Gray Wolf Security: Back Home

by Glenna Sinclair

  I had a first aid kit. It contained bandages and antibiotic creams, but it wasn’t assembled with the idea of treating a bullet wound. I was getting dizzy and light-headed from the blood loss, and thinking it was time to call into Gray Wolf when I heard the front door slam.

  “Erin?”

  Boone. What would he think when he came in here and saw me? I glanced down at myself, realizing I was half naked now that my ruined sweater was on the floor. I snatched my bath towel off the rack, hiding the scars that crisscrossed my body. He came around the corner just as my knees grew weak.

  “What the fuck…Erin!”

  He caught me as I began to fall, lifting me onto the edge of the sink, his eyes filled with concern as he took in the blood smeared across my cheek and the bruises forming along my jawline.

  “What the hell happened?”

  I started to shake my head, but the movement was too much for my weakened body. I leaned back against the cool surface of the mirror, only capable of losing myself in the warmth of his eyes.

  He grabbed the top edge of the moist towel. I protested with a little moan and a tighter grip, but he was much stronger than me. He pulled it away easily. And then the smaller towel was gone, revealing the bullet wound and gushing blood.

  “For crying out loud! What do you fucking do on your day off?”

  He lightly pressed his fingers around the wound, the pain darkening the edges of my vision. He searched through my cabinets, jerking the first aid kit out of its hiding place. He carefully wiped away blood from the surrounding area of the wound with a warm, wet towel and I tried not to wince. He then pressed clean gauze against the wound, slowing the flow of blood once again. He pulled my shoulder forward, checking for an exit wound. I didn’t even feel the pain there until he pressed his fingers against what must have been a sizable wound. I cried out and he pulled me against his chest, his hands gentle as he held me close.

  “I’m sorry. I needed to see how bad the damage is.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I have had some experience with bullet wounds. It’s a side effect of spending the majority of my time with criminals.”

  He pulled the gauze away and examined the wound again, only with his eyes this time. “You need stitches.”

  “All out at the moment.”

  He grunted, his eyes moving over my face again. “You pick a hell of a time to get a sense of humor.”

  “It hurts and my head is spinning. Tell me a better time.”

  He brushed the back of his fingers over my jaw. My eyes slid closed as my nerves chose to enjoy the pleasure of his touch over the throbbing pain in my shoulder. And then things went dark and I was gone, left in his capable hands. At least, I hoped they were capable.

  Chapter 21

  Boone

  Erin fell sideways, nearly going head first into the toilet. I caught her and lifted her up, carrying her into the bedroom. I stripped down the bed and lay her on the bare mattress, deciding it would be easier to replace the mattress than explain to some dry cleaner how we got a pint of blood on her sheets. The wound was still oozing, the blood thick and dark now. I swiped it with antiseptic wipes to avoid infection; I was grateful she was knocked out for this, as it would have stung like a bitch. I taped gauze on it and went in search of sewing kit. I had to get it closed up before she lost too much more blood.

  It wouldn’t be pretty. The mini kit I found only had thin, pink thread in it. I guessed Erin didn’t sew very often. I had to double up the thread before pushing it through the needle, using what was essentially four layers of the thin thread. I knew this wasn’t the best thing for her wound, but it had to be closed and this was clearly not a situation where we could go to the hospital, as bad as I felt for not being able to take her to professionals. I’d done this once before, a few years back, when a partner on an insurance scam was shot by the mark. He survived, though he was left with an ugly scar. I assumed she would, too.

  When I was done, I filled a bowl with soapy water and washed her up. Blood was dried all along her back and down her arm, crusted under her fingernails. I worked for nearly half an hour trying to clean up those delicate nails. I didn’t want her to wake to the sight of her own blood, even dried under her fingernails.

  There were bruises all along her sides and abdomen to match the bruises slowly blooming on her jaw. There were scratches, too, on the back of her neck and along her ribs. Whoever she fought with must have had long nails.

  After careful thought, I undressed her, careful not to jostle her injuries. I bathed her, washing away all the blood, all the debris of the day. I knew if she were awake she would have probably shot me herself, but I couldn’t let her wake up to dried blood all over her body, feeling just as dirty and disheveled as she had before passing out. I tried not to stare too hard, but I couldn’t help but admire the power in her muscles, the curves of her thighs, the perfection of a body that was well trained and well maintained. She was incredibly beautiful, a realization that the more basic of my instincts did not miss.

  I spent the entire afternoon with an especially uncomfortable erection.

  When I was done, I dressed her in the same boxers and t-shirt I’d seen her wear to bed the past two nights. I remade the bed around her, thinking any nurse would be impressed with my technique. Finally, I covered her with the soft, voluminous comforter and went to clean the bathroom.

  Her sweater was a complete loss. I dropped it into the trash along with the towel she’d used to slow the bleeding. There was no salvaging that, either. I washed the sink and the drops of blood that fell to the floor of the bathroom as well, doing more chores than I had ever done as a child—willingly, at least. My dad would probably fall over from wonder.

