Page 19 of Sighs By the Sea

My entire body covers hers, shielding her from the violence raining down. The smell of burnt gunpowder hangs heavy in the air, acrid and metallic. Maggie pushes me back, her movements quick and precise. “He’s out, even with an extended mag.” Her voice is steady, focused. I get up, wincing at the sting of scraped skin, but the car is already squealing away, tires burning rubber as it disappears into the night.

She scrambles to her feet, her eyes scanning the road. “License plate!”

I look over and instantly memorize the numbers, my brain latching onto the detail with a clarity born of panic. Brushing off my pants, I try to find some sort of bravado. My hands are shaking slightly, a betrayal of the fear still coursing through my veins. “Fucking gangs.”

She’s already on her phone, her fingers moving with practiced speed as she talks to an emergency operator. “Plates?” she asks, glancing at me. I give them, and she repeats them into the phone, her voice a calm anchor in the storm of my thoughts.

“San Diego PD is on the way.” I scan her up and down, my eyes catching on a tear in her jacket. There’s a dark stain spreading across the fabric. My stomach twists with a mix of rage and worry.

“You’re bleeding,” I say. But internally, my mind is reeling. She’s hurt. My chest feels tight, a band of iron constricting around my heart. With an almost lazy gaze, she looks down at her bicep where her jacket has ripped, revealing a graze slick with blood.

“Oh yeah. Look at that.” Her voice is light, almost dismissive, but I can see the pain in the tightness of her mouth.

My finger extends out and pries the hole open slightly. It looks like she has been grazed by a bullet, the wound raw and angry against her pale skin.

The fury is immediate. It twists in my gut like a six-inch blade. Someone shot at her. With a jerky movement, I grip her wrist, the pulse beneath my fingers a reassuring thrum of life, and start dragging her back toward the building, urgency propelling me forward.

My surroundings blur around me as I walk, not really seeing all the people standing around whispering about what happened. Their voices are a distant murmur, meaningless against the roar of my own emotions. I get to my condo and throw open the door, the slam against the wall echoing like a gunshot. But I don’t bother closing it.

Tilly is talking to me, her words a rush of concern, but I don’t answer. I take Maggie straight to the bathroom, the harsh light flickering on above us. Under the sink is a first aid kit, and I pull it out, laying it open on the counter with hands that are finally steady. “Sit.”

She sits on the toilet seat, the porcelain cool beneath her, and removes her suit jacket with a wince. I get out the antiseptic and a bandage. Kneeling on the hard tile, I unbutton her blouse with careful fingers, and she gingerly pulls one sleeve down. Without a word, I gently dab the antiseptic on, the scent sharp and medicinal.

The graze isn’t very deep, a shallow wound that nonetheless looks painful. I’m satisfied she doesn’t need stitches or further attention. I place the bandage over it, smoothing it into place with tender care, and look up at her eyes.

“I haven't been bandaged like that since I was six,” she says, her face beaming despite the ordeal. Her smile is a light in the dim room, infectious and genuine.

“Well, I am a dad.” I lean forward and tenderly peck the bandage. Too quickly, I stand back up, nearly coughing out an apology at my rash action. But she grabs my wrist. Where she’s touching feels warm, and I look at it, surprised by the comfort her touch brings. Adrenaline is coursing through me. Not only from the shooting. That kiss... It's made me almost high. Now that she's touching me again, all those feelings burst back to the surface.

“You’re bleeding too.” She points to my shirt, a dark patch spreading across the fabric. I furrow my brow. There isn’t much in my wardrobe yet, and that’s going to stain. When I don’t immediately check under my clothes, she starts pulling at the bottom, her movements brisk and no-nonsense.

“What are you doing?”

“You might have been shot,” she says. She has to know it’s from her wound but, for some reason, that doesn’t stop her from what she’s doing. Her fingers brush at the skin under my shirt before she's tugging the fabric over my head. She’s smaller than me and has to rise up on her tiptoes to get it off.

She gets to work searching my body, her dainty hands touching my abs and then my pecs as she scrutinizes every inch. Her touch is clinical, but I feel a spark of something more, a heat that pools low in my belly. I flex, and she makes a small choked sound.

I smile. “I think you’re enjoying this.”

Her face flushes. “I’m a professional, Mr. Cardenas. Thorough.” Her voice is dry, but there’s a glint in her eyes that belies her words.

My cock twitches at the way her mouth wraps around my last name. “Mmm, clearly.” Her fingers remain on my chest, lingering over my skin, sending tiny electric shocks through my system.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Daddy, I gotta pee.” George’s voice has reached that whining, desperate pitch. He can't wait. Not wanting George to see the blood on either of us, I hand Maggie her blazer but leave my shirt bundled up on the counter. Only then do I open the door.

But George isn’t alone. Tilly is standing there, her foot tapping, with one eyebrow arched, a question hanging in the air.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on? We heard G-U-N shots.” Her voice is low, a thread of tension running through it.

There’s a red and blue flash in the window, and I know we need to speak with the police. “Later.” I move away from Maggie, who is staring at the ground, her shoulders tense.

“I’m gonna go talk to the SDPD. They’ll probably want your statement, Grayson.”

I nod, and with a final lingering glance, she smiles before walking away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway like a promise unspoken.

When she’s gone, Tilly explodes. “I’m not about to sit around and watch—”

“I really don’t want you to watch. I'm not into that, especially not with my cousin.” I have no patience for a lecture, but apparently, I have it for jokes. Odd.

---