Chapter Twelve

Andrea’s heart jumped. She pivoted to follow Mitch’s gaze and caught a glint of sunlight on metal a split second before he grabbed her by the hair and pushed her head beneath his chest.

A shot. A window shattered to their right. Glass rained onto the ground, and pieces stung her leg and foot. Her stomach churned, and she fought off a stab of panic.

Another shot. She waited a split second. Had she been hit? She did a quick inventory. Would she feel pain right away? Only her leg hurt. She was crushed under Mitch’s heavy body, but that wasn’t a sharp piercing pain, just a steady pressure.

She hadn’t been shot yet. Yet.

Fear coiled inside her. They couldn’t stay here waiting for the next bullet to sink into their flesh.

Her instincts shouted that nothing stood between them and the shooter. They needed to find cover. Needed to get to the car. If Weaver would let go, she could roll under the car and he could follow. She pushed on the solid wall of his abdomen.

He shifted his bulk. Instead of releasing his grip, he levered her facedown onto the asphalt, then covered her whole body with his. Her blood roared in her ears. Her breath was trapped in her lungs. God, all his muscle weighed a ton.

Kenyon’s feet took off running in the direction of the shooter. Nearby people screamed; chair legs scraped tiles. A stampede started on the sidewalk.

Her rib cage felt ready to shatter from her heart pummeling the inside and the asphalt bulldozing the outside. She pressed her palms on the ground and struggled to relieve the pressure before Weaver’s bulk crushed her bones or her lungs collapsed and she suffocated. Icy prickles shot down her spine. She wanted to scream but couldn’t draw enough air into her flattened chest to manage more than a squeak.

Kenyon’s voice crackled from Mitch’s dropped radio. “He’s gone, lost in the crowd. You two okay?”

Mitch rolled off her, got to his knees, rolled her onto her back, and cupped both his hands around her face. “Any damage?”

She opened her mouth wide and sucked in a huge breath. Adrenaline still zinged through her veins, and her mind seemed blank. She registered his question and forced out a response. “Other than the bruises from being thrown around like a sack of rice, no.” She pulled in another breath. “But don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate the human shield.”

As if needing to see for himself that she was alive, he looked her over from head to toe. His head jerked, and he shifted his hands to slide them down her leg. “You’re bleeding.”

Her breath stalled. “What?”

Before she could sit up to look for injuries or utter a protest, he’d swept her into his arms. He ran toward the docks and the yacht. She blinked, saw the worry plain on his face, and gaped at him in stunned silence. What the hell? Did macho, me-boss-you-insignificant-underling Mitch Weaver actually care if she was hurt?

She brushed away the insane thought. She must be hallucinating. Maybe she’d hit her head.

The muscles in his arms and chest pressed against her side, and suddenly she felt safe. The would-be killer had missed. Mitch had protected her and would keep protecting her. Crushed against him, the tension leaked from her body.

She laid her head on his shoulder. Her hormones registered the proximity of a very appealing male body, and the distinctive clutch of attraction fluttered low in her abdomen. Yikes! Alarm tingled through her. She lifted her head. Sexual stirrings were not the reaction she wanted to have to Weaver or any other Ranger.

His footfalls pounded on the dock. He rushed up the gangplank and straight to Karli’s cabin, yelling at a crewman on the way, “Call the captain. Tell him to get a doctor out here quick.”

Taken aback, she snapped out of her funk and remembered she was a Ranger, too. He didn’t need to treat her like she was fragile or less capable. “Calm down, Weaver. It’s only a couple scratches. As a matter of fact, you can put me down. I’m sure I can walk.”

He ignored her request, barged into her cabin, and laid her on the bed. “Don’t move.” He rushed into the bathroom, and water started running.

Too stunned to do anything else, she obeyed his command.

He returned with a wet washcloth and gently started wiping the smeared and oozing blood from her leg. He slipped her shoe off and wiped her ankle. She tried to sit up, assess the damage, and watch, but he pushed her shoulders back down on the comforter. “I said, don’t move.”

She sagged against the bed. He was so masculine and strong that she couldn’t help but feel feminine. Plus, she hated to admit it, but it was kind of nice to have someone taking care of her for the first time in years, maybe ever.

Captain Pruitt rushed in. “The doctor’s on his way. Should I call an ambulance?”

Andrea felt the blood drain from her face. “God, no. It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt. Would everyone please get a grip?”

“The crewman said you’d been shot.”

“No, and I doubt I even need a doctor.”

“The marina keeps a local GP on call, and he gets paid exorbitant sums to make the trip over here any time he’s needed. You might as well relax and let him examine you.”

Mitch wiped the skin on her lower leg, and the towel came away stained red. “She has a piece of broken glass embedded in her calf. I have to stop the bleeding. Grab some more towels.”

