Apollo pressed his mouth to her ear. “They know,” he breathed against her. “Maaz found my lost comms piece.”
Panicked, she drew back, looking into his eyes. Searching them. Hoping this was just a really bad joke.
He guided her into the bathroom, shut the door, turned on the water in the sink, then the shower as well. He again huddled close to her. “I played dumb, but?—”
“So it was Omen they arrested…”
Owen tightened his jaw and looked aside. “Maaz wants me to believe that.”
“But why would he want that unless he knows about them?”
“I don’t think he does—he’s assuming. It makes sense if he believes we were escaping in town—he would assume I had friends helping.” He touched his jaw and flinched.
Hope shoved its rebellious head past her doubts and terror.
Owen scowled as he thought, then shook his head. “Even if they caught one of the team, there’s no way they caught all of them. And he never mentioned how many.”
Nerves flailing, she studied him. Saw his own uncertainty. “How can you know?”
“Tactics. The MO for extraction,” he said. “Those guys are the best, much better than I am.”
She wanted to believe him, but that seemed like a lot of guessing. Even if educated ones, they were still guesses.
Owen nodded, as if convincing himself. “I call bull that one reserve ranger took down an elite unit like Omen.”
“I see your point, but…can you be sure?”
“The only thing I can be sure of is us.”
That pushed a smile into her face.
He smiled too, then looked aside, expression weighted. “Just wish I could figure out Maaz’s game.”
It was then she noticed the yellowish-green pus around his stitches. “It’s infected.”
Apollo exhaled heavily. “I know.”
She grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the water, then raised it to his face.
“I’m good.”
“You’re not,” she countered, catching his stubbled jaw with a firm hand.
“Leigh—”
“Let me do this for you.” She tried to shoot daggers at him but she was pretty sure it came out wooden. “Keep still.”
Surprise widened his eyes a fraction, then a smirk slid into his expression.
“Don’t,” she warned, knowing him well enough to expect some smart-aleck comment. Gently, she dabbed along his jaw. When he twitched, her stomach squeezed, hating that she’d hurt him. “Sorry.”
But she was not going to lie—this was gross. “It’s a mess.” With as much care as she could manage, she wiped it with a little more pressure she knew it needed to cleanse it. “Have you been taking your antibiotic?”
He broke eye contact.
“Apollo…”
His hand found her waist, sending a swarm of jellies through her gut. “I said to call me Owen.”
