The front passenger-side door opened, and Raider fell into the car with a loud groan.
Wolfe studied her for a moment. “Okay. We’re on the same team.” Without giving her a chance to protest, he pulled her sopping wet shirt over her head and pulled his down to cover her. Warmth and dryness surrounded her, and she wanted to whimper. Until he pushed her back and tore off the yoga pants, underwear, and thick socks.
“Wolfe,” she protested.
“It’s dark, and I’m not looking.” He tossed the wet clothing on the floor and shut the door.
She curled into the dry shirt, huddling to warm up.
Wolfe slid into the driver’s seat and took off, somehow seeing the road in the darkness. He flicked a button, and blessed heat began to fill the car. “We’ll keep the lights off until we’re in town,” he said. “I have two motel rooms on the other side of town ready for you in case we need to sew one or both of you up.” He lifted his head, probably to look in the rearview mirror. “You cut anywhere, Bridge?”
She couldn’t see in the dark like he could. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” Now that she was warming up, pretty much everything hurt. “We’ll take inventory when we get to the motel.” She put her head back and closed her eyes, letting the heat seep into her aching bones. “Before I forget, I found a connection between Eddie Coonan and Scot Tyson. Does that name mean anything?” The information she wanted was in the back of her brain, but she couldn’t find it. Where was a laptop when she needed one?
“Yeah,” Wolfe said. “He’s a US Senator from Massachusetts who just announced he’s running for president.”
Brigid stiffened. “I need a computer.” Exhaustion swamped her, making her limbs impossibly heavy. The feeling of safety pushed away any remaining adrenaline, draining her and taking her under.
She awoke with a jerk, finding herself beneath the covers of a queen-size bed in a clean but utilitarian motel room. Raider sat on a table across from the bed, dressed in a pair of ripped sweats and nothing else. He was leaning to the side, focusing on the closed curtains, as Wolfe drew a needle through his skin.
Brigid sat up. “Holy crap. How bad is it?”
Raider grimaced but held perfectly still. “The bullet just grazed me.”
Wolfe snorted and bent down to perform his task. “Would’ve been easier if it had gone through, but it ripped open your side instead. Sorry you need stitches.”
Brigid blew unruly hair out of her eyes. “How long was I out?”
“About an hour,” Wolfe said, tying the thread in a knot and reaching for a bandage. He’d changed into another dark T-shirt, probably from the ripped army-green go-bag sitting in the corner. “Okay. Raider? You need sleep.” He efficiently cleaned up the supplies, moved to the bag, and drew out a big black gun to hand over. “I’ll be in the next room, and I’m armed. You keep this one.”
Raider took the gun and edged off the round table, heading for the other side of the bed.
Should she protest? She didn’t want to, but there was no reason for them to share the room. It connected to Wolfe’s room, so she’d be safe alone. “Raider.”
“Don’t want to hear it,” he said, exhaustion lining his strong face. He set the gun on the night table, pulled back the covers, and all but fell in. “I’m between you and the door until we get the hell out of this town.”
Brigid eyed him and then snuggled back down. Two nights in a row, in the same bed, and they kept getting shot at.
“’Night,” Wolfe said cheerfully, turning off the lights. “There are more, ah, supplies in the bag if you need them.” Then he crossed through the connecting doors and shut his.
Darkness swallowed the room. Brigid tried to keep her eyelids open but completely failed. “Why do you think he shut the door?”
Raider breathed deeply next to her, already asleep.
She turned on her side and cuddled a little closer to the natural heat he emanated. She yawned and then scooted close enough to rest her chin on his shoulder. He didn’t so much as twitch. With a small smile, she let herself drop off to sleep.
* * *
Raider came fully awake around dawn, acutely aware of the woman molded to his side. Her nose was pressed against his neck, her hand was flattened over his belly, her leg was bent at the knee and thrown over his, and her long, curly hair cascaded across his chest. Even after being dunked in the ocean, the faint smell of honeysuckle and vanilla wafted from her.
Her scent.
He went rock hard in an instant. The ache in his cock overtook every other pain in his body, and that was saying something.
She murmured his name against his skin, and he shuddered.
Her eyelids slowly opened, revealing those staggering emerald eyes. She blinked, but her expression remained languorous, and her touch light. The hand on his stomach slid across his abs and up his chest, and she made a purring sound that nearly broke his control.
He swallowed. “Brigid.” Was she even completely awake?
