Читать книгу Bulletproof Hearts - Kay Sidey Thomas - Страница 10

Shaun heard the whisper of her voice but couldn’t catch what she’d said as he contemplated the back of Abigail’s blond head. She was so small, he had to be crushing her beneath him. Yet he felt compelled to physically shield her until he was absolutely certain that danger had passed. He rose up and checked out the window before hunkering down again. Carl had left behind whoever was shooting at them, but Shaun was still buzzing from the adrenaline rush.

In his mind’s eye he could see a bullet whizzing through the door. If Abigail Trevor hadn’t leaned forward when she did, he’d be dealing with another dead body.

He couldn’t think about that. He was surprised that someone had tried to kill her. He was expecting bribes, threats, intimidation. That was what his assignment brief had covered. The situation wasn’t supposed to turn violent—not yet, not without any warning first to make it clear to Abigail what was at stake. This was more dangerous than he had realized, which made it all the more imperative that he keep her safe.

“Can you get off me, please? I can’t breathe. I’m not kidding. I have asthma.” Her voice was thin but firm.

Ah, Christ. It wouldn’t do to save her from bullets only to have her die of asphyxiation. Careful of the glass, he rolled to the side and helped her turn over without cutting herself.

She took a wheezing gulp of air, sat up and coughed.

“Do you have one of those inhaler things?” he asked.

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not sure. Probably not.”

“Why not?” His tone was sharper than he’d intended.

She glared. “Because I changed purses this morning and I didn’t think to put the emergency inhaler in my bag. I was burying my brother. I was not expecting to get crushed by a giant.”

Her voice had a distinct edge to it now, but her eyes glistened with tears. She was more upset than angry. This had to be a nightmare for her and surprisingly, he felt bad for her. Again his conscience was taking him unawares.

He didn’t have time for the demons of his own remorse and he couldn’t do anything about her hurt feelings. Instead, he took her miniscule purse from the seat and dumped it on the floor of the limo. The time for being polite or charming was long past. What mattered now was looking after her as best he could.

“Hey,” she wheezed.

Hairbrush, wallet, lipstick, cell phone, compact—nothing resembling an inhaler. Damn.

“I could’ve just reached in and looked for it,” she protested. Another coughing fit racked her small frame.

“Quicker this way,” he muttered. He tried to fit everything back in the impossibly tiny bag and was alarmed by the ferocity of her coughs. Naturally, the contents wouldn’t fit.

Women’s purses. He’d been all over the world, faced exotic things that had made grown men gawk while he stood unmoved. Still, a woman’s purse seemed just a bit forbidden and slightly mysterious.

He quit trying to shove in the hairbrush and pulled his cell phone back from his pocket. At this point, he’d be better off doing something he was capable of—letting Donner know about the new wrinkle in their situation.

“What kind of inhaler do you use?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“What kind of meds do you need for your asthma?”

“Who are you?” she repeated, breathless with confusion and discomfort.

“I’m someone who’s here to protect you and right now I’m your pharmacist. What kind of meds do you need?”

“An albuterol nebulizer and Symbicort.” She gave him the milligrams. “I think I could use an EpiPen, too.”

“All right.” He typed the instructions into his phone.

Donner replied immediately and Shaun grimaced.

He studied Trevor’s sister as she leaned her head back against the carpet. With all the shards of glass scattered about, it was easier for her to stay on the floor where she’d been originally. Her eyes were closed but he remembered their unusual color—like a single malt scotch.

He took the time to study her smooth, porcelain white skin. She had an exotic mole above her upper lip à la Cindy Crawford and features that were so delicate; she looked like a china doll—except for the wheezing that was growing progressively louder. He focused on her lips for any signs of asphyxia but they were still healthy and pink, not the slightest tinge of blue. Very soft looking, too. He looked away. Now was not the time to get distracted by a very kissable set of lips.

He debated explaining a bit more about what was going on but decided against it. She was struggling to breathe and she needed to be able to concentrate to understand the Pandora’s box that had been opened with her brother’s death. He settled for taking care of her instead. Over the years he’d found that actions tended to speak much louder than words, anyway.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” he asked.

She didn’t open her eyes. “If I get my meds, I’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. He reached for her wrist. “I want to take your pulse.”

She didn’t argue and that concerned him more than anything. He took her hand in his. It was small like the rest of her and her nails were free of polish. Her wrist felt impossibly fragile as he counted the frantic beats. Her eyes were still closed and he took the opportunity to stare at her once more.

Her black skirt was pulled up to midthigh; she obviously hadn’t realized that yet. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t getting an eyeful. He was so distracted by the fact that she wore stockings and a garter belt instead of traditional panty hose that initially he didn’t realize he was gaping. He contemplated the red lace straps attached to gossamer nylons while he tried to take her pulse and glanced back at her face to find her staring straight at him.

Busted. He dropped her hand with a plop.

What was wrong with him? He didn’t get distracted, especially in the middle of work. Of course in the midst of being shot at, he didn’t usually see women in red garter belts with beautiful legs, either. Abigail Trevor was his own personal fantasy come true. Too bad it had to be happening in the middle of a job gone completely sideways.

