Chapter Twenty
When the first shots fired, Cady didn’t think much of it. Random gunfire wasn’t that unusual, and most of the time it wasn’t accompanied by violent death or even injury. Enjoying the first deeply restful sleep in days, she was half inclined to think she’d dreamed it up anyway.
But when the next shots came, she bolted upright in bed. They sounded awfully close. Tiptoeing cautiously to the window, she peeked out in time to see the flash of gunfire as more shots came from the alley below her window, but she was too high up to see much more. Not without sticking her head out the window, at any rate, and there was no way she’d be stupid enough to try that.
Considering whether or not to report it to the cops, she decided it couldn’t hurt to call it in. It took several minutes for her to get through to a dispatcher who assured her that a patrol car would be dispatched, but without confirmation of a crime or an injury, it was anyone’s guess when it would arrive. No more shots came, and the alley fell silent as she strained to hear anything that might clue her in to what was going on below.
A brief glance at the time showed she hadn’t slept for as long as she’d thought, and Cady was about to climb back into bed when something pounded against the front door. The front door that wasn’t chained because Ian would be coming home in a couple of hours and she hadn’t wanted to wake to let him in. Sure, the deadbolt was fastened, but a good kick could make short work of that.
The knock sounded again – boom… boom, boom – and she tiptoed closer, not wanting to make a sound to let whoever was on the other side know she approached.
“Open the door, Cady.”
She heard Ethan’s voice through the door, and hurried to check through the peephole before opening it, just in case. He sagged against the doorframe as soon as the door swung open, sweat running down the side of his face. More alarming was the ruddy stain at his shoulder and the bloody cloth wrapped around his hand.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she gasped, pulling him inside.
Ethan ignored her question, eyes darting around the room, and she saw the gun held low to his side. “Are you alright?” he demanded, peeking into her room, the bathroom, Ian’s bedroom, even the closet.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not the one who showed up all bloody and sweaty.” Cady locked the door up tight again, engaging not only the deadbolt, but the chain before she caught up to him in the living room. “Wait… that was you downstairs, wasn’t it? Have you been shot?”
He waved her away as she tried to get a look at it. “It’s not bad.”
“The hole in your jacket says otherwise,” she frowned, catching hold of his arm, flinching in sympathy when he winced in pain. “Hold still for a second, let me take a look at it.” Cady fixed him with a flat stare, waiting until she saw the capitulation in his eyes before she tugged at the sodden material. The t-shirt was stuck to the wound, and it took careful prodding to pull all the fibers out.
“I don’t have any tea to pour over it, but we could get some from your place, if you want,” she offered, remembering his fixation with the brew the last time.
“No, it shouldn’t need it.”
“If you say so,” Cady replied, dubious as she pressed a clean kitchen towel to the wound.
“It’s not a big deal, the bullet went straight through.”
“You mean there’s another hole?” she frowned, peeking around to his back. Sure enough, his flesh was mangled on that side as well. “I think your definition of not a big deal and mine are crazy different. You’d better come into the bathroom. If you get blood all over the floor, Ian will freak out.”
“I can just go back to my apartment.”
“Not before I bandage you up. Now, move it.” Honestly, it was just like wrangling a five year old. He let her drag him into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub so she could easily reach the injuries. The blood flow was already slowing with steady pressure, and she marveled at his ability to withstand such torturous injuries without a doctor’s care.
“I suppose you get shot up all the time?” she ventured, leaning close to press against the exit wound at the same time.
“Not so much,” he admitted, bearing the pressure without complaint. “They don’t usually carry guns.”
“Good thing for you. This looks awful.”
“I’m telling you, I’ll be fine.”
“Did you catch him?” Her question was met with a stony silence that spoke volumes, and Cady refrained from pressing him about it. “Do you ever think about getting into a different line of work?”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you basically kind of suck at this one. I’m sorry,” she offered quickly when his forehead deepened into a scowl. “But you keep ending up stabbed or shot and they’re still out there. Maybe it’s time to turn this over to an experienced investigator?”
“I’ve been doing this for more years than you’d think,” Ethan bristled, and she managed to keep her thoughts to herself. It was a miracle he was still alive by her reckoning.
Carefully peeking under the towels, she was surprised to see the blood flow slowed to a sluggish ooze. Cady grabbed for some gauze and tape from the middle drawer, cutting the tape with her teeth as she worked. She’d started to get the hang of playing nurse, and admired the neat bandages when she was finished. Her hands lingered on his shoulder longer than was strictly necessary, knowing he was liable to bolt the instant she finished and she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him yet.
“There, I think this is okay,” she said when it was clear there was nothing left to fuss over. “Wait… what you need is a sling.” Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed a clean pillow case from the hall closet, trying her best to get it to split along the seam. Ethan plucked it from her fingers and tore through the fabric like it was tissue paper.
