AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The way he paled when he tried to shift positions, the way he sucked in an uneven gasp through his teeth when he managed it, said he was lying. So what else is new? Murphy thought. “Can I get you anything until the police get here?”
He sighed, started to shake his head, then nodded instead. “Yeah. I'll take another glass of water, if it isn't too much trouble.”
“No trouble,” she said, glad for something to do. Murphy retrieved his cup from the nightstand. She was poised with her hand on the knob when his voice shot out from behind her, stopping her short.
“Can you do me a favor?”
What was it about the man's voice that made her tingle? And did she really want to know?
No! Murphy didn't turn around as she spoke. “That depends. What's the favor?”
“Don't bring it to me in a Tommee Tipee cup, okay?”
She grinned despite herself, and sent Garrett a glance from over her shoulder. His eyes looked bluer, more piercing in the shadows cast by the top tier of the bunkbed.
He must have read her expression, because he added, “No, I don't know anything about turtles in masks, except that they're ugly as all hell. But I'm not totally ignorant when it comes to kids, you know.”
Her grin broadened. There was a certain irony in standing in the middle of a child's room talking about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Tommee Tippee cups with a man—a very handsome man—who just happened to have a duffel bag full of money, jewelry, a gun, and allergy medicine.
“No, I didn't know,” she said as she opened the door. With the tip of her stockinged toe, she shooed Moonshine back into the hall when he tried to scoot past her. “But I'll keep it in mind. I'll be back with your water in a few minutes. Meanwhile, try to get some sleep.” With that, she stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed.
HE COULDN'T SLEEP.
Not that he wasn't tired—he was, to the core. He was also in a lot of pain. The aspirin hadn't done squat to dull the throbbing in his thigh. If anything, it felt worse.
Hate though he did to admit it, Garrett knew pain wasn't the only thing chasing sleep away. He'd been staring at the plaster ceiling for the last hour and a half, ever since the woman named, oddly enough, “Murphy” had brought in a fresh glass of water and set it on the nightstand.
Garrett had pretended to be asleep; the act had come easily. Pity that's all it was, an act. If it had been real, he wouldn't have heard the rustle of her jeans—he much too easily traced the sound to the tough denim coating her inner thighs, rubbing together—as she crossed the room and crouched beside the bed. He wouldn't have felt her cool, smooth fingertips stroke the hair back from his brow, or hear her whisper softly, “I brought you a big-boy cup, just like I promised.”
Though he knew it wasn't possible, even now Garrett swore he could still feel and smell her warm, peppermint-scented breath searing his cheek and mouth and jaw.
He'd come very close to ruining everything with a noise that was half sigh, half groan.
Murphy had checked his bandages before leaving. Her touch had been feather-soft, gut-wrenchingly gentle. Obligatory. Chaste. Nothing erotic about it. Yet…
She'd left the faint scent of Ivory Soap trailing in her wake. Even now, Garrett could still smell it, smell her.
The instant she'd clicked off the light and closed the door, he'd flipped back the covers and inspected the dressing on his thigh. The heat of her touch lingered on his skin. He tried to ignore that as he assessed the white gauze she'd coiled around his leg.
She'd done a good job of doctoring him. The gauze holding the pressure dressing in place was tight, but not so tight it cut off circulation. The dressing itself was bloodstained beneath the gauze, but the stain wasn't fresh.
Good. With luck, the bandage would hold until the police got here, until he could get to a hospital and get that chunk of metal dug out of his leg. Garrett had no illusions. He knew the metal had to come out, and come out soon.
He also held no illusions about who would—make that who would not—be the one to take it out.
Even in the pale glow of the overhead light, he'd seen the way Murphy's cheeks went grayish-white when she'd checked his dressing. Through the shield of his lashes, he'd watched her grimace, swallow too quickly and too tightly before apparently deciding the bandage didn't need to be changed. Yet. Although Garrett was pretty sure it did.
Murphy was not going to take the metal out of his leg. He'd make sure of that. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. She had his duffel bag, so he must trust her to some extent. No, trust wasn't the issue. He wouldn't let her do what needed to be done to his leg it because, while she'd probably never admit it, he somehow knew she didn't have the stomach for such a task. Not unless she had to.
Garrett was going to see to it she didn't have to. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. He wouldn't put her through that.
He averted his gaze to the window. The snow sparkled like iridescent, silver-white crystals in the moonlight. The flakes danced on the bracing, northeast wind that howled through the black-velvet sky and rattled the window in its casing.
The snow wasn't coming down any harder, nor was it coming down any lighter. If he had to guess, Garrett would say another six inches had fallen in the last hour.
The storm was undoubtedly what had kept the police from getting here by now. If they were coming at all. He was beginning to wonder.
He didn't doubt Murphy had called them. For some reason, he had more confidence in her than he'd ever had in a woman before, including his ex-wife. If Murphy said she'd called the police, Garrett intrinsically knew she had. What he did doubt was that, no matter what all-terrain vehicle the authorities around here drove, nothing was built to go through the storm that was kicking up outside if too much more time passed.