“Your resting pulse is 120. That’s pretty high.”

“It’s not a resting pulse rate when someone’s shooting at you,” she snapped, pulling her skirt down to hide his tantalizing view. “Can I sit up now?”

He moved back carefully to make room for her. “Sure, if you feel like it.”

“I’ll be able to breathe better that way.” Avoiding the glass, she propped herself up on an elbow.

He was mindful not to focus on her legs or the way her outfit, that wasn’t made for crawling around on the floor of a limo, strained across her chest.

“Please tell me what’s going on.” Her breathing intensified when she hauled herself to a sitting position.

“I’m here to protect you, that’s a promise.”

“You said that. And I suppose if you meant me harm, you wouldn’t be ordering asthma meds.”

He nodded as she continued to wheeze and his phone vibrated. Donner was sending more instructions. Shaun leaned forward to give Carl the new directions.

“Once you get your medicine, we’ll talk.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” she muttered but again she didn’t argue and given her earlier behavior, that ratcheted up his concern.

Moments later Carl pulled up in front of the Washington Marriott Wardman Park. Shaun wondered if he could get a severely asthmatic woman through the lobby without attracting attention.

The valet opened the door, no comment beyond a raised eyebrow to find both passengers seated on the carpet surrounded by the remnants of broken windows. Who knew what the man thought? He’d probably seen it all. Shaun and Abigail looked as if they’d been having sex on the floor of the limo, except for the glass bits all around them. Shaun tipped the doorman two twenties as he crawled out.

Glass skittered to the ground when he stood. He reached back to help Abigail get brushed off and out of the car. More shards fell to the pavement with tiny chinking sounds. Carl drove off as soon as the door closed behind her.

Abigail coughed and her eyes widened ever so slightly when she saw where they were. Squaring her shoulders, she walked with him toward a side entrance from the valet stand.

“How you doing?” he asked.

She nodded but didn’t speak. Instead she held tightly to his arm, seemingly focused on making it through the door and down a long corridor filled with elegant chairs arranged in private seating areas. Opulent oriental rugs muffled their steps in this older wing of the hotel.

No one else was waiting for an elevator. Once inside the wood-paneled car, she leaned heavily against him and took more deep wheezing breaths. He was glad they were almost there. Her lips were no longer the healthy pink they’d been in the limo.

Shaun hung on to her when they exited and she almost made it to the door of their suite before her knees buckled. He pulled out the key card he’d been given earlier in case a “safe house” was needed, unlocked the door and carried her the final few steps across the threshold into the richly appointed living room. The master bedroom had a large balcony and sliding glass doors with a spectacular view of the National Zoo. The far more interesting sight was the large white pharmacy package beside the bed and the nebulizer that was already assembled.

Donner’s second team was fast and Shaun was grateful. He’d sent the text only twenty minutes ago. Normally he himself was the one racing around like a bat out of hell, setting this stuff up. He wasn’t sure how Donner had this task executed so quickly unless he’d known Abigail was asthmatic. But then, Donner was known for being prepared for every eventuality.

Maybe Shaun’s job wasn’t quite as secure as he’d thought. He saved that happy thought for another time and tore open the bag.

Inside were all the requested medications including an EpiPen. Abigail was reaching for it and had the wrapper off before he said anything. She pressed the auto-injector to her thigh above the top of that stocking that had so fascinated him earlier and reached for the other items, as well.

She opened the emergency albuterol inhaler, using it twice before speaking. “I’ll do a treatment with the machine, too.”

She picked up the mouthpiece for the nebulizer and flipped the switch. A tiny stream of smoke poured out. Putting her mouth over the vapor-filled end, she started breathing in the medication. It looked as if she was smoking a hookah.

“You want something to drink?” he asked, feeling a bit like a voyeur.

“Water would be great. Thanks,” she murmured between puffs. The change in her breathing from moments before was remarkable. He left her and texted his boss from the kitchen to tell him that they’d arrived and to take the heat for blowing his cover so soon.

His phone rang immediately. “What happened?” asked Donner. “I didn’t even think you were going to talk to her at the funeral.”

“It was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“I’ll trust your judgment on that,” said Donner.

“’Tis what you pay me for.” Shaun wasn’t absolutely sure he trusted himself on this, but he wasn’t telling Donner that now. “Are you coming to explain the situation, or shall I?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Shaun snagged two bottles of water from the fridge. He started to go back in the bedroom, but Abigail’s nebulizer was still puffing like a steam engine. Within a few minutes he heard it stop and her heels clicked on the hardwood of the bedroom floor. He stood. Abigail didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who was going to wait long for answers once she was back on her feet. Better to meet her head-on. Maybe that way, he could stall until Donner got there.

He met her in the living room doorway. “I brought your water. You sure you don’t want to lie down?”

She unscrewed the bottle cap and sipped the drink before spearing him with those whiskey-colored eyes. “No thanks. I’d rather talk in here.”

“Let’s sit.”

“This is all very civilized.” Her deep Southern accent came pouring out with no trace of the wheeze in her voice, but there was plenty of sarcasm. “However, I’d prefer we cut to the chase. Who are you and what’s going on?”