Page 38 of Critical Strike

She ignored his statement, tentatively touched his shoulder, making him wince. “It looks bad.”

“It’s okay.” A lie, but what else could he say?

All he needed was a few minutes. A place to rest until he regained his strength.

He couldn’t contact his brothers—he’d had to dump the burner phone. They couldn’t make it back to the truck.

Think, Luke. Think.

He couldn’t. He slid to the ground.

It felt so damn good to sit. He closed his eyes. One second of rest. Maybe two...

Something fluffy brushed against his chest. Khan’s tail.

Good doggy.

“Bandage it... Shirt is dirty...”

Claire’s voice went in and out, impossible to follow.

“We need to go.” Planting his palm against the cold metal of the truck, he pushed himself to standing.

And promptly collapsed toward the concrete, the world spinning uncontrollably around him.

Chapter Twelve

“Luke!” Claire caught him before he hit the ground.

His weight bowed her over. Using all her strength, she got him back to sitting, his back propped against the truck.

The streetlight at the end of the block shone on his shoulder. The cut gleamed, shiny and dark.

She’d thought about putting her shirt on the wound, but it had gotten so dirty from crawling out the window, it would probably cause infection.

His head lolled to the side. “Kitten.”

Khan spun in a circle, his dance move when anxious. He could tell something was wrong.

A ball formed in Claire’s throat. She had to get Luke somewhere safe. She hadn’t seen any sign of Ballard’s men in the last thirty minutes, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still searching for them.

She was going to have to take Luke to the hospital, and hope nobody would come looking for them.

She trailed her fingers through his hair, then cupped his cheeks. “Luke. I need you to listen to me, okay?”

His brown eyes blinked open at her. They were glazed with pain, but he was still with her.

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No. Find us too easy.”

“We have to. You need stitches.”

He grabbed her wrist where she cupped his face. “No. Too dangerous. Promise.”

Damn it. He was probably right, but she had to do something. Get him somewhere they were inside and safe. They didn’t have enough money left for another hotel—and Ballard would undoubtedly be searching any nearby establishments for check-ins anyway.

All right, no hospital. No doc-in-a-box, either. They would want names, insurance info, stuff that went into a computer and would enable Ballard to find them.

---