16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Her arrival startled Finn more than it should have.
He was so wholly taken by the softness of the cat’s fur, the gentle purring, and the expression on the animal’s face, that he didn’t hear the footsteps approach the door.
Sloppy.
Then he saw her. In a second, he took in the multiple tears in her jacket at her shoulder that suggested buckshot and the blood trailing down her coiled hand from a wound on her arm.
His heart palpitated. At first, he didn’t recognize the emotion flooding his system. He normally saw it in others, but he rarely experienced it. Fear. They had found her.
Finn stood.
The cat, far more aware of its surroundings than he was, leaped off his lap.
He only had eyes for her. He saw her move, the pistol in her hand beginning to lift. It wasn’t a contest. He was just faster. He was at her side a heartbeat later, his hand over her wrist, twisting just enough that she was forced to release it.
“SITREP,” Finn said.
Kathleen stared at him blankly for a second, then anger rushed into her green eyes. Her hand pressed against his chest and shoved—or tried to. He was impossible to move unless he wanted to move.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the fuck are you doing in my condo?”
“You can’t be here. I bought you time because they think you’re dead. Or thought you were. But if they’re here, it’s too late for that.”
Finn leaned past her and glanced into the hallway. It was empty, so he closed the door, turned the deadbolt, and put the chain on. Then he dismantled the pistol he had claimed from her and set it on the kitchen bench.
She edged into the kitchen, heading toward the cupboard where he had found her hidden pistol.
She froze.
“It’s on the table.” Impatience boiled in him, an unusual feeling. He had to protect her. “How many did they send?”
Kathleen frowned, glanced at the weapons on the table, and her jaw clenched. “Five,” she said absently. “But I drove them off.”
“What?” That was not possible. Granted, she was a police officer, but against a trained Agent of Command—let alone five of them—she should be dead.
“Shot two of them in the leg—kneed one in the balls. They were willing to negotiate after that. They were after Daniel Liang’s killer.” Kathleen glanced at him significantly, then added, “I sent them after Wilson.”
As she talked, she casually moved toward the coffee table—the one with the weapons.
It took a second for him to process her words. The targets at the Imperial Silk Palace were part of an Asian organized crime gang, the Crimson Serpent Clan. Not Command. The pressure around his heart eased as her words sunk in. Something else replaced it as he realized she was hurt because of his actions.
“You should have sent them after me. I was responsible for that.”
“In hindsight, yes, I should have.” Her words were flippant. “Two birds and all that.”
Kathleen bent toward the pistol on the table, then sucked in a sharp breath as her shoulder twitched.
In his earlier search of her condo, he had found an extensive first-aid kit in the bathroom.
Three long steps brought him to her side. Finn’s hand curled around her uninjured elbow, the other at her back. Unnecessary, but it made him feel better. She was already protesting as he propelled her toward the bathroom.
Kathleen fought—or started to. She reached for the door frame as he pushed her into the bedroom.
His hand was already at her back, so it took no effort to bend and scoop her up, his other hand beneath her knees. He felt his frustration grow. He wanted, but the words to express himself didn’t come immediately. Actions were easier.
Finn was wholly and consciously aware of where she was pressed against his chest. Aware of the way she looked at him—like she wanted to kill him. That was familiar, something recognizable. What was not so familiar was the feeling that tingled over his skin as her hand slid around his neck for balance.
He didn’t waste time trying to identify it. Several steps brought them to the bathroom, and he lowered her onto the edge of the bathtub. As he drew back, he felt her hand tighten in a silent protest. He froze, unsure of her intentions.
She blinked at him, something far too complex to read passing over her features as she looked away.
“Let me take care of it,” Finn said.
Her bright green eyes settled on his face once more, flicking over his features as if trying to read him. She said nothing, but he read the lack of protest as acceptance. He moved to the cabinet and opened it, pulling out the bandages, gauze, tweezers, and cotton balls. He could see her reflection in the mirror. She was staring at him. He had no idea what she was thinking.
There was no antiseptic, but he carried a bottle, needle, and suture thread in his own kit. “Take off your jacket,” he said as he walked into the living room.
The white cat had curled up on the black leather couch, motionless. He retrieved the items from his kit, keeping the cat in his periphery the entire time. He got the distinct feeling it was doing the same to him.
