Broken
Page 6
His friend didn’t answer.
Chapter Eight
Dana finished typing the intro to her story, trying to ignore the remaining cinnamon roll on the table. Pippa could sure bake. Dana had never experienced much success in the kitchen, but she’d never really tried, either. There was always another story to chase, and this one mattered.
She paused. It was time to diagram some of the information. Standing, she stretched her neck. Wolfe had said he’d turned the guest room into an off ice, and hopefully he had a notepad in there she could borrow. She hadn’t realized hers was full. Just as she turned, her phone buzzed. She read the screen and then lifted it to answer. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Hi, honey. Your dad wanted me to call. He’s out fishing early on the river.” Her mom’s voice was distracted.
Of course he was. Dana turned away from the tempting treat. “I hope it’s a good catch.” Her dad was a river and fishing guide.
“Me, too.” Dishes clinked across the line. “Anyway, somebody has been calling here for you. A man saying he has information for a story, and your dad told him to go fall off a cliff. But he keeps calling, so we thought you should have the number. Now, don’t call him. Or if you do, use a pay phone.”
Dana tried not to chuckle, although her instincts had started humming. “I’m not sure there are any pay phones around anymore, but I’ll be careful.”
“Is this for a story?”
Hopefully, but probably not. “Sure. Isn’t it always?” Dana forced humor into her voice, even though her stomach began to ache.
Her mom rattled off the number.
Ah, crap. It was Mike’s phone number. The guy just wouldn’t give up, and now he was harassing her parents? She needed to take care of him and soon. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry my sources are bugging you. I’ll handle it.”
“I’m sure—just be careful in case this has to do with one of those dangerous stories you like to investigate. By the way, Lissa and the musician broke up, thank goodness. Katie won’t fill me in on her dating life, and I believe Charlotte is dating someone, but she’s being very mum about it. Quite annoying, if you ask me. How about you? Have you had any interesting dates lately?”
Did running out of a sex party with a hot ex-soldier count? “No. I’ve been working a lot.” What would her mom think about Wolfe? Not that it mattered, because he was just a friend. Still. It’d be funny to see her petite mother order Wolfe around. She needed to change the subject. “How’s your knee?” Her mom had fallen down a riverbank and pulled ligaments months ago.
“It’s good. I finish with physical therapy next week, and I should be able to raft again in a few weeks.” Her mom chuckled. “Before I forget, do I need to alter your dress for the wedding next Saturday?”
Dana winced. There wasn’t much that could be done with that dress. “How about you burn it?”
“You sound just like your sisters, and you need to knock it off. You’ll look beautiful, and you know none of us thought your cousin would ever get married. She’s, well, a lot.”
It was just like her mother to find a silver lining. Sally wasn’t a lot. Sally was the drama queen from the third realm of an entitled universe. “Uh-huh.” Dana pushed the cinnamon roll across the table. “The dress should still fit me. Haven’t changed much. Um, I am in the middle of—”
“A story? You’re always in the middle of a story. This is your cousin’s wedding, and you’re being honored as one of the bridesmaids.” The perfect amount of motherly guilt infused her mom’s chipper tone.
Really? Dana and her sisters were Sally’s bridesmaids because the whiny wench didn’t have any friends. It was revenge, darn it. She and Sally had never gotten along, but there was no excuse for that puke-green, puffy-sleeved dress. Plus, it was tight in the wrong places and wide in the others, which made her look like a waddling rotten kiwi. “I’ll be there, Mom. When is the rest of the gang getting in?” She missed her three sisters, and Katie definitely owed her a call. It had been a week, and they never went that long without talking, but things had been crazy.
“The twins arrive Thursday, and Katie gets in about the same time you do on Saturday morning, which really is cutting it way too close. Dad will pick you up at the airport. Also, I think I might’ve mentioned the Mulvaney boys are in town and will be attending the wedding.” Before Dana could protest, her mother continued, “Your dad is coming up from the bank with a lot of fish. I have to go, honey.”