  Her bag was on the bathroom floor, too, probably abandoned in the rush to tend to her wounds. Her leather jacket was also on the floor, the shoulder ruined by the bullet. That I put into the laundry room thinking we might be able to find someone to mend it and replace the lining.

  I intended to leave the bag in the living room, but when I set it down, it popped open and I caught sight of the familiar edge of a file folder. I took it out, dread washing over me. It was the blackmail file Elizabeth had on me.

  Was this what had happened? Had she snuck into Elizabeth’s room and fought her in order to protect me?

  When was the last time someone had put themselves on the line to save me?

  There were other files in her bag, but I heard her stir before I could see what they were. I quickly returned the file to the bag and went to watch over her, settling in the chair that I was beginning to think as my own, as uncomfortable as it was.

  “Boone,” she whispered hours later as the sun began to set outside.

  I cleared my throat and went over to her. “I’m here.”

  I kneeled beside her and took her hand in mine.

  “What happened?”

  “You passed out. I have some juice here you should drink.”

  She shifted, reaching up to touch her shoulder. Pain shot across her face, settling in her large blue eyes.

  “Stay still. You don’t want to tear the stitches.”

  “Stitches? You did it?”

  “Yes. And they’re not pretty, but they should keep you from bleeding out.”

  She nodded, blinking tears of pain from her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem. What are friends for if not to sew up your shoulder when you get shot?”

  She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You changed my clothes?”

  “I didn’t want you to wake covered in blood. It’s bad enough having to deal with the pain of that wound.”

  She blushed, her eyes dropping from mine. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve seen enough of what they did to me. You didn’t need to see the scars, too.”

  “Scars? You have scars?”

  That forced her to look at me. She studied my face a moment. “You’re teasing
me.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “Boone, I’m okay with it. You don’t have to tease.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I rose up a little on my knees, taking a risk by tugging back the comforter to reveal her curves covered in only a thin t-shirt. “All I see is porcelain skin that is as smooth as silk.”

  Tears pooled into her eyes again. “Come on.”

  Slowly, never taking my eyes from hers, I lifted the bottom of her shirt, sliding it up her abdomen an inch at a time. “Are you talking about these bruises? I’d hate to see the other guy.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “The scratches, then.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the raw scratches that I guessed Elizabeth’s nails had left on her ribs. “They should heal without leaving a mark.”

  “I’m talking about the huge, ropy scar just above that.”

  I slid my fingers over the scar that marred her body there, the huge mark left by the knife those bastards used on her the night they abandoned her in a corn field. She knew I’d read her story, that I knew what detail the police were able to put together regarding the crimes committed against her. I guessed she hadn’t been able to give them much detail given the fact that she didn’t utter a word until two years after she was found.

  I knew about the scars. I just chose not to see them that way.

  “This,” I said, “isn’t a birthmark?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  I ran my tongue along the bottom edge of it. “Could have fooled me.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she said, but there was a mixture of amusement and gratitude in her voice.

  “And this.” I slid my fingers along the center of her belly, barely touching her as her muscles quivered, touching one of the many cigarette burns that dotted her body. “It must be a beauty mark because it marks the most beautiful belly I’ve ever seen.”

  She smiled despite herself, her hands pushing at me at the same time her fingers wrapped themselves in my hair, holding me close.

  “And this…”

  I made my way slowly over her belly and her sides, touching each of the scars left to mark her for the rest of her life. She lay still, her fingers still in my hair but neither tugging nor pulling. I kissed and licked, loving the smell of her skin, loving the slightly salty taste of it. I wanted so desperately to move further up, to nibble at her throat, to taste a nipple, or to move down and show her pleasure I knew she’d never encountered. But I knew it was hard for her to let me do this much.

  I pressed my face to the center of her belly and took a deep breath before backing away.

  “You’re insane.”

  I shook my head, moving close so that we could see each other in the gloom descending on the room. “No. I’m just being truthful.”

  “Those scars are ugly. I hate looking at them.”

  “I don’t. They’re part of who you are.”

  “I don’t want them. I don’t want them to be a part of me.”

  “They’re proof of who you are, Erin. They’re proof that you’re a survivor. Those men did horrifying things to you and left you to die, but you survived.” I paused, realizing I needed to correct my words. “You didn’t just survive. You thrived.”

  “No. I’m scared every minute of every day they’ll find me again, that they’ll hurt me again.”

  I shook my head. “How fucking brave was it of you to join the Navy? I would have been terrified being in that environment. But you…living with other people—men—you didn’t know, feeling vulnerable all the time. But you not only made it through boot camp, you made it through ten years of service. How the hell did you do that if you were so frightened?”

  She shrugged, wincing as she remembered her injury. “I concentrated on what they taught me. I focused on the skills they gave me.”

  “You thrived because you were stronger than everyone else around you.” I touched the long, ropy scar on her ribs again. “This isn’t a scar. It’s a badge of honor, proof that you can overcome anything and survive. You should wear it with pride.”