When Finn returned to the bathroom, Kathleen was pulling off her jacket, though her careful movements suggested she was in pain. He set the items on the sink as he leaned to help her, his chest brushing her shoulder. She inhaled sharply. Thinking he had injured her, Finn dropped his gaze.
Her eyes were on him again. He could feel it.
“Finn Kingsley,” she said.
He felt a fluttering sensation in his gut at the sound of his name. Even nicer because it was her saying it.
“You seem familiar. We must have met before.”
Finn was certain they had not. Then again, his memories had not been great since he began working for Command. He thought of his dream of green eyes, just like hers. Given the line of work he was in, he never had cause to regret not remembering everything before. She was still watching him, seeming to expect a response, so he shrugged. It was too complex a thought to articulate.
He helped her ease out of her jacket. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him even when he wasn’t looking at her.
“Do you remember me?” she asked.
Finn hesitated. “I don’t always remember well.”
She frowned.
He didn’t like that he had disappointed her. He focused instead on tending to her. The wound on her arm was a knife cut—long and bloodied. He couldn’t properly see the wound on her shoulder. He gestured at her t-shirt, and she gave him an inscrutable stare. He thought she was having trouble with her shoulder, so he reached for his knife.
Finn recognized it was the wrong thing to do the second he heard her heartbeat rise sharply.
“For your shirt,” he clarified.
Kathleen’s heartbeat steadied, but her voice was brusque. “I love this shirt. You are not cutting it.”
He frowned. The shoulder of her shirt was peppered with holes from the shotgun pellets. It was already ruined. Her reaction was entirely illogical to him.
She pulled up her shirt, hissing softly when she tried to lift her arm too high. He reached over, grabbing the bottom edge of the shirt, maneuvering it over her head and down her arms. She had indicated the shirt was important, so he folded it neatly and laid it on the floor.
“You are a very strange man,” Kathleen said.
Uneasiness shifted through him, but she was smiling. She was very confusing. Then, his eyes ticked downward. She was wearing a white bra that stood out against her tanned skin. He could see the bumps of her nipples beneath the material.
“Finn,” she said, and his eyes lifted to her face.
It took a moment to realize he had been staring. He moved to the sink. The pellets in her shoulder were bleeding sluggishly. He could see at least two that would need to be taken out, maybe three. The wound on her arm needed immediate attention. He started with the antiseptic spray. He reached for her arm, and she held it out, watching him the whole time.
When the spray hit the wound, she sucked in an audible breath. Her lips pressed together, and she nodded for him to continue. He stayed focused on the work at hand, cleaning the wound before neatly covering it with a bandage.
Finn reached for the tweezers, examining the entry wounds for the pellets. The shift of her heartbeat cued him in that something had changed. He looked at her, uncertain. She was gazing back at him, but he couldn’t read her expression. When her eyes shifted downward, he followed her gaze and realized he had rested his left hand on her thigh as he leaned close.
He snatched his hand back.
“You can,” Kathleen said. “If you want to.”
It hadn’t been something he did with thought or intention. Now that he had removed his hand, he became aware that touching her made him feel more at ease. He hesitated, but she said it was okay. He wasn’t sure if this was some kind of test, but he returned his hand to her thigh anyway. Finn was conscious of her warmth beneath his hand and squeezed his fingers slightly. He heard the slightly faster beat of her heart and decided it was a good thing. He knew she was outspoken. She would tell him if it made her uncomfortable.
Finn bent forward and brought the tweezers to the first wound. It never occurred to him to warn her, and she flinched back from the contact. He stopped.
“Sorry,” she said, taking a deliberate, slow breath through her nose. “Keep going.”
Why was she apologizing to him? He was the one hurting her. He didn’t understand, but he did as she bid. The first pellet was close to the surface of her skin, and he managed to catch it with the tweezers easily enough. The second soon followed. The third pellet was buried a little deeper, and by the time it was done, he could see a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead.
Without thinking, Finn squeezed her thigh where his hand still rested. Her gaze softened. He noted that her eyes weren’t wholly green—they had flecks of hazel near the irises. As they locked gazes, everything else fell muted, peaceful—safe.
Her hand reached up, fingers touching his jaw. The contact was light, but he was hyper-aware of it, the movement an intense sensation that sent curiously pleasant shivers through him. He found himself leaning into the gesture, wanting more.
“Thank you,” she said.
That same tightening around his heart from earlier was back. It wasn’t some defect, Finn knew. It was her doing. And he didn’t mind at all.