“I don’t want any narcotics.”
“Why? You’ve got nowhere to go and nothing to do but heal.”
“Got to stay alert.”
“Grier, I’m in charge. Take the pain pill.”
“No.”
He sighed, muttered something about constantly being surrounded by stubborn women.
“I don’t need to hear about your love life,” she snapped.
“I’m talking about my life with the team. My team’s wives and girlfriends, specifically.”
Why did her stomach uncurl with relief? He’d basically admitted he was still single. And they’d have to talk about it sometime.
Not tonight, if she took those pills.
She grabbed it, swallowed it down with the water. He grinned like he knew the reasoning. She let him take care of the contusions. He’d seen her naked, and at her worse.
He’d seen her dying.
She gave herself over to his care. He probed her cheekbone gently, declaring it not broken. Put some numbing cream on it that instantly gave her relief. He put something on her lower lip as well and then started cleaning a long cut on her upper arm she hadn’t even realized was there.
She stared down at it as he cleaned it, murmured, “She used the knife. She cut me and I didn’t even feel it.”
“That’s the good and bad of adrenaline. It’s not deep. But now that you know about it, it’ll start to hurt.”
“Good thing I took the pills.”
He shook his head at her transparency and proceeded to stitch up her arm with frightening efficiency. She wondered how often he’d had to do this and then decided she didn’t want to know.
He taped gauze over the thin black line. “Shouldn’t leave much of a scar.”
That was the least of their problems.
“You should learn to do that yourself. Save you a lot of time,” he said. And he wasn’t kidding.
“I’ll chance it.”
“I won’t always be around.”
He didn’t say it meanly but she felt it in her gut just the same. She swished things to say around in her mind, starting with Please always be around, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to want a response.
Instead, he moved forward, rubbing her shoulders and back with a mix of alcohol and water, careful to avoid the places she was scratched and cut.
“An old boxer’s trick,” she said.
“Your family doesn’t seem like the boxing type.”
“The man who trained me at the academy was,” she said.
“He taught you how to fight like that?”
“He taught me tricks. I always fought like that.”
“Aren’t you an interesting one, Grier Catherine Grace.”
“Don’t you middle-name me,” she protested, but she smiled anyway.
“Come on, let me run a bath for you to soak away some of the aches,” he told her. She assessed herself in the mirror as he ran the water. Her right cheekbone was a mess of bruises, but he’d told her it wasn’t broken. Her lip was split but her ribs took the worst of the hit.
You were damned lucky.
She ran her hands through her short auburn hair. The haircut made her eyes look huge.
“Ready, Grier.”
She’d been holding a towel around her to ward off the chill and she dropped it now. He helped her into the tub that he’d loaded up with healing Epsom salts, lowering her and she groaned as the warm water surrounded her. He’d put some bubbles in there too, but Reid had still looked and hadn’t made any secret about it.
She was grateful. She’d wanted him to. And she settled in, letting the warmth soothe her, put her head back and closed her eyes. The drugs hadn’t fully kicked in yet, but when they did, she’d be feeling really good.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her.
She opened her eyes and touched her hair self-consciously. “I don’t think I’m meant to be a redhead.”
“Actually, you’ll have to go blond at this point.” He leaned forward and smoothed the wet hair off her cheeks. “I’ve got the hair color for you to use.”
“Thanks.” She paused. “For everything.”
He gave a brief nod, was as terrible at accepting thanks as she was at giving it. “I’d like to give you privacy but . . .”
“Yeah, the drugs.” She was already a little drowsy. At least there was no concussion, which would necessitate her being woken every half hour or so. She couldn’t wait to dry off, tuck into a real bed and deal with everything tomorrow.
* * *
Reid put the box of hair color on the counter. It would keep till morning. Right now, getting out of the bath before she passed out would be the bigger challenge. Thankfully, she seemed to want to talk and he didn’t fight it.
Mainly, it was mumbling about Jack and how she really wanted to talk to him.
“We’ll call him later.” He didn’t want to bring up all the trouble—not now.
“Can I have some more water?” she asked. He reached for the bottle and bit back a wince as he turned back the wrong way.
“You’re hurt.”
“Not really. Not from this fight,” he amended.
“Did I pull you off a job?”
“It was over. I was just resting.”
“You, resting?” She shook her head and then said seriously, “Don’t you want some drugs?”
“One of us around here needs to be able to work a weapon,” he said.
“Reid, seriously. I saw the kick you took.”
“Just ribs. They’ll heal.”
“And kidneys.”
“I’ll piss blood for a few days.”
She blinked. “How do you shrug this stuff off?”
“Because I’ve got something way more important to worry about.” He pointed at her and decided he didn’t want to talk anymore. Or hear her try to mother him. Instead, while he kept one eye on her, he bandaged his ribs. Cleaned the scrapes. Checked out the purple bruise on his lower back. Fucker. His cheek hurt like a bitch, but it didn’t feel broken. Between the two of them, they looked like the walking wounded and there was no way to get them on a plane without attracting attention.
Beyond that, Grier was a very wanted woman. A wanted woman whose eyes he felt on him the whole time.
* * *
