Not that Chrissy was looking for anything serious per se. But neither was she looking for a heartbreak. And that’s what Wolf was. Walking heartbreak.
“They’re fine,” he assured her. “Alex has a couple of butterfly bandages. Mason has eight stitches and what will surely be one badass scar.”
“Eight stitches. That’sit?” Chrissy was incredulous. “After losing all that blood?”
She and Alex had both been standing on the catamaran’s swim deck, absently waving away the weak wisps of smoke floating up from the burned-out engines, when Wolf and Mason reached the man in the water.
The scene replayed itself in Chrissy’s mind in slow motion. The way Mason’s back muscles bunched when he bent to lift the shooter from the sea. The way their assailant reminded Chrissy of a Gorgon, rising up all dark and menacing, his eyes filled with so much hatred that, even from a distance, he managed to turn her heart to stone. The way the Gorgon lifted a blade that flashed silver in the sunlight and, with a stark cry of fury, sank it deep into Mason’s side.
Chrissy hadn’t been able to breathe. She hadn’t been able to move. She’d been so stunned by the unexpected violence that she might have stayed a living statue forever, glued to the spot, if it hadn’t been for the horrible sound issuing from the back of Alex’s throat.
It was the noise a dying animal might make. And it had been enough to break the spell holding Chrissy in place.
She’d put a steadying arm around Alex’s shoulders, feeling the shudders going through the woman. And in that moment, she’d known that what Alex felt for Mason went a whole lot deeper than lust.
WhetherAlexrealized that, Chrissy couldn’t say. What shecouldsay was that Alex didn’t leave Mason’s side. Not after Wolf brought him back to the battered catamaran. Not while the three of them worked to stanch the blood with towels from the galley. Not even after the Coasties arrived.
“It wasn’t all that much blood,” Wolf said now.
She eyed him askance. “If that wasn’t a lot of blood, I’d hate to see what is.”
“The onboard doc said the knife missed everything vital. To steal a phrase from Monty Python, ‘It’s just a flesh wound.’” He grinned and hitched a shoulder. It drew her attention to the contrast between the baby blue of his tank top and the deep, delicious hue of his skin. Then, his expression grew serious. “You did everything right today, Chrissy.” His thumb traced circles in her palm. He meant the gesture to be comforting. Instead, it made her burn for things she knew were impossible. “I’m crazy proud of you, woman. You should be crazy proud of yourself.”
“Trying to find something good in anything that happened today feels a little like searching for a pearl in pig shit,” she whispered.
“I do love your way with words.” His voice was so low she would swear she heard it with something other than her ears, something decidedlysouthof her head.
It was high time she let go of his hand.
Regrettably, the moment she wasn’t distracted by his touch, all those jagged, cutting thoughts took over again.
Wolf must’ve recognized the look that came over her face, because he squatted in front of her. “I know what you saw today was awful. And I know you have to be thinkin’—”
“About the wanton uselessness of it all?” she cut in. “Three men are dead and I can’t understand it. Why did they do it? Why did they come after us?”
He shook his head and the sun shining through the porthole created a halo effect behind him. He looked almost angelic. But she knew firsthand how devilish he could be.
“Don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m hopin’ the authorities will be able to answer that.”
She nodded, and for a while they were both quiet. Then, picking at the frayed hem of her shorts, she asked, “It’s not like in the movies, is it? In real life, gunshots are so much messier.”
“It’s not always like that. The M4s we use are…” He seemed to search for the right words. “Serious pieces of machinery. Military grade.”
And there was something in his voice, a slight waver, that had her glancing into his eyes. Those beautiful, black eyes that had seen too much destruction.
For the first time all day, she wondered howhewas doing. He’d been the one forced to mete out those gruesome gunshots. And no matter how much practice or training he had, that couldn’t be an easy weight to bear.
“Areyouokay?” She went to brush the ink-black hair away from his brow, and then thought better of it. Acting as if it had been her intention all along, she tucked a stray strand of her own hair behind her ear.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Not like I haven’t done it before.”
“Even so, I don’t suspect it’s something you get used to.”
“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in the tanned column of his throat. As with the rest of him, she found it strangely fascinating. “But men who live by the sword die by it.”
The air inside the room was heavy with something Chrissy couldn’t name. And the tight skin over Wolf’s razor-blade cheekbones told her he wasn’t as unmoved by what had happened as he’d like her to believe.
Making sure her expression was appropriately teasing, she hoped to defuse the tension. “Didn’t we agree you’d stop sounding like a fortune cookie when I was around?”
