Page 11 of Burning Justice
Trying to protect her.
“You’re the one who got shot. You stay down.” She took the gun from the floor by his side and tucked it in her waistband. “Let me see.”
The side of his shirt had a rip in it, soaked with blood.
He pushed at her hands. “It’s just a graze. Don’t worry about it.”
Maria stared at him, then lifted the book she’d been holding. “Don’t worry about it?”
His gaze flicked to the thick hardback, and she saw the moment he realized what she was saying.
The fact that the round had cut his side, then embedded itself in the book.
No wonder she’d been knocked back a step. She’d managed to catch herself before she went down.
“Don’t worry about it, huh?” She turned the book so he could see the crumpled lead embedded in the cover.
He frowned. “Just stay down.”
“Let me see it. You might need stitches.” She laid the book down and started to lift his shirt.
“Don’t.” He shoved her hands away. “Saxon can look at it.”
Maria just stared at him.
Saxon said, “Gunfire stopped.” He moved to the side of the splintered window and whistled loudly.
A matching whistle replied from outside.
Kane sat up and moved away from her. As if that wasn’t a giant “don’t touch me” to her.
She’d noticed over the summer that he didn’t remove his shirt when the other guys did, but this was the first time he’d rejected her touch.
Maria turned, still sitting on the floor, and looked at the room. Talk about being closer than they had been in months…or years, probably. Her father had been here. He’d been held here. A captive.
This wasn’t a retreat. It was a glorified prison cell.
Outside, the gunfire started again. She flinched and looked at the window, but nothing hit the cabin.
“They’re aiming at the team,” Kane said.
Saxon’s head was bent to his task, his back to her so that she couldn’t see Kane’s side or how bad the wound was. “You’ll live.”
“No duh.”
They’d shut her out, effectively. Not part of their team. Not privy to the things they knew.
After all that talk of being in this together, their fates intertwined and all that.
It was true, right up until they decided there was something she didn’t need to know. Then all that solidarity talk went out the window.
Maria took the book—and Kane’s gun—and headed for the front door.
She swung it open and stepped out right as Kane said, “Sanchez!”
Another dividing line—not calling her Maria. Trying to keep things professional.
She scanned the sky and found the source of the engine noise. The rotor. Military grade, private chopper. They’d already known these people were connected. That they had the kind of funding that meant they had far better equipment than the stuff the state and the Bureau of Land Management gave the hotshots.
