Chapter Three
“I don’t know. They were looking for someone else. Mistook me for her.” Doc shot Caleb a nervous glance. “Crazy, huh?”
Her hands trembled on the wheel. Oncoming headlights lit the interior enough to catch the tension etched on her face.
A lie .
Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he’d assumed.
He’d expected her to live in Gallup. Instead, she sped north along the four-lane highway into Navajo Nation territory.
“Then why not call the police?”
“I just wanted to get away, okay?” Her voice climbed. “You got shot.”
She bit her lip. “I told them I was just passing through Gallup on business, so it’s not like they’re going to come looking for me. They’re probably long gone.”
“Hmmm. Probably.”
But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come back. He recognized their type—low-level enforcers for a criminal organization. His father had been a Halcón —a Falcon—the eyes and ears of the Espina Negra drug cartel in Gallup and later Phoenix.
Maybe that’s why the older guy looked familiar. Caleb had been too young to remember most of his father’s associates, but that distinctive mustache sparked a memory .
Whoever they were, they hadn’t tried to kill her. They’d tried to take her. Deliver her to someone.
And she knew it. With a knife at her throat, she’d given him permission to act, knowing the man holding her wouldn’t actually cut her.
Caleb let it go. For now. But he wasn’t leaving without answers.
If she was in trouble, he’d encourage her to seek help.
If his mother’s family had helped her escape his father, maybe her life would’ve been different.
The SUV hit a pothole.
Pain jolted through Caleb’s shoulder. He grimaced.
Doc threw him an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”
“I’ve had worse.” He needed a few stitches, maybe, and a bandage.
He repositioned the towel against his shoulder. This was a scratch compared to some of the wounds he’d dealt with as a combat medic, but if he was going to get shot playing the hero, at least he had a pretty doctor to patch him up.
The ribbing he’d take from his Dìleas teammates if they found out—the former Green Beret got winged rescuing a woman in peril. They’d joke he just met his future wife or some crazy shit.
His gaze slanted to the pretty doctor. Classy. Caring. Brave.
She’d fit in with the women at Dìleas: Lachlan’s wife, Sophia; Nathan’s fiancée, Emily; Nathalie, Ryder’s fiancée. Even Penny—Dìleas’s office manager and unofficial company mom.
Which was reason enough to keep his mouth shut.
They crossed into Arizona and drove through Window Rock.
Some of the fear surrounding Doc like a shroud receded.
Still, her knuckles stayed white on the steering wheel as she pulled into a neighborhood of mostly white and beige single-wides planted in rows of hard-packed red dirt and stone.
Satellite dishes perched on the roofs. Wooden electric poles lined the dirt road.
The only actual color to be found was in the anemic green of the mesquite trees that dotted the neighborhood and the Russian thistle and kochia that grew as weeds in barren spaces.
Doc parked beside one of the trailers and offered a sheepish smile. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
His brows lifted. By rez standards, it was solidly middle class.
“You’re not a tribal member, yet you have housing here? That’s a privilege, even if you don’t realize it.” Many Navajo still lived in homes that lacked electricity and running water.
Hell , he hadn’t even been inside yet and he could tell this place was a palace compared to the tiny shit-hole trailer he and his parents had lived in before they left Gallup. And the run-down apartment on the South Side of Phoenix after that hadn’t been much better.
Doc opened her door, triggering the interior light. Pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it that way. I am grateful. And I know what people here live with. I see it every day.”
She stepped out of the vehicle. “Wait there. I’ll help you.”
“I don’t need help.” He beat her around the front of the hood.
A huff of breath escaped her. “Another stubborn patient who won’t listen to the doctor.”
“It’s in our DNA.” He handed over the bloody towel.
“So I’ve noticed.”
Inside, the trailer smelled like tomato sauce and melted cheese—out of place in his Southwest memories but oddly homey.
A worn brown sofa and battered coffee table faced a double window with white metal blinds.
Brightly colored Navajo patterned rugs in shades of red, blue, and gray softened the vinyl plank floor, and a flowering cactus added a feminine touch to the small space.
Basic, but neat and cozy .
A far cry from the beige walls and brown furniture in his apartment in Northern Virginia. He’d purchased some landscape paintings that caught his eye on his travels for work, but he wasn’t around much to enjoy them.
Doc shrugged out of her coat and gestured to the dark wood table and mismatched chairs that separated the main room from the kitchen.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through an open door to the left of the kitchen.
Caleb straddled one of the chairs, angling his body to give her better access to the wound. This wasn’t his first rodeo.
Or his first bullet wound.
Moments later, she returned with a black medical bag. At the kitchen sink, she washed and dried her hands, then snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and pulled scissors from the kit. “Some of the blood has caked. I need to cut the fabric away.”
He gave a small shrug. “Do what you gotta do.”
It was just a shirt. He had another one in his duffel in the Jeep.
Well, hell . He was going to need a ride back to the bar. The adrenaline rush fueling him subsided. Fatigue rolled in.
It had been a long day and tomorrow promised to be even longer.
Doc grabbed an unopened bottle of water from her cabinet. “I’m going to wet the fabric before I try to cut it off.”
Room temperature liquid soaked his shoulder and trickled down his back. “Before you operate, don’t you think you should tell me your name?”