“Bye, Mom.” Dana shook her head as she disengaged the call. “The Mulvaney boys. Right.” She quickly sent a group text to her three sisters that their mom was planning on matchmaking at the upcoming wedding and to be ready.
Various emojis and gifs quickly blew up her phone, ranging from eye-rolling to a giraffe vigorously shaking its head.
She smiled and turned again for the guest room. What had she been doing? Oh yeah. She needed paper to start diagramming the connections in her research because it wasn’t coming together for her. She rolled her shoulders and sucked in her stomach. The dress would still fit, right? Of course. Shaking her head, she strode around the sofa just as Kat leaped from a hiding spot behind the television. He landed on her shoulder and bounded off, rolling down the sofa and plopping on the far pillow with a soft meow.
She looked down. “You’re as crazy as Wolfe is.”
The kitten blinked pretty eyes, sneezed, and then started licking his paw, effectively dismissing her.
All righty, then. “As soon as he gets back, I’m going home,” she told the kitten, who still didn’t look up. She grinned and then pushed the door open. Fumbling for the light, she stepped inside, the carpet soft on her bare feet. Then she stopped cold, looking around. “Wow,” she breathed.
Guns and knives—all types of them—were mounted on the wall to the left, floor to ceiling. The next wall held a matching set of antique armoires that stood tall on either side of a window, underneath which was a short shelving system holding a laptop, printer, and various supplies.
It was the final wall that held her attention. She blinked several times at a wide, green glass magnetic board that took up the entire wall. Pictures, diagrams, notecards, and notes covered the surface with lines drawn between them. She’d never seen an evidence board so precise—and full. Albert Nelson’s picture was taped over to the right with one thick line drawn through it.
She swallowed. Who were the other people? A group of seven young soldiers in the desert, smiling at the camera, caught her eye. Wolfe was in the middle, and he looked . . . lighter. Happier. Then her breath caught as she moved to the next picture, which showed five coffins in an airplane hangar, all covered with the United States flag. Another picture, this one blown up, showed one of the guys from the team picture. Various lines connected his picture to other pictures, notecards, and documents. “You must be Rock,” she murmured. Just as she stepped closer for a better look, the front door banged open.
“Dana?” Wolfe bellowed.
She jumped and ran back through the living room, where Wolfe was helping a bleeding Malcolm West to sit at the kitchen table. Blood flowed down Mal’s face from a cut along his temple. Her stomach lurched. “What happened?” Her legs trembled, and she looked up at Wolfe’s hard face, not seeing the blood dripping down his arm for a minute. It caught her eye as red splotches fell onto the tile. “You’re injured, too.” Without thought, she reached for his wrist.
He pulled away and strode to a drawer by the door to the garage, returning with a first aid kit and clean towels. Even though he moved toward her, he felt miles away, and his gaze remained on Malcolm.
Dana hesitated, oddly hurt.
Wolfe handed an orange striped kitchen towel to his friend. “I’m sorry, West.”
Mal rolled his eyes and pressed the material against his head. The cotton quickly turned a deep red. “Unlike you, I wasn’t even shot. Glass from the window cut me.”
“You were shot?” Dana breathed. “Those guys in the truck shot at you again?”
Mal grimaced. “I’m not sure we provided a public service by warning them to get the hell out of town.”
This was getting worse by the minute. Were those guys after her or Wolfe? Had they been attacked because of Albert Nelson and Candy’s story? Or because of Wolfe’s super-secret case? Questions zinged around in her head, but she had to make sure both men were okay before getting down to business. “Did you see who shot at you this time?”
Wolfe shook his head. “No. They just scattered bullets and then got out of there. We had to run to the truck, which was a few blocks away.”
They’d run bleeding like this? Dana ignored the way the room seemed to be swirling around her. “Are you two injured anywhere else?”
“No,” Malcolm said.