The captain rushed into the bathroom and returned with several more towels. After they’d piled them under her lower leg, Mitch peered at the wound. “I need a pair of tweezers.”

Andrea gulped and raised herself up onto her elbows. “Oh no you don’t. If there’s a doctor coming, let him remove the glass. I don’t need you playing around in there and poking it deeper.”

Mitch scowled. His words flew out laced with anger. “People die from blood loss. Do you expect me to just stand here and watch?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but something she’d seen in his eyes bothered her deeply. Had that been raw fear? In his time as a Ranger he must have seen plenty of people bleed. Yet blood seemed to get Mitch a lot more upset than she ever would have imagined. How would he have reacted if she actually had been shot and her life was really on the line? “I’m not going to die from a flesh wound. And right now, you’re out of control. You’re in worse shape than I am.”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him, then his face was overcome by a strange expression, and he crossed his arms tight over his chest. “Keeping you alive is my responsibility.”

Gregory entered the room and said, “He got clean away. Blended into the crowd.”

Mitch uncrossed his arms and planted his fists on his hips. “Any description?”

“Everybody scattered. I asked a couple of the servers at the tiki bar, but they ducked as soon as they realized what they’d heard was a gunshot. Only one person I talked to got a look at him. White male, average height and weight. The panic was good cover.”

A slightly built man with nutmeg skin arrived carrying a medical bag. He was escorted by Kenyon, who said, “Doctor’s here. His ID checks out.”

The doctor approached the bed and smiled sympathetically as he proffered a hand to shake. “Good afternoon, Ms. Stone. I’m Dr. Golki. I understand we’ve been injured.” When she raised her hand, he squeezed it and sandwiched it between his. “Don’t you worry a bit. We’ll fix you up in no time.” His gaze swept over her, and he moved his bag onto the bed near her knee. “What do we have here?”

“It’s just a scratch,” she said. “But Mr. Weaver seems to feel there’s a piece of glass in the wound.”

“Let me wash my hands, then I’ll examine your leg.” He looked to the captain, who motioned toward the bathroom.

As the doctor headed toward the sink, Kenyon reported, “Our shooter had a bruise or faded tattoo on his upper right cheek.”

“That’s something to work with,” Mitch acknowledged.

Kenyon jerked his head toward the parking lot. “You want to handle the local police? They’re swarming the area, putting up crime scene tape, having a regular convention. My guess is they’ll want to snatch the bullets.”

Mitch looked down at her leg, glanced at the doctor, and then sighed before heading for the door. “I want our ballistics guys to get a look at them first. Captain, why don’t you come along and help me handle the formalities? Maybe we can talk our way into custody of the evidence. Kenyon, you stay out in the hallway. Gregory, take the boarding gate. No one gets on this boat or near this cabin until I say so.”

Andrea watched him go, revising her opinion of Mitch Weaver. Her initial impression had been wrong. He was a man of action when needed, and shielding her had definitely proven he had the guts and skills it took to be a Ranger.

Andrea sat on the bed, propped against a pile of pillows, and watched the doctor pull an assortment of supplies from his bag. He slipped on latex gloves, wiggled his fingers, and cracked his knuckles before getting to work. He swabbed her calf and ankle with antiseptic, then paused. “Would you like me to numb the area before we clean the wound?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

He examined the cut with a magnifying glass, muttering. “Yes, yes, yes.” He turned to her and smiled. “We appear to have one large shard of glass doing all the damage.” He selected a pair of tweezers from his bag, presumably to remove the chunk of debris. She bit down on her bottom lip and stared at the ceiling until he held his prize up to the light. “Here she is.”

He swabbed the area again, dried her skin with gauze pads, and pressed two adhesive strips over the gash to keep the wound shut. “You’ll want to stay off your feet for the rest of the day. We can’t have that opening up.” He stripped off his gloves and began gathering his supplies. “Would you like something for pain or a sedative to calm your nerves?”

“No, thank you. I don’t like to take any sort of drugs.”

He shook her hand. “Yes, yes, good. Well, have the captain call me if we need anything else.”

“Thank you. I will.”

He left, and what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds later, Mitch knocked on the door. “Okay if I come in?”

“Sure.”

“I sent for your maid so she can help you get out of those clothes.”

Andrea inspected her outfit. A black smudge of something like oil stared back from her chest, and one sleeve of the beautiful blouse was ripped. Blood and grime had created an ugly mural on the white capris. Both items were ruined, but at least she hadn’t damaged something Gucci.

“I don’t think Karli’s going to want them back.” She glanced up at Mitch and frowned at the blood smeared on his arm and sleeve. “It looks like you could use a fresh uniform, too. I hope that’s my blood and not yours.”

“It’s yours.” He walked to the bed, lifted her foot, and removed her remaining shoe. The casual but very personal nature of the act sent her into momentary shock. Her traitorous hormones didn’t hesitate to perk up and take notice.

