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She turned fear-filled eyes toward him, staring blankly.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her gently.
“No. I don’t think so,” she finally replied. “He…he came out from behind the hay.” She pointed a shaky hand at the stack of bales behind her. “I turned around, and he was just standing there. With a knife.”
Jesus wept. How could he have been so wrong about this maniac? Mack had dismissed the Maori man as a crackpot.
She began to shake, and he took her in his arms. “It’s okay. You’re all right now. Timmo’s got him, he won’t hurt you again.” Surreptitiously, he tried to check her over for blood or other wounds, but it seemed she was telling the truth about not having a scratch on her.
She grabbed him tightly, and pushed her face into his shoulder, as if she wanted to burrow into him; shut out the rest of the world. Small tremors wracked her body, but she wasn’t crying. There were no hysterics, just a quiet trembling. He hugged her tighter, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. Right now, Bindi needed him, and that was all that mattered.
Over the top of her head, Mack watched the bodyguard flip Mutt onto his stomach and fasten a set of handcuffs around his wrists. Hauling him up by the scruff of the neck, Timmo dragged the man against the far wall and pushed him down onto his butt on the concrete floor.
“Sit there and don’t say a fucking word,” Timmo growled.
Mutt was doubled over in pain, and Mack doubted he had enough air left in his lungs to speak. But then a strange sound issued from within the form huddled next to the wall. A wet, gurgling noise from deep in his throat. Almost as if the man was…
“Are you crying?” Timmo said, disgust clear in his tone.
The noise increased, even as Mutt curled into the fetal position and lay on the ground.
The big Maori dude was crying? Mack found it hard to reconcile the idea. What the hell did the man have to cry about? It was Bindi who should be crying. The shudders running through her seemed to have subsided somewhat. She lifted her head and turned to study the hunk of quivering muscle lying adjacent to the wall.
Mack glanced down and saw that her beautiful, brown eyes were red-rimmed, but dry.
“What’s wrong with him?” Bindi demanded of Timmo.
“I dunno.” The bodyguard shrugged. “I need to call this in,” he said, looking straight at Mack. “You be right to keep an eye on him while I take this outside again?”
Mack lifted his chin in acknowledgement. Mutt wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, not in the state he was in. As if to punctuate his point, the wailing sound issuing from the big man got louder.
Bindi pushed away from Mack. “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m fine now.”
Reluctantly, he let her go.
“Here. Use this to stanch the bleeding.” Timmo threw a piece of material toward Mack, who caught it and turned it over in his hand. It was a large, clean handkerchief. Of course, the bodyguard carried a clean handkerchief on him at all times. The man was a walking embodiment of the motto, always be prepared. Timmo stalked out of the feed room without a backward glance.
“What bleeding?” Bindi eyed him sharply.
“It’s nothing.” Mack turned, and they both inspected his bicep through the slash in his sleeve.
“Bloody hell, Mack, why didn’t you tell me?”
He was about to say he’d been too busy comforting her, but decided she might not appreciate his sarcasm. And his wound seemed to galvanize her, give her something else to think about than her own near-death predicament. The in-charge version of Bindi seemed to be back with a vengeance.
“Give me this.” She snatched the hanky out of his hand and ripped open the shirt so she could inspect his wound. After a few seconds, she said, “I don’t think it’s too bad. It’s not deep, you were lucky.”
Mack thought the word skilful would be better applied to him; if he hadn’t ducked and warded off the knife blow, it’d be sticking out of his neck right now. But again he kept his thoughts to himself, and instead smiled indulgently at Bindi, who was wrapping the hanky tightly around his arm. The tip of her tongue came out from between pursed lips as she worked the fabric around his bicep, and he was suddenly fascinated with her mouth. Her very pouty, kissable mouth.
“There,” she said, patting his shoulder. “That should hold it until we can get you to a doctor.”
A deep moaning was still coming from the man curled up on the floor, and Mack felt a sudden urge to get out of the room, away from this man who was clearly having some sort of breakdown. Not that he didn’t deserve everything that was coming to him; he’d just tried to kill Bindi. Again. Mack could easily inflict damage on Mutt for that. But something about the way the guy was losing his shit was making Mack uneasy.
“Bloody hell,” Bindi said from between clenched teeth. “His sniveling is driving me crazy.” She headed across the room toward Mutt before he could stop her.
“Bindi, wait,” Mack called, but to no avail.