When she didn’t answer, he looked over his shoulder, holding her stare.
A flush stained her cheeks. “It’s Gianna.” She glanced away, then back again. “My friends call me Gia. ”
Gia.
Pretty name. No last name, but it was a start.
“Please to meet you, Gia.”
Her snort was soft. “I doubt it. You almost got killed because of me.”
“It’s just a flesh wound.” He wasn’t a funny guy, but he did his best to sound like the Black Knight from Monty Python.
She wrinkled her nose. “Is that a reference to something?”
Damn. She looked cute when she did that.
“Monty Python?” At her blank look, he said, “I guess you’re not a fan of classic British comedy.”
A wry smile. “I was more of a Gossip Girl fan.”
Gloved fingers slid beneath his collar. Even through rubber, her touch sent a current of awareness through him.
He shifted his gaze forward, focused on the tabletop, and willed his body to relax.
The last couple of days had been a blur of travel and self-recrimination.
And yet, being here with Gia—getting the bullet crease in his back tended to—was the first time since the phone call about his mother that he’d felt… content.
“Don’t move.” With careful hands, Gia worked the scissors beneath the fabric and slowly peeled it from his skin.
He tugged the rest of the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.
“So, Caleb…?”
“Varella. Caleb Varella,” he supplied helpfully.
“So, Caleb Varella, what do you do when you aren’t saving damsels in distress?”
She leaned in to inspect the wound. Her breath ghosted across his skin like a physical caress. Her floral scent teased his nose.
He smiled at the irony of her question. “Executive Protection. ”
At her confused expression, he clarified, “A bodyguard. I save damsels in distress.”
She gave him the laugh he’d been looking for earlier. Humor and no small amount of relief lit her eyes and transformed her face. “Lucky for me.”
Desire pooled low in Caleb’s belly. He’d thought she was beautiful before, but when she laughed and the shadows disappeared?
Stunning.
Prickly pear.
That’s what she’d taste like. It matched her scent.
Color crept into her cheeks. She looked away.
Caleb tore his gaze away and scrubbed a hand over his face.
His brain was zinging in all sorts of crazy directions. He’d barely touched his whiskey. It had to be leftover adrenaline.
Cool liquid stung his skin as Gia swabbed his shoulder with antiseptic.
“No bullet fragments and the wound is shallow enough to use glue instead of stitches.” She applied Dermabond in smooth, even strokes. “You were very lucky.”
“We both were.” The pain he could handle, but when she leaned closer and blew on the glue to help it dry faster, his dick went half-mast.
He shifted in the chair.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know it stings.”
Not the problem.
“I’m fine.” He grimaced at the rasp in his voice.
She taped a gauze pad over the wound. “Try to keep it dry tonight. You can take the bandage off when you shower tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Caleb rose. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, first door on the right. ”
The bathroom was barely large enough to accommodate the white sink, toilet, and tub-shower combo. Caleb examined his reflection in the mirror. Lines on his face. Bloodshot eyes. Dark circles.
In short, he looked like hell.
When he returned, Gia sat curled on the couch in the main room. She raised her head at his approach.
The haunted look from earlier had returned.
Anger curled low in Caleb’s gut.
Not haunted.
Hunted.
“Who’s after you?”
Her gaze shuttered. “I don’t know.”
Another lie.
He crouched in front of her. “You may not have known those men, but you know who sent them. I’m trying to help—but I need the truth.
I protect people for a living. That means I know how to identify threats and eliminate them before they become a problem.
I’m leaving town tomorrow after my mother’s funeral, but I can still make some calls. Find you some help.”
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “Consider it payment for patching me up.”
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.
He lifted her chin, and she flinched away from his touch.
Shit .
He snatched his hand back. Someone had laid hands on her.
The anger in his gut caught fire, spread. He buried it so it wouldn’t show.
The last thing Gia needed was more violence.
“You knew they wouldn’t kill you.” He kept his voice soft. Measured. “If they’d mistaken you for someone else, how would you know that?”
Gia’s eyes widened. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” he reminded her gently. “You told me.”
Fingers twisted together in a white-knuckled grip. Whatever fragile denial she’d been clinging to crumbled, her eyes going dull. “My ex sent them.”
Ex.
“Husband?”
“No, thank God. Ex-fiancé.” A bitter laugh slipped out. “I dodged that bullet.”
She winced. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
She was wound so tightly, he had the feeling that if he touched her again, she’d shatter.
Fiancé .
One who sent thugs to retrieve his prize.
How had a classy, educated woman like her ended up with a guy like that?
Probably the same way his mother had. A handsome, slick-talking liar suckered her into falling in love. Then used gaslighting and threats to keep her in line.
Unlike his mother, Gia had found the strength to leave.
Caleb suppressed a sigh. A restraining order wouldn’t do much. Hell , she might already have one.
She needed to file a police report. Document the threat.
And she needed protection.
He’d make some inquiries before he left tomorrow. See if the Navajo police would help. If not, there might be a local agency in Gallup or out of Flagstaff or Albuquerque that she could employ for a reasonable fee.
But he couldn’t stay.
Outside, headlights swept the front window.
A minute later, Gia’s door rattled beneath an impatient fist.