Chapter Ten
Eliot
Fuckin’ hell. Parker’s barely upright. No respirator, hard hat, or gloves in sight. And, shit… Is that blood soaking through the Tyvek at her thigh? What happened in that office?
Hardison and I exchange a single glance, and then we’re moving as one.
Her chin lifts slightly, like she’s about to argue, but as soon as I get my hand under her right arm, all the defiance fades away.
For a second, I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t prepared for Parker to lean on me.
Hardison meets my gaze over the top of her head. From the way his eyebrows lift, he’s as surprised as I am. But in the next breath, he takes her other arm. “We’ve got you.”
His words behind the respirator are rough and half-slurred from the Novocaine. Parker doesn’t react, not even a smirk, which tells me all I need to know. She’s in shock.
“Outside,” I manage over the lump clogging my throat. “The air in here ain’t doin’ her any favors.”
Her eyes are glassy, and the hitch in her gait worsens with every step. The shaking too, and though it’s a hundred degrees outside, her cheeks are pale.
Fuck. I gotta get her talking.
“Captain Collateral Damage?” Nate asks before I can come up with anything. “How does that sound?”
Parker’s boot catches on an uneven bit of concrete, but we don’t let her go down.
“I can be Captain No-vo-caine.” Nate tugs off his respirator the moment we’re out of the building and wipes the back of his free hand over his mouth. “Look at me. I’m drooling all over the damn place.”
“Captain…Root Canal,” she rasps.
Between one step and the next, the shaking in Parker’s limbs settles. The limp eases into what might be no more than a pulled muscle. By the time we reach the tape, she’s almost walking normally.
One of the uniforms lifts the tape enough she doesn’t need to duck to pass through, and the three of us beeline for my truck.
“First aid kit’s in the bed.” I shoulder a little more of Parker’s weight, and Hardison stares at me for a beat before he lets go and lowers the tailgate.
“I’m gonna help you, okay?” I wait until her eyes find mine before I wrap my hands around her waist and ease her up onto the truck bed.
Nate stays close, almost hovering, worry pinching his brows.
I grab the kit from the bed, crack it open, and find the shears. With two snips, I pull the Tyvek away from the wound.
“Only cutting what I need to see what’s goin’ on, okay?” I wait for her to nod, then widen the existing tear in her jeans enough to fold the edges back.
It ain’t clean or shallow, but she isn’t in danger of bleeding out, thank fuck.
“This is gonna sting.” Tearing the antiseptic pad open, I press it to her leg, my gaze locked on her face. An inch higher and she might have bled out before we found her. Given the look in her eyes, I think she knows it.
She jerks once, then hisses out a slow, measured breath. “I better get a lollipop after this.”
There she is. Even if her color hasn’t come back and her hands are still shaking, Parker’s still with us. “I’ll get you a whole bag if you can tell us what happened.”
“Unlimited snacks,” Nate interjects. “For life.”
What little color had returned to her cheeks drains away. She balls her hands into fists, but that doesn’t stop the tremors. “Floor gave out in the foreman’s office. And the lock jammed. Had to take it apart.”
Fuck. I walked right by and didn’t check the floor. Or the lock.
I can’t look at her—can’t see the aftermath of what she just went through—and put my hands back on her skin. She got hurt because I didn’t do my job. Because I failed. Again. So I keep my gaze on the wound and what needs to be done to stabilize her.
Hardison swears under his breath. “Parker—”
“I’m fine, Nate. Leave it alone.”
Four Steri-strips are enough to hold the gash closed for now. I press each one in place carefully, trying to ignore whatever silent argument is happening between the two Rangers.
Unwrapping an adhesive pad, I smooth it over her thigh. “This is only a basic field dressing. You need to go to Urgent Care. They’ll be able to tell you if you need stitches. Or a tetanus shot.”
“Come on, Captain Collateral Damage. Let’s get gone.” Nate offers Parker his hand.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t finish documenting the scene. You need to walk the perimeter. Talk to the other businesses on this block. See if anyone has cameras. Flint can take me.”
The first aid kit lands back in the duffel with a thud. “You…want me…”
“Parker—” He hasn’t moved from her side, but Nate’s shoulders ease a fraction. “You need to get that leg looked at.”
“I will.” She doesn’t raise her voice. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t back down either. “Eliot drove us here. Pretty sure he’s capable of finding the nearest Urgent Care.”
Hardison drags a hand over the back of his neck. “Fine. But if Eliot tells me you tried to talk your way out of seeing a doctor, we’re going to have a problem.”
A hint of a smile tugs at her mouth. “You promised unlimited snacks. No take-backsies.”
