Betrayed

Chapter 20

Elena stared at the blood spreading across Shane’s middle. “Shane. Oh Lord, Shane.”

When she reached his side, she pulled the jacket farther back and inspected the bloodstain. It looked fresh, like something that had just happened. But that wasn’t possible, was it?

Carefully she undid the shirt buttons and looked at his chest, then farther down. When he’d been in the airport office, he must have wound a sheet around his middle and tied it tightly in place. It was soaked with dried blood, but more fresh blood had come through onto the shirt.

“When were you were shot?” she breathed.

“By Iverson.”

“And all this time you just…”

“Kept going—because I had to.”

“Where is the wound?” she demanded.

“In the side.”

She caught her breath. “The bullet…”

“Went through,” he finished for her.

Her frantic gaze darted around the safe house as she tried to find a phone. “If you’re shot, you could have internal damage.”

“I don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“First, because I would have bled to death already. And second, because the bullet only traveled along my side.”

“You can’t be sure you’re not badly hurt. You have to go to the hospital.”

That got his attention. He grabbed her wrist and held her in place. “I went to a lot of trouble to make sure those bastards didn’t know where I was. They’ve already tried to kill me three times. I’m not going to check into a hospital where they can find me.”

She caught her breath at the blunt assessment. “Do you have to use your real name?”

“If I want them to treat me.”

She kept her gaze on him. “Then what are we going to do?”

“This place is equipped for medical emergencies. And back at the airport in Maryland, I washed and disinfected the wound.”

She winced.

“Maybe you can put on a real bandage. And I should take antibiotics.”

“Okay,” she whispered. Now that he knew he was safe, he had stopped trying to hold himself together. She could see that the effort to give her so much information had done him in. He closed his eyes again.

She wanted to lay her hand against his cheek, but she kept her arm at her side.

She could ask him where to find the first-aid supplies. Or she could go looking for them. She chose the latter, heading toward the kitchen area. In the other house, he’d kept pulling things out of kitchen drawers that you wouldn’t expect to find there. Following that clue, she discovered the medical kit in one of the upper cabinets, with everything carefully labeled. A plastic box held an assortment of antibiotics, with instructions for various conditions.

One even said, “For gunshot wound.” Apparently the Rockfort men were prepared for that, she thought as she took the bottle out of the container.

She also got sterile pads and gauze, along with a pan of warm water and some towels she found in the upstairs bathroom. She took a quick trip around the upper story, seeing several bedrooms. Hoping she’d be able to help Shane up there, she turned down one of the beds, then hurried back to the first floor.

When she brought all her supplies back to the sitting area, Shane’s eyes blinked open, and he reached for the gun that he’d taken from the man on the ground. Her breath caught, and she froze.

“Shane?”

She watched his eyes come into focus. “I thought…”

“That I was one of the killers.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

When he put the gun down, she relaxed. But she could see that he was on the edge of reality—ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice. That made him dangerous if he truly did get her confused with the enemy. Moving slowly, she picked up the gun and put it out of his reach on the end of the table. When he didn’t lunge for it, she relaxed a little.

“I’ve found the medical supplies, but first I’ve got to take off your jacket and shirt,” she murmured.

He answered with a small sound of agreement.

She sat beside him on the sofa and eased the arm on his good side from the jacket and shirt at the same time, then the other arm, trying not to hurt him as she worked. Relieved that his skin didn’t feel hot, she removed the makeshift dressing he’d put on and saw where the bullet had cut a path along his side. The long, thin wound was oozing blood, and when she gently washed it off, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

She kept working, cleaning his skin, then swabbing on antiseptic, which she could tell was worse than the water. But he didn’t complain.

She finished by bringing him a glass of water and an antibiotic caplet, which he dutifully swallowed.

“Drink a little more,” she said, thinking that when she’d seen shooting victims being taken care of on TV, they often had an IV line in their arm to replace lost fluids, which she wasn’t equipped to do.

He drank more of the water, then laid his head back again. Afraid that he was going to sleep sitting up on the sofa, she asked, “Can you make it upstairs?”

“If I have to.”

“You’ll be more comfortable.”

He grunted and heaved himself up, then wavered on his feet. She moved in and caught him around the waist, being careful not to touch his injuries. He tried to stand up straight, then gave up the effort and leaned on her as they made their slow way across the great room to the stairs, which they took very slowly, his weight almost too much for her as he used her to stay upright.

She was glad she’d chosen the closest room when he plopped down onto the bed.

“Thanks,” he muttered as she swung his legs up and eased him back against the pillows.

She leaned over to unlace his shoes and take them off, then set them on the floor. He was shirtless, but his jeans were dirty from the fight in the woods.

When she reached for the button at the waistband, his eyes blinked open.

“Better if I get these off you.”

He answered with a small nod as she undid the button, then eased down the zipper. She’d made love with him the night before, but now she tried not to focus on the intimacy of undressing him. But that was difficult to do because, like her, he hadn’t put back on his damp underwear. He was naked under the jeans, and she had a good view of his genitals as she eased the pants down his hips. Last night he’d been a magnificent lover. Today he was achingly vulnerable.

After she was finished, she pulled the covers up to his waist. When she looked back at his face, his eyes were closed and his breathing had changed. He was sleeping. Which must mean something about his state of mind, she hoped.

Before they’d had the encounter in the woods with Iverson and the two goons, she’d known that Shane didn’t trust her. She hoped she had gotten his trust back. Or maybe now he was simply too worn out from the injury to stay awake.