“You’re not supposed to be using that arm,” she scowled, wondering how he managed to do it so easily.
“I told you, it’s fine.” With a long suffering sigh, he let her tie the sling around his arm, knotting it by his neck.
“There, all set,” she said finally, tugging it slightly to get the wrinkles out. “You know, you should really…”
“Go to the hospital, I know. No, thank you.”
“I was going to say come to me the next time you get shot or stabbed. I’m really getting the hang of this stuff, don’t you think?” she smiled impishly, and Ethan returned the smile, a half a beat later.
“Who says I’ll get shot again?”
“With your track record? Please.” A roll of the eyes was given as she turned to put the first aid supplies back in the drawer.
“You seemed to have missed one critical thing here.” His voice called her back, but she couldn’t readily see what he meant.
“What? You said the bullet passed through so we didn’t need to try and dig it out. It didn’t need stitches.” Not that she’d be any good at trying to sew him up, she’d never been good with a needle and thread.
“You don’t think maybe I should have put a shirt on first?” Ethan wiggled the fingers peeking out of the sling.
“Oh no, I think it’s much better this way,” Cady replied glibly, defending her lack of foresight as if it was a conscious choice. “It lets the wound breathe better, and you won’t get the gauze all sweaty.” Not because she wanted to ogle him with his shirt off… nope.
It was hard to keep from staring at his muscled chest though, and the first good look she’d gotten at his tattoos. Besides the one that ran from his hand up his arm, there was another one on the same shoulder that wrapped around to his back, one on his chest, two on his back that had narrowly missed the bullet through the shoulder and one just below the ribcage over the hard ridge of abdominal muscles. The tattooed symbols visible on the back of his neck ran the length of his spine, disappearing beneath the band of his jeans.
“How long have you had these?”
she asked, fingers tracing lightly over the pattern on his shoulder.
“A long time,” he said softly, watching the path her fingers took.
“What do they mean?”
“They mean I’m actually good at what I do.” A half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “These five sort of commemorate my success in bringing down other… cults.”
“What about this one?” Her fingers continued down his arm, following the swirl of inked skin to the strip of cloth binding his hand. “What happened here?” she scowled at finding dried blood matting the inside of the cloth. “Tell me you didn’t stab yourself through the hand again.”
“It’s fine.” Ethan closed his hand, pulling it from her grasp.
“No, Ethan. Stabbing yourself through the hand to get at a guy isn’t fine, or normal, or very effective from the look of things. When are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
“I told you, it’s complicated.”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and Cady sank down onto the floor, insinuating herself between his knees. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”
“I should go.”
“Not so fast.” She caught him before he could get away. “Not before you tell me once and for all what this is about. I can take your ‘crazed cult’ story only so far. It doesn’t explain the weirdness you’re putting out there.”
“Cady… you should stay far away from all of this, from me especially, for your own good.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. I can protect you without pulling you in any deeper than you already are. Then, when this is over, I’ll move on and you never have to see me again.”
“What if I don’t want to let you go so easily?” Cady caught hold of his hand, and he finally met her gaze. Something passed through his blue eyes – what, she couldn’t say for sure.
“It would be the safest thing you could do.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do the safest thing? Maybe I like a little risk?”
It was obviously the wrong thing to say, as his brows drew together angrily. “Well, I don’t, not when it’s your life I’m risking. I’ll stay long enough to make sure your brother gets home safely, and then…”
Cady didn’t let him finish the ridiculous statement. She didn’t give him a choice but to embrace the complicated as she kissed him. Not the brief press of lips she’d tried in the hallway the other day with surprising results, but a real kiss. Soft and lingering, daring him to deny what he felt for her at the intimate touch.
A low growl sounded from his throat, and Cady had no idea if it was a sound of frustration or desire at first. When his hand rose to cup the back of her neck, she smiled against his lips, tasting the desire he couldn’t deny whenever they touched. There was confidence in his kiss, no longer any trace of hesitation the instant her lips touched his. And skill – it made her wonder what else he could do with that mouth.
The kiss drew to a tender end, his thumb brushing gently over her skin as he held her close. “Please tell me you felt that too,” she breathed, resting her forehead against his neck. There were invisible ties that bound them together, she was sure of it, and hopefully, Ethan was starting to feel them too.
“I’m not supposed to,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair that sent a flutter of relief through her belly.
But he did. “Why not?” she begged, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Please, tell me what’s going on. I think I deserve to know.” He stared back at her, the struggle written plainly on his face before he shook his head, and her shoulders slumped in defeat at the denial she fully expected to hear.
“You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Not your brother, your friends, no one.”
Cady’s jaw dropped, head bobbing as she nodded blankly before the power of speech returned. “I promise, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good. Because what I’m about to tell you might sound…”
“What?”
“Crazy.”