Page 94 of Summer Heat
Her bedroom had a bathroom—well stocked with first aid supplies—like any good safe
house. What the hell were Roman and Cash doing running around with guns and slipping into safe houses? Her mind raced. A million maybes skittered through her thoughts. Did they wonder the same about her?
Both men had Popeyed out since she’d last seen them. They were massive. Different builds, but no question, given her run-in with Cash’s arms, they’d taken their passion for working out to a whole new level. Roman was stocky and square, broad top to bottom. Cash had some lank to him. Long legs, powerful chest. His chest had been sinful before, but now it was downright deadly.
She shook away the thought of Cash. No need to hopscotch down memory lane. Her cuts needed tending, and daydreaming wouldn’t stave off infection. She cleaned them, dousing each raw mark in hydrogen peroxide. A smear of antibacterial ointment and she’d be okay.
Her elbow was another story. She’d have to wrap and sling it. Immobilization was key to recovery, but showing a blatant sign of weakness to three men who saw her as theirs to protect wouldn’t work.
Another beautiful dress ruined. The wardrobe was a serious perk of her job, but the dresses never made it home. She’d known this one was headed for the dumpster when she’d wedged herself out the window. But damned if she hadn’t hoped she was wrong, somehow. Nope. It was just a stupid dress anyway. But it felt like the only thing she could focus on without curling up into a crying ball.
A soft knock on her door stole her breath. Having no idea what to say or how to explain, she didn’t move to answer it. The handle turned, and it slipped open. Cash stuck his beautiful head of blond hair—shower damp and face free of camouflage face paint—into the room. He looked older and harder. Tanner. Maybe a few lines around his eyes. The baby face was gone, replaced by something chiseled.
He held out a phone like it was a pass code and he was requesting entry. She nodded. As he stepped in, he held up his other hand. Clothes as another offering.
“Phone. T-shirt. Pants. Figured you needed to change.” He sounded as unsure as she felt.
The air was heavy and the room much smaller than she’d realized. His eyes pierced straight to her soul, squeezing the soft part she’d tried so hard to hide. Nicola nodded again. “Can I have the phone?”
“You can have the phone and the clothes.” He placed the items down on the dresser but didn’t move.
“All right. Thanks.” He took up half the room as he waited, expectedly, for something from her. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Nope. Not how it’s going to work. Our phone—I’ll stay for your call.”
“But—”
“You don’t have much in the way of options here, Nic. Your big brother is raging or grieving upstairs, going through mood swings like a mental patient, trying to get his head on straight. And I’m…” Pain shone in the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He closed them and took a deep breath. When he finally opened them again, he cleared his throat. “I’m here to monitor your phone call.”
His voice carried bitterness and torment. She was an evil bitch. Her eyes tingled with tears wanting to burst free. Again. Instead, she scooted across the bed, self-conscious that her trashed silk gown clung to her body. “Fine. You can stay.”
“Like I said, you don’t have much option.”
She grabbed the items off the dresser and settled back on the bed. “Okay.”
She was the devil incarnate, evil’s bitchy step-sister. How could she have done this to the two of them? To her family? She wanted to call Mom and Dad more now than she had any other night. Mom would hate her. She should. But Nicola needed her mom, needed her hug. Un-spilled tears tried to escape again, and she breathed them away, focusing on Cash.
He leaned his hulking frame back, put one boot against the wall, and continued to watch. She turned around on the bed but kept an eye on his reflection in the mirror. Nicola punched the number into the phone, waited, and entered another series of numbers.
Beth answered on the first ring, as was her custom. “Hey, girl. Didn’t expect you again.”
“Gabriella was compromised. She avoided a hit. But not by much.”
“You’re hurt?”
“Minimal.” Nicola never offered signs of weakness when she didn’t know who listened. Her best friend would understand by the tone of her voice that minimal was bullshit, but nothing a bath in Bactine wouldn’t fix.
“Gotcha. And who are you with?”
“Friendlies.” I think. “The situation is… complicated.”
“Why can’t you give me more?”
“Because my friend—” She glared at Cash in the mirror. “—is too nosey for his own good. For now, I don’t need an extraction plan. I’ll make contact tomorrow.”
“Do I need to be worried?”
That was the best friend asking, not her handler. The two components were often at odds, and Beth knew Nic would never answer in the affirmative, even if it were the case.