  Tears spilled from her eyes. “Boone…”

  “So many people in your position would never have made it through. But you did. That awes me.” I couldn’t help but think of my sister with a twinge of pain.

  She leaned toward me, her hand shakily sliding over the side of my face.

  “Thank you,” she whispered before pressing her lips to mine. It took everything I had not to devour her in that moment. I wanted her like I’d never wanted anyone before. Sex had become a means to an end, a physical release without meaning. But now I felt like the seventeen-year-old kid I was in the months before my sister’s attack. I felt eager and out of control. I felt like I was going to lose it just from the velvet touch of her tongue sliding across the roof of my mouth.

  I wanted her, but I knew she wasn’t ready. I grudgingly pulled away, tugging the comforter back over her erotic body.

  “You should get some sleep,” I said, my voice huskier than it had been a moment ago.

  “Will you stay with me?”

  I nodded, brushing the last of her tears from her cheek. “For as long as you want me.”

  Chapter 22

  Joss

  “It’s a hell of a lot of paperwork, isn’t it?”

  Jules groaned. “The next time you decide to go out of town, you might want to hire three other assistants to help out.”

  I laughed. “I might need to do that just to get all this caught up.”

  “I don’t know how you do it. I was here day and night and I still couldn’t make any headway.”

  “It’s an art form.”

  I dug through the piles of paper she’d set on my desk, looking for the logs the operatives working to watch over my family were required to fill out each night.

  “Who’s with Carrington tonight?”

  “Johnny. And Tony is staying overnight with the girls.”

  “Carrington’s out of town?”

  “Staying in San Francisco after a late meeting.”

  I nodded, aware that he had a new client he was wining and dining up in that area these past few weeks. I hoped it was going well.

  “How did the girls get along with Erin?”

  “Well. There was a little scare the other day at the mall, but otherwise it was quiet.”

  “A scare?”

  Jules shrugged. “Erin apparently thought she saw something and made McKelty leave before they planned to. Turned out to be nothing, but better safe than sorry.”

  I had to agree. But it brought to mind the picture Mike had shown me.

  “Has she mentioned a new man in her life?”

  “No, why?”

  I shook my head. “Has there been anything unusual going on with her?”

  “No.” Jules frowned as she tried to figure out what I was getting at. “I had her handle a small case for us while you were gone, but otherwise she was only working with your family.”

  “What small case?”

  Jules shrugged. “A lawyer from the law firm you use all the time came over and asked if we could get proof that her husband was cheating. I had Erin meet him at a local bar and she got good footage of the guy coming onto her.”

  “Which lawyer?”

  “Her name was Jenna Walker.” Jules searched through the files and came up with one that she handed to me. “She said you told her that if she ever needed anything, all she had to do was ask.”

  I opened the file and was greeted with a much more flattering photograph of the man whose mugshot Mike had shown me. Handsome. He had long, dark hair and dimples that must have gotten him quite a bit of attention through the years. But I knew the name on the back wasn’t his.

  “I’ve never heard of Jenna Walker.”

  “She said she works at Adams, Jacobs. Her card is in there.”

  I shook my head. “Adams, Jacobs is run by Emily Warrens’ father,
Jason Adams. I only deal with him or his partner, Sam Jacobs, whenever I use them. No one else.”

  Jules sat up a little straighter, panic on her face. She clearly knew she’d made a mistake.

  “Did you vet her? Did you call Adams, Jacobs to see if she worked there?”

  “No. I just…I assumed.”

  “You don’t assume in this business.” I reached for the phone, my eyes moving slowly over Jules’ face. “Do you remember what she looks like?”

  “Yeah. Early thirties. Long, brown hair. Green eyes.”

  “Good. I’ll need you to tell Special Agent Spencer all about her.”

  Was this what Erin had gotten herself involved in? Was he dangerous?

  “And call Erin. Tell her I need her in my office first thing tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter 23

  Erin

  Boone fell asleep, the rhythmic sounds of his breathing soothing, but not enough to help me get comfortable enough to sleep. My shoulder ached and my bruises were sore, the muscles beneath them screaming with every movement, every breath I took. I finally had to get up if only to keep from waking him.

  The bathroom was clean, all signs of the violence I’d brought into my home gone. I was grateful, not sure I could have dealt with it myself. Everything was back in its place, put where it belonged, not just moved. I appreciated his attention to detail. Order was important to me, especially in my own home.

  The only thing out of place was my bag. It was sitting on the office chair in the living room. I picked it up, finally taking the time to look through the files I’d stolen from Elizabeth’s hotel room. The one I was most curious about was Boone’s. What did she have on Boone that frightened him so completely? What crime had he committed that he couldn’t charm his way out of?

  The first sheet in the file was an autopsy report on a woman in her late forties. It reported that she’d died of a heart attack. Natural causes. Nothing strange about that. But as I looked through the file, I found indications that the woman had been given some sort of medication that might have made her heart beat with an irregular pattern. That could have led to the heart attack if not corrected properly. Yet, I still saw no connection to Boone.