Page 12 of Belgian Betrayal

Catya snorted. “I could see that. You’re lucky you didn’t drown or take a bullet.”

“Who said I didn’t take a bullet?” He shrugged his shoulder and winced.

Catya was on him in a second, peeling his jacket from his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

Once she had the jacket off and his shirt hem pulled up to his neck, she studied the injury on his arm. “It’s not too deep. But we need to clean it and treat it with antibiotic ointment. The canal water won’t do you any good. It’s polluted and full of germs. The bullet might not have killed you, but infection can.”

Sergey pulled down a darkened canal and brought the boat to a halt.

Catya realized it wasn’t far from where she’d boarded less than an hour before.

“Can you walk?” she asked Fearghas.

“I can,” he said.

She stood and held out a hand to help him to his feet.

He stood, tugged his shirt back in place and gathered his jacket.

Catya turned to Sergey and spoke in his language. “I’m sorry if your boat is damaged. Let me know how much it costs to repair.”

Sergey held up his hand. “I will not take your money. I can take care of the damage myself. I rebuilt this boat with my own hands. I can do it again.” His brow dipped. “If you ever need help again, you know how to reach me.”

Catya nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”

Fearghas stepped out of the boat onto the walkway beside the canal, turned and held out his hand to Catya.

She laid her hand in his palm and let him pull her up and into his damp arms.

Catya didn’t care that he was soaked and getting her wet. He was there, his body solid and gorgeous. He’d come close to drowning or dying from a bullet wound, but he hadn’t. Fearghas was still the strong and viral man she’d walked away from in Athens.

Though she knew it could only be temporary, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She barely heard the motor of Sergey’s boat as he drove away on the canal.

“I could hold you like this all night,” Fearghas said with a sigh in his Scottish burr, “but we might want to get somewhere safe.”

He was right.

Catya couldn’t forget the reason she’d called him in the first place—her parents’ murder and Fearghas being the next target. Her heart pinched hard in her chest. “You’re not safe as long as they know they can use you to get to me.”

He raised a hand to brush a stray strand of her hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

Tears welled in Catya’s eyes. She leaned her forehead against his chest. “It’s all my fault.”

He lifted her chin. “You didn’t kill your parents. Someone else did.”

“If I wasn’t an assassin... If I hadn’t chosen the path of an assassin, they might still be alive.”

“Weren’t they in the spy business as well? Isn’t that how you came into the same trade?” He gave her a sad smile. “They knew the risks.”

Her gaze met and held his. “You should never have moved in with me.”

“You never should have left,” he said, his lips thinning into a tight line.

“I had to,” she said softly and stepped out of his arms. “Come. It’s not safe here.” She snorted. “I don’t know if anywhere will be safe for you as long as I’m alive.”

He grasped her arm and pulled her against his chest. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.”

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