Nate snorts, then points at me. “Make sure she goes. Do not drop her off and run for the hills.”
I raise a brow. “She’s armed. I don’t have a death wish.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
Parker rolls her eyes at her partner. “Are you done?”
“Not even close,” Nate says. “You’re getting checked out and you’re calling me afterward.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Parker.” The warning in his voice earns another twitch of her lips. It isn’t much, but he seems satisfied. “Call if you need anything.”
She huffs. “I won’t.”
“That’s what worries me.” He snags his hard hat and respirator from the bed of my truck. “Anything I should look for inside?”
“The suppressor panel.” I unzip the Tyvek and work it off my shoulders with a wince.
“See if there are any prints on it. Posted zone map showed six heads covering the southeast quadrant. Four were working, the other two were capped off. I can’t tell if they weren’t installed or if this was a recent change.
But the system was running thirty percent below design spec for the zone where the fire started. ”
Hardison gives me the side-eye. “And that means…?”
“That area wasn’t safe to begin with. Either someone fucked with the sprinklers so they wouldn’t go off, or whoever installed them didn’t care about safety.
But I’ll contact the manufacturer when I get back to the office.
Some of the more modern systems report to home base on the regular.
That data could tell us how shit went sideways so quickly. ”
Hardison nods. “Got it.”
“And stay out of the foreman’s office,” Parker says. “I ain’t comin’ back here to save your ass after Urgent Care.”
Nate staggers a few steps away, his hands clutching his chest. “Your lack of faith wounds, Parker. It wounds.” A moment later, he turns on his heel and strides toward the building.
Parker pinches the bridge of her nose, then lets out a slow breath. When she meets my gaze, the humor is gone, leaving only exhaustion.
I toss my hard hat into my gear bag. “Please tell me we’re actually going to Urgent Care. I like living, and he’s armed too.”
“We’re going,” she says with a sigh. “If we don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Parker braces a hand against the truck and pushes to her feet. The moment her weight hits her injured leg, I know she’s in trouble. Her eyes go wide. The color drains from her face so fast, it’s like a switch flipped. Her knee buckles. One second, she’s upright. The next, she’s falling.
I get an arm around her waist, and her hand fists in my shirt. For almost a full minute, neither of us moves. I can feel every sharp inhale, the curve of her breasts, the tremors she’s trying so desperately to hide. Her hair smells faintly of smoke, but there’s something citrusy underneath.
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Dammit.” The single, strained word punches me in the gut. Anger brings the color back to her cheeks.
I tighten my arm when her leg buckles again. “Easy there…”
“I had it,” she grits out.
“You keep tellin’ yourself that.”
Her lashes lift enough to glare at me. We’re so close, I catch the hint of freckles on her cheeks. The soot on the top of her nose. And my body reacts in a way Parker definitely would not appreciate right now.
She breaks eye contact first. “I hate this, Eliot.”
The admission is quiet. Barely a whisper. Raw in a way I didn’t expect. She’s not talking about the injury. Or even going to Urgent Care. She hates needing help.
Her balance starts to shift, and her hand slides from my chest to my forearm. This is dangerous. She won’t look at me, her gaze landing somewhere beyond my shoulder.
I get it now. Why Parker picked me to take her to Urgent Care. It’s not because she trusts me. Or thinks we’re friends.
She knew I’d drive straight to the clinic, take her home after they patch her up properly, and not ask questions.
Nate would see right through her. Hell, he probably already has.
Whatever happened in that office to put that haunted look in her eyes isn’t something Parker wants to talk about. Especially not with someone who knows her as well as her partner.
Every instinct I have demands I push for answers, despite barely knowing her. But she’s trusting me because she knows—deep down—that we’re both dealing with shit we don’t want to talk about.
For a few seconds, we let the world continue around us. One of the Cedar Park guys reports back to base over the radio. The hot summer breeze kicks up dust from the parking lot. Somewhere on the next street over, a car horn blares.
Parker flinches.
She doesn’t strike me as a woman who shows anyone her weak spots. Yet somehow, I’ve ended up holding one. Holding her.
Carefully, I loosen my arm enough for her to stand on her own. “Let’s get outta here before Nate makes good on his threats.”
She lets out a soft, almost surprised laugh. “Good idea.”
“Think you can make it around the truck?”
She eyes the uneven surface of the parking lot. “That depends.”
“On?”
“On whether you’re gonna catch me again.”
My stomach flips. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Her smile’s genuine now. Not full, but enough. “Liar.”
Shrugging, I keep my arm loosely curled around her waist and start guiding her to the truck.
She lets me.
Fuck.