“You were knocked out, Mal.” Wolfe’s eyes had gone a deep hue, and his movements were stiff. Though he stood near them, somehow he seemed far away. “It’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” Mal wiped his forehead off, leaving a smear of blood across his eyebrow. “How bad is it?”
Dana turned and bile rose up her throat. The deep cut ran from his temple to above his eye, and it was still bleeding. Honestly, it was pretty ugly. She couldn’t see bone, but there was no way a bandage would keep that skin together. “You need stitches.”
Wolfe sighed. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”
“No. You stitch it up.” Mal pressed the bloody towel to his head again. “After you take off your shirt so we can see how bad you’ve been shot. We can go to the doctor for you, if you want.”
“I’m fine,” Wolfe all but snarled.
That was it. Just plain and simple it. The room smelled like blood and dirt, and she couldn’t take any more. Adrenaline raced through her veins, and her heart rate would not slow down. One or both of them could’ve been killed, and they were acting like it wasn’t the big deal that it really was. “Take off your damn shirt, Wolfe,” she ordered, pressing her hands to her hips. “You have two seconds. Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”
He turned then, stepping into her space, his body vibrating and his eyes ablaze. “Try it.”
Chapter Nine
Wolfe kept his stance wide as Dana’s pupils widened and then contracted. Her curvy body settled in for a fight.
“Wolfe?” Mal said mildly, slumped in the chair, blood matting his left eyebrow. “You’re being an asshole.”
“I’m aware of that fact,” Wolfe returned, unable to move away from Dana. An invisible force kept him in place, his muscles tight, his chest heated. He didn’t like himself at the moment, and that regret could later join his constant guilt when he regained control. The fact that he’d gotten Mal shot was yet more proof that everyone around him was in danger, and that definitely included the angry journalist trying to stare him down.
Her nostrils widened and she reached for the bottom of his T-shirt, her gaze daring.
He began to step back, and she tightened her hold, the soft pads of her fingers brushing his bare abs. A jolt shot through him, and he may have growled.
She sucked in air and her delicate jaw tightened. She yanked him toward her with the cotton and pulled it up, giving him no choice but to duck his head so she didn’t choke him. Oh, the stubborn woman was asking for it. What, he had no clue—but everything in him wanted to give it to her.
The shirt came over his head, and then she gentled her movements, making a sound of distress as his wound was revealed.
The soft noise pummeled straight to his heart and he shut his eyes against an unwanted wave of warmth. As soon as he made sure she was safe, he had to distance himself. Completely, even though she was a good friend. Temptation was a killer.
Then she held a towel to his arm. Pain centered him, and he took a deep breath, opening his eyes to survey the wound. “The bullet cut along my bicep but didn’t go in.”
“You need stitches.” She gulped and then looked up. Her eyes were the color of a spring meadow against her suddenly pale skin. She wavered.
He grasped her arm just as Mal kicked out the adjacent chair, and then he settled her down. “You’re okay.” Sometimes he forgot that not everyone was accustomed to blood and bruises. “Honest. I’m fine.” After making sure she was steady in the chair, he glanced down at his arm, which ached but wasn’t that bad. “A couple of stitches should do it.” He didn’t even need Mal’s help with that. “First, are you sure you don’t want to go to the doc, West?”
Mal nodded. “Just stitch me up, slap a bandage on me, and I’ll tell Pippa it’s no big deal.”
Oh. He was worried about frightening Pippa. Of course. “Stitches are stitches, so what’s the problem?” Why not have a doctor do it?
Mal swallowed and the blood on his throat cracked. “There’s a difference between having to go to the hospital and just having you bandage it. She won’t worry this way.”
Man, Wolfe really didn’t understand women. “You’re messing with your pretty looks,” he warned.
“What’s one more scar on my face?” Mal sighed, his torso too wide for the quaint kitchen chair that had come with the house.
Wasn’t that the truth? Wolfe rolled his shoulders and tried to focus, when all he wanted to do was go for a long, hard run. He hadn’t given Pippa a thought when he’d reluctantly agreed to let Malcolm provide backup, and look what had happened. Steadying his hands, he reached for the stitching kit he’d put together in the first aid box, pausing to check on Dana’s color. Still pale. “You need to look the other way.”
She blinked, tried to argue, and then just turned to stare out the window.
Kat meowed and rubbed against Wolfe’s leg before jumping into Dana’s lap. Her smooth hands instantly started to pet him, and his purr filled the room.
As the kitten and the woman provided each other comfort, Wolfe painstakingly stitched up Mal’s skin on his forehead, trying to keep the ends as even as possible. Maybe the scar would be very small or even fade completely. His friend shut his eyes and breathed normally, his body relaxed the entire time. Finally, Wolfe spread antibacterial gel across the stitches and gingerly planted a bandage in place. “I did my best.” He stood back and made sure the bandage was even.
Mal stood, almost eye to eye with him. “I’m sure it’s perfect. Now let me stitch you—” He paused, swiveling back toward the sliding glass door.
A light footstep on his patio caught Wolfe’s attention. “Pippa’s coming.” He glanced at the bloody towels. “Go, now. I’ll take care of the mess.”
Mal paused for a second and then nodded, already moving to the door. “If you need me to stitch you up—”
“I don’t,” Wolfe interrupted. “A couple of stitches is nothing new.” Unfortunately, true words.
“Copy that.” Mal slipped outside, heading off Pippa, their voices quiet as they returned to their house. Wolfe shuddered. What had he been thinking to take Malcolm to that area of town?
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dana said, once again looking his way.
Sometimes he thought she could read minds. Nobody had ever seen him so clearly before, and that wasn’t a good thing. Her words were so blatantly wrong that Wolfe didn’t bother replying. Instead, he took Mal’s vacated seat and reached for another clean needle.
Dana audibly swallowed. “I can do that if you want.”
The woman would probably pass out. “That’s okay. Not my first time.” He took a lot less care with his skin than he had Mal’s, then slapped on a bandage and faced Dana. “The men in the truck were after you, not me, and I think you should lie low until we figure out why.” Risking her wasn’t an option.
She blinked. “You’re giving me orders? After being shot at—again?”
He stiffened, his skin prickling. The world was closing in and he was losing control. That could not happen. “Did you not hear me? They were after you.”
“Then I’m getting close.” Her chin r
ose. “That’s a good thing.”
He took his time exhaling, trying to manage his emotions. From the second those bullets had crashed through the glass, and he’d realized he’d put another one of his team into danger, he’d been on edge. “You don’t want to argue with me today, sweetheart.” He gave her the full truth.
She stood and gathered the bloody towels. “The heck I don’t. Bring it on, Wolfe.” Her exit was stalled by her phone going off on the table. She sighed, lifted it up, and declined the call.
Oh, he was too close to losing it. Way too close. “Who keeps calling that you’re ignoring?” Focusing on this problem, for a moment, gave him a needed reprieve from the shit show his life had just become. “Dana?” He didn’t like the irritation in her eyes.
“Nobody.” She turned again, and the phone went off again.
Smoothly, he snaked out a hand and grabbed the phone from her. He was being an ass, but at this point, he just didn’t care. He pressed the speaker button and set the phone on the table.
Dana’s glare could melt concrete. “Hello?” she muttered.
“Dana. It’s about time you answered my calls.” The voice was male with what sounded like a Northern accent. Maine, probably.
She shook her head, her gaze leveling Wolfe. “I didn’t mean to answer. Stop calling me, and definitely stop calling my parents to find me. We’re done. Got it?”
Wolfe cocked his head. When he’d met Dana, she’d been home covering a story about river guides. Hadn’t somebody mentioned that she was just out of a relationship with a guy she never should’ve dated? Was this the guy? If so, he didn’t seem to be getting the hint.
The guy sighed loudly through the phone, raising Wolfe’s hackles. “Listen to me. I’m sorry about what happened, and I really would like to apologize in person. Please forgive me.”