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Chapter 31
Startled exclamationsand curses exploded over the radio. Over it all, the one voice that came the loudest was Jung’s. “Who the fuck took that shot?”
Travis ignored her and everybody else as he lunged, grabbed Brant and yanked the kid up and around, hiding the gory mess spreading out behind him.
Barely aware of his movements, he hauled the kid around the car. There was blood and other matter on the kid’s face and after propping him against the trunk of the Ford, Travis whipped his hoodie off, did what he could to wipe the blood away.
“Here,” Ace said. “These will do it better.”
He wasn’t surprised when she pushed a fistful of baby wipes into his hand—sheshouldhave been a Boy Scout, as prepared as she always was. Brant looked at him with wide, dilated eyes, breaths coming in thin, raspy gulps.
“Breathe, kid,” Travis ordered. “Deep breath. Come on.”
“Brant!” Lloyd called out.
Brant’s eyes wheeled around and he jerked.
“Take a deep breath first,” Travis ordered. “You’re not moving from this spot until you get air moving in and out.”
Lloyd came lurching toward them, limping, all but hopping, with tears streaming down his face. “Boy, are you okay?”
Suddenly, Brant gulped in air and a sob exploded out, followed by another.
Lloyd crashed into the kid’s side and grabbed him, hauled him close. Since Brant was breathing again and went to clutch at his father, Travis stepped back. Ace met his eyes. “I’ll watch them.”
He nodded and turned, eyes going to the house where he’d been staying.
Miles was no longer on the small, barely-there balcony on the back half of the house where he’d hidden himself, the shade of a towering tree offering protection to anybody who hadn’t seen the sun glint off that scope at just the right moment, as Travis had.
But then he heard his name, a ragged breath, and everything else faded into the background.
Heading jerking around, he saw Isabel rushing toward him.
He still held the bloodied hoodie and there was blood and other, darker things on his protective vest from where he’d hauled Brant against him. Holding his hands, he said, “Wait ... I’m fucking disgusting right now—”
“Shut up.” She flung herself against him and her lips pressed to his. Hard.
Helpless against her, he dropped the hoodie and closed his arms around her. It wasn’t until that very moment that he started to shake. Fisting his hand in the soft fleece that covered her vest, Travis tore his mouth from hers and shoved his face against her neck, sucking air in and out.
Oxygen seemed to be in short supply. His heart hammered against his ribcage so hard, it felt like it was trying to break through. He felt disconnected from his own fucking body and he tried to focus, bring himself back in.
Isabel shoved against his chest and he forced his arms to unclench, somehow, and backed up. Only, she didn’t let him. She followed him, lock-step, her hands moving to his face, stroking, as if she needed to see if he was okay,
“I’ve never been so scared in mylife,” she said, the words coming out in a ragged whisper. Then she shoved him. “Don’t youeverscare me like that again.”
Isabel knew she was being irrational—Travis hadn’t done anything but his job, hadn’t done anything but protect heranda kid who’d just been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, and Lloyd. But she didn’t want to think about Lloyd. Or anybody else.
Cupping Travis’s face in her hands once more, she pulled him down to her level, kissed him. “I was so scared.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and he kissed them away, pulling her against him and rocking her, one hand cupping her neck firmly while his other arm was a secure brace at her back. “I won’t ... that’s the last time, I swear, baby. I swear.”
“Good.” She shoved her feet between his, wishing she could get closer. Hell, she’d crawl inside him at this point. Shuddering, she tried to bury her face against his chest but the vest was in the way. She started tearing the straps.
Travis eased her hands away and dealt with it, then pulled her back against him, guiding one hand to his heart. “I’m fine. I’m safe. It’s over. It’s over.”
Maybe, in a year, ten years, a hundred, she could forget the sight of Stephen Beresford standing in front of Travis and waving a gun around, face contorted with hate and rage. Maybe.
But she doubted it.
