for X-rays.” When Gemma opened her mouth to object, Tori held up her hand. “I’m not pushing. Brett already said you don’t want to go. Do you have someone who can stay with you tonight?”

“You mean someone who can wake me up every hour on the hour to make sure I’m still breathing?” Gemma asked.

Tori laughed, then unwrapped one of the pouches and began cleaning Gemma’s cut. “That’s somewhat of a post-concussion myth, although the reason for that is if you do have a TBI—traumatic brain injury—and we haven’t completely ruled that out with an X-ray, we have no way of knowing whether you’re concussed if you’re sleeping.”

“And you are a heavy sleeper,” Bonnie said. “Do you want to stay at my place? I’m up just about every hour as it is to use the bathroom anyway.”

Ironically, even though she’d been attacked here, she didn’t want to leave her house. Not before installing all those window locks. That had just knocked coping all that ceiling molding from the top of her reno list. “I’m staying here,” she insisted, wincing as Tori dabbed something antiseptic on the gash.

“Sorry.” Tori gave her an apologetic look. “Did I mention this might sting a little?”

Uh, nope.

“So,” Tori said as she unwrapped another package, “do you have someone who can stay with you?”

Bonnie cleared her throat, then dipped her head in Brett’s direction. “I might have an idea.”

Tori followed the direction of Bonnie’s gaze and smiled. “Well?” She raised her brows suggestively.

Huh? Was Tori offering up Brett to her?

Brett and the two men who’d arrived at the same time as Tori walked over.

“These are my friends,” Brett said, “DEA Special Agent Adam Decker and FBI Agent Evan McGarry.”

“Call me Deck.” One of the men, an extraordinarily good-looking man with chocolate-brown eyes, nodded to Gemma as he rested his hand affectionately on Tori’s shoulder.

There was something more than just affectionate about the way Deck was touching the other woman. His hand slipped a fraction lower to gently caress Tori’s back. The only word Gemma could think of to describe the man’s touch was intimate.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” the other man said, his brow furrowing.

Evan McGarry was as tall and equally as good-looking as Deck, although his hair wasn’t brown as Gemma had originally thought. It was jet black, a striking contrast to his apologetic, piercing gray eyes.