Page 34 of One Last Promise

“Was it? Because Rigger is still out there, and?—”

“And I have lights everywhere and a security system. The guy who used to own this place was . . . he was a little paranoid. Not sure why, but I don’t hate it.”

For some reason, the fact that Moose wasn’t the original owner, hadn’t built this place felt . . .

Well, a little like he wasn’tcompletelyout of her league.

What?No, she was just tired. And unwound and . . .

“Moose, your leg.”

He looked down. “Yeah. That was unfortunate. As it turns out, just a flesh wound. But it’s messy.”

“Your entire pant leg is bloody.”

“I need a shower.” He glanced at Axel. “How about heating up the grill? I’d like a redo on those steaks.”

“On it,” Axel said and winked at her as he walked past.

What?She didn’t know why, but she turned to Moose to tamp down her overwhelming sense of relief.

Because this was still a bad idea. Desperate and temporary at best. “I won’t be in your hair long, and I promise to stay out of the way?—”

“Oh no, you don’t.”

Moose walked over to the counter and pulled out a stool. “Sit down. And don’t move until I come back. Because I need to know exactly what is going on.”

And this time he didn’t smile.

CHAPTER 4

Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Moose had pulled on a pair of shorts and run the towel over his head, and stood in his bathroom, the haze of his hot shower still settling on his bare shoulders, his wet, dark hair, as he stared into the mirror and tried to get his brain around the last three hours of his life.

He ran his hand over his wrist where the SWAT guy had grabbed it, wrenched the cuff too tight. Left a mark there, but it was nothing compared to the open wound on his thigh.

He lifted the hem of his shorts, got a better look. For such a small wound, it had really bled. They’d butterflied it closed after he refused to go to the hospital, although it needed a couple stitches, given the depth of the two-inch slice.

But his wounds were minor in comparison to the haunted expression Tillie wore when he’d left her in the kitchen.

An expression that had him wondering if he should just . . . leave it. Let her keep her story secret. They weren’t in a relationship, and sure, he’d practically dived headfirst into her problems, butthat’s what he did.

He was a rescuer. That didn’t mean they had some sort of romance in front of them. And maybe he didn’t want a romance with someone with so much baggage.

Aw, that wasn’t fair. Everyone had baggage.

Everyone could start over.

Besides, he had a few scars, both inside and out.

He ran his hand over his chin, decided not to shave, given the scuff on his chin, and hung his towel on the rack.

Then he scooped up his torn, bloody pants and shirt and came out of the bathroom. Night pressed against his bedroom windows, and the steam followed him out.

A knock sounded and he threw the clothes in the hamper in his closet, then opened the door.

Tillie stood in the hallway. She held up a tube of superglue. “Let’s take a look at that wound.”

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