3. Chapter Two Savannah #2
It’s hard sometimes when I’m hanging out with her and Ryland’s former team and their significant others.
They’re all deeply in love, married and with babies or have babies on the way.
Even though they’re always nice and welcoming, I can’t help but feel on the outs.
It doesn’t really help that I have no single friends to commiserate with, and I’m only twenty-nine.
This is all going to be so fun when I’m forty and alone. Not.
Huffing out a breath, I give my head a shake and finish typing in today’s numbers. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and be grateful for what I have. My restaurant, my health, my new special edition paperback waiting for me on my nightstand at home…
My phone buzzes and I glance down to see Harper’s name flashing on the screen.
It’s late, and my stomach sinks with dread.
She, Ryland and Sienna are up north visiting some friends.
The only reason she’d be calling me this late is if something bad happened.
I grab it and answer, “Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Hi, yes,” she says, and I breathe out a relieved sigh. “You’re still at the restaurant closing up, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Okay, good. So, this is going to sound weird, but… You know Addie, Ryland’s sister?”
“Uh-huh.” Oh, I know all about Addison Mills and her ring of thieves.
Although we’ve only met briefly, she’s everything I wish I could be—a fearless, take-no-crap woman who is a legend in her world.
And in my eyes. She’s an intelligent badass who is way too smart to fall for an idiot like Chad Wellington.
No, she has a handsome former detective who, according to Harper, would do anything for her.
“Well, she has a friend and he’s in some kind of trouble.” I have no idea what this has to do with me, but I’m definitely curious. “Apparently, he’s in Coronado and he’s hurt and on his way to the restaurant right now.”
On his way—
My brow wrinkles. “He’s coming here?”
“It was the closest, safest place.”
I know what kind of people Addison and Ryland Mills associate with, and they’re all dangerous. At the same time, Ryland’s former teammates—Gray, Zane, Inda, Saint, Braxton and Hunