need to get my gun,” he said.
“No,” she snapped. “Because then you’re gonna want to look out the window—and in the movies, that’s when someone always gets shot.”
“I’m not going to get shot,” he said calmly, recognizing the irrational fear in her wide-eyed gaze. He could feel her shaking, but she tightened her grip on him. As much as he wished he could patiently talk her down from the panic ledge, he didn’t have time. So he’d have to try another tactic to get her to release him.
“I like this position, too.” His words encouraged her to loosen her hold on him. But when he considered she might get up, he came up with Plan B. He rolled her over,closer to the table, and, while pinning her to the floor, he reached for his gun. Once he had it in his hands, he felt better.
Brushing a thick curtain of dark red hair from her eyes, he looked at her. “Now, stay down. It’s okay. You understand?”
She nodded. But when he went to move, she tightened her arms around him again. “Zoe, let go or I swear to God I’m going to kiss you.” He wasn’t exactly sure how he knew it would work, but the fact that she’d jumped halfway across the room and faked a leg cramp when he’d gotten close to her face probably clued him in.
She let go. He crawled over to the window and peered out. He didn’t see anyone. Seconds later, he figured out why. The screech of a car speeding off sounded nearby.
“Damn,” he muttered. By the time he got out front, they’d be gone. His best hope was that someone had seen the car.
On automatic, forgetting he’d taken off his shoulder holster, he tried to put away his gun. That’s when he saw the blood.
Blood?
He did a quick mental search for pain in his body and found none. He even pulled up his T-shirt to make sure. Nothing. It wasn’t his blood. “Shit.” He turned to Zoe.
CHAPTER NINE
Z OE LAY STILL , her eyes closed, her hand pressed over her arm. It was nothing more than a big scratch—she’d checked—but it burned like the dickens, and the thought that she’d been shot was enough to make her have a meltdown. Okay, another meltdown. She’d already lost it when she’d seen the picture of her… mom. This was turning out to be a pretty piss-poor, meltdown kind of day.
“Zoe. Talk to me.” She heard his voice at the same time she felt him lifting her shirt.
She grabbed her shirt to stop him from pulling it up over her bra—she hadn’t even worn her best one—and opened her eyes.
“Let me see!” he growled.
She had her mind on her bra, but she realized he meant her wound. At least she hoped he did. “It’s here.” She looked at her arm and saw the blood and put her hand over it.
He set the gun down on the floor and carefully moved her hand and peeled up her bloody sleeve. “I’ll get you to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” She lifted up on her elbow and looked ather arm. Maybe she had missed something. But nope. It was still just a scratch, not that it felt like it at this point.
“It wouldn’t even take a stitch.”
“You were shot.”
“I was scratched by a bullet. There’s a difference.” Hearing herself put it like that made her feel better. Her pulse seemed to inch down a notch, too.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“I think you bleed when you’re scratched by a bullet,” she said. “Seriously, it’s just a scratch.”
He stared at her arm and then back at her face as if debating whether to throw her over his shoulder and cart her out. Hoping to prove she was okay, she sat up.
“Are you afraid of doctors?” he asked.
“No, that’s not on my phobia list. Not that I don’t have a few… but at this moment, I’m afraid of my two-hundred-dollar deductible.”
He gave her one of those girls-are-so-dumb looks that would have been more appropriate on a young boy. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t think so.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “I’m fine. It feels more like a burn than a
“No,” she snapped. “Because then you’re gonna want to look out the window—and in the movies, that’s when someone always gets shot.”
“I’m not going to get shot,” he said calmly, recognizing the irrational fear in her wide-eyed gaze. He could feel her shaking, but she tightened her grip on him. As much as he wished he could patiently talk her down from the panic ledge, he didn’t have time. So he’d have to try another tactic to get her to release him.
“I like this position, too.” His words encouraged her to loosen her hold on him. But when he considered she might get up, he came up with Plan B. He rolled her over,closer to the table, and, while pinning her to the floor, he reached for his gun. Once he had it in his hands, he felt better.
Brushing a thick curtain of dark red hair from her eyes, he looked at her. “Now, stay down. It’s okay. You understand?”
She nodded. But when he went to move, she tightened her arms around him again. “Zoe, let go or I swear to God I’m going to kiss you.” He wasn’t exactly sure how he knew it would work, but the fact that she’d jumped halfway across the room and faked a leg cramp when he’d gotten close to her face probably clued him in.
She let go. He crawled over to the window and peered out. He didn’t see anyone. Seconds later, he figured out why. The screech of a car speeding off sounded nearby.
“Damn,” he muttered. By the time he got out front, they’d be gone. His best hope was that someone had seen the car.
On automatic, forgetting he’d taken off his shoulder holster, he tried to put away his gun. That’s when he saw the blood.
Blood?
He did a quick mental search for pain in his body and found none. He even pulled up his T-shirt to make sure. Nothing. It wasn’t his blood. “Shit.” He turned to Zoe.
CHAPTER NINE
Z OE LAY STILL , her eyes closed, her hand pressed over her arm. It was nothing more than a big scratch—she’d checked—but it burned like the dickens, and the thought that she’d been shot was enough to make her have a meltdown. Okay, another meltdown. She’d already lost it when she’d seen the picture of her… mom. This was turning out to be a pretty piss-poor, meltdown kind of day.
“Zoe. Talk to me.” She heard his voice at the same time she felt him lifting her shirt.
She grabbed her shirt to stop him from pulling it up over her bra—she hadn’t even worn her best one—and opened her eyes.
“Let me see!” he growled.
She had her mind on her bra, but she realized he meant her wound. At least she hoped he did. “It’s here.” She looked at her arm and saw the blood and put her hand over it.
He set the gun down on the floor and carefully moved her hand and peeled up her bloody sleeve. “I’ll get you to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” She lifted up on her elbow and looked ather arm. Maybe she had missed something. But nope. It was still just a scratch, not that it felt like it at this point.
“It wouldn’t even take a stitch.”
“You were shot.”
“I was scratched by a bullet. There’s a difference.” Hearing herself put it like that made her feel better. Her pulse seemed to inch down a notch, too.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“I think you bleed when you’re scratched by a bullet,” she said. “Seriously, it’s just a scratch.”
He stared at her arm and then back at her face as if debating whether to throw her over his shoulder and cart her out. Hoping to prove she was okay, she sat up.
“Are you afraid of doctors?” he asked.
“No, that’s not on my phobia list. Not that I don’t have a few… but at this moment, I’m afraid of my two-hundred-dollar deductible.”
He gave her one of those girls-are-so-dumb looks that would have been more appropriate on a young boy. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t think so.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “I’m fine. It feels more like a burn than a
Similar Books