“The doctor says you’re okay.” He stayed by her bedside and started rubbing his fingertips over her ankle. “But stay in this cabin for tonight.”

She wet her lips. Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton. “I’m fine.”

His fingers wandered a couple inches up her leg. “There’s no reason for you to be up and walking around.”

Her defenses went on alert. She needed to keep their relationship on a purely professional level, but right now they were in a danger zone. She needed to stop him from rubbing and touching her leg. The chemistry between them was stronger than ever, and the feel of his hands was inciting wild sexual thoughts. She reverted to the safe topic of work. “Speaking of walking around, I’ve got a big question, team leader.”

His fingers stilled. “What’s that?”

She casually shifted her leg a quarter inch away from his hand. “How come either you or I aren’t dead?”

“I saw the shooter in time.”

She shook her head, putting her thoughts in order now that she’d broached the idea. “I don’t think so. I was exposed, and by all rights, I should be lying here with a bullet in my head or heart. Or, at the best or worst, depending on whose perspective you want to look at it from, there should be a hole somewhere in you. Why weren’t one of us hit?”

He leaned back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you getting at?”

“There were only two shots, and they were way off target. Too far off target.”

He nodded and vocalized the rest of her thought. “As if the shooter had a rotten aim or wasn’t serious.”

“Exactly. And I don’t buy he was a rotten shot. He was close. And we need to assume he was a professional, or at least someone who knows his way around a gun. I suspect he hit exactly what he was aiming at, the car window.”

“The thought’s crossed my mind.”

“So why would he aim above my head?”

Mitch shrugged his broad shoulders. “Could be he wants to play with Dillon a while longer. Figures he can get you later, but any shot proves the threat against Karli is serious. He, or the people he’s working for, realizes that if he actually kills you, they’ve lost any chance they might have had of changing Dillon’s mind.”

“Maybe.” She wrapped her arms around her chest to ward off a sudden chill. “But it’s weird, and I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it, either. Especially the fact that you were exposed and could have been hit. Whether today’s incident was a warning shot or not, we need to keep you on the boat. Maintain a tighter perimeter.”

She frowned. Her stomach was still twisted with remnants of fear, but a covert operative had to suck it up and focus on her mission. She couldn’t reveal how shaken she’d been and couldn’t whimper and crawl away like a beaten dog. She refused to meekly accept onboard confinement. “Act scared and go to ground?” She doubted her objection would carry any weight, but maybe Karli’s would. “We can’t do that. Karli has obligations. If we cancel that benefit thing of hers, she’ll be livid.”

“Livid and alive is okay. For both of you.”

“I don’t think hiding her forever was what Mr. Brisbin had in mind when he assigned me to this mission.”

“You may want to get back out there, but look at it from Karli’s point of view,” he said with a rigid line to his shoulders and resolve darkening his eyes. “I don’t see Karli Stone prancing around town in the days following a near miss with death. Even if she believed the shooting was random, she’d be spooked and stay close to the safety of home.”

She exhaled. “Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. You may be able to shrug this off because of your background and training. But the average woman would need a couple days, minimum, to settle her nerves before she left the boat or went back to her normal routine.”

Andrea hated that his logic was sound. Karli had been protected and living in a secure bubble all her life. If anything, she’d be more rattled than an average woman. Having her act too bravely might be unwise and raise suspicions. “I suppose one day wouldn’t hurt.”

He uncrossed his arms and stuffed his thumbs in his pockets, jutting his pelvis forward in a stance that screamed healthy and sexy male, and reminding her of the feel of his hand caressing her leg. She blinked and tried to focus on the conversation.

“I’m not saying we’ll hide you forever,” Mitch said. “Just until we get a better line on who the guys threatening her might be.”

Swallowing hard and moistening her now-dry lips, Andrea countered, “Karli, in the shape of yours truly, has to attend her fancy benefit. We can be ready for another attempt, real or otherwise, and set a trap.”

“I agree she has to show at her own party. But no traps, and until then, I’m keeping you on a short leash.”

She shot him an annoyed glance. “I’m not crazy about the policy or the metaphor.”

“I’m in charge of this team. I make the decisions.”

A knock on the door. “It’s Fran, Ms. Stone. May I come in?”

Mitch went to the door and opened it for the maid. “Please help Ms. Stone get comfortable. Bring her a dinner tray in bed. Doctor’s orders.”

The woman nodded and rushed to Andrea’s bedside. “Oh, my Lord. I’m so relieved you’re safe. You poor thing. Being out there where someone fired a gun. You must be shaking like a leaf.”

Mitch said, “We can only hope the police catch whoever the random shooter was before he goes around scaring other women to death.” As he left, he flashed Andrea an I-told-you-so smirk.