She stood looking down at him, then couldn’t stop herself from leaning over and laying her hand against his cheek. For medical reasons, she told herself. She was still concerned that he might develop a fever. But so far, his temperature seemed normal, gracias a Dios.

Her own outfit was a mess, and she opened the closet and some drawers, finding men’s shirts and pants. Leaving Shane for a few minutes, she looked in the other rooms and found women’s things in one of them. After discarding her clothes, she put on panties, a loose shirt, and sweatpants, then hurried back down the hall. When she saw that Shane was still sleeping, she made a quick trip downstairs to retrieve the gun, knowing that he’d want it close if he woke. But not right where he could reach it from the bed, she decided, thinking about the way he’d startled when she’d come back with the medical supplies.

After putting the gun on the dresser, she sat down in the chair across from him. But her eyes drifted closed, and she found herself jerking awake a couple of times.

Conceding that she needed rest almost as much as he did, she crossed the room and eased onto the bed beside him.

He didn’t wake. But if he did and needed something, she was sure she’d know it.

Sometime later, Elena’s eyes blinked open. It took a moment to remember where she was and why. The man beside her was moving restlessly on the bed.

She raised up, looking down at him. His eyes were still closed, but when she touched his cheek, he made a low sound.

“Glenda?” he asked.

“No.”

He ignored the answer, perhaps because he wasn’t really awake. “What the hell are you doing here? You can’t sleep with somebody else and then come back to my bed.”

She caught her breath, wishing she hadn’t heard.

“I’m not Glenda,” she whispered, but she could tell that he wasn’t aware of who was in bed with him.

“It’s all right,” she soothed. “I think it’s time for your antibiotic. I’m going to get you a pill—and some water.”

When she tried to ease off the bed, he closed his fingers around her upper arm.

“I trusted you,” he said. “And you didn’t give a damn about that, did you? Or maybe I was just too stupid to figure out what was going on.”

She didn’t want to hear what he was saying, but at the same time, she did, because it explained a lot about his closed-up emotions. It looked as though another woman had hurt him badly, and that had put his guard up.

Then he’d met Elena Reyes, and right from the start, she’d done things to make him suspicious. And she’d kept on doing them because of her brother.

She silently cursed Alesandro for getting her into this mess. And for getting Shane into it. If it was within her power, she vowed that she was going to get the two of them out again.

Shane’s grip on her arm relaxed, and she eased her hand away. When she was free, she climbed off the bed, trying not to disturb him as she left the room. She used the bathroom, then went downstairs and looked at the food supplies in the kitchen. It was well stocked, considering that it probably wasn’t used very often. There were several packages of milk that could keep in a cabinet until they were opened. Also coffee, cereal, and a number of canned and frozen foods ranging from soup to man-sized dinners.

She smiled when she found chicken soup. The universal medicine for convalescent patients.

She opened a can of vegetable soup for herself and took a mug of it upstairs, along with the antibiotics. Then she sat in the chair across the room, waiting for Shane to wake up. She was relieved to see his color was better, and she couldn’t help watching him as he slept, taking in details she hadn’t been able to study when he’d been watching her. She loved his thick, dark lashes and the curve of his well-shaped lips.

He slept restlessly for several hours, but finally his eyes blinked open, and he looked around, focusing on her.

She crossed to him immediately. “How are you?”

“Better.” He tried to push himself up and winced.

“You shouldn’t get up.”

“I have to pee. You probably don’t want to look around for a urinal.”

“I will, if you need it.”

“I’d rather you help me up.”

Because she knew that his dignity demanded it, she crossed to his side and helped him sit up, then held out an arm so that he could pull himself up. He slowly eased out of bed, and as the covers fell away, she realized he was naked except for the bandage around his middle. Following her gaze, he looked down.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She helped him slowly across the room and into the bathroom. He leaned against the wall, his face pale, and she had to bite her lip to keep from upbraiding him for getting out of bed.

“Close the door,” he said in a low voice.

She stepped out of the room, closed the door, and waited, listening to the sounds from inside. When he’d flushed the toilet, she knocked. “Okay?”

He managed a hollow laugh. “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way.”

She stepped inside, and they reversed the process, the trip back to the bed even slower. She helped him under the covers, and he lay with his eyes closed. The walk across the room had obviously taken a lot out of him.

She thought he might have dozed off when he said, “I’d like some clothes.”

Arguing was only going to use up more of his energy, so she opened the closet and inspected the contents. “How about a long-sleeved shirt?” That would cover down to his hips, and they could worry about putting pants on him later.

“Yeah.”

She took down a flannel one and brought it back to the bed, where she helped him sit up and get his arms into the sleeves. When she was finished, she checked the bandage and was relieved to see there was no more blood oozing out.

Then she worked the buttons on the shirt and left him leaning against the pillows while she brought over antibiotics and a glass of water. When he’d taken the pill and drunk some water, she helped him ease down into the bed.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“You should sleep.”

“Yeah.” She heard the exhaustion in his voice. Then his eyes snapped open. “Where’s the gun?”

“On the dresser.”

“Put it on the nightstand.”

“I’d rather not.”

He gave her a sharp look. “And your reasoning is?”

“You were…upset about something…” she said, not wanting to go into details.

“What?”

“Someone named Glenda.”

“I was talking about her?”

“A little in your sleep.”

“That’s great.”

Changing back to the main topic, she said, “I think it’s better if you can’t wake up and grab the gun.”

He considered that statement for several seconds, and she waited with her breath shallow. If he didn’t trust her, he’d insist on having the weapon within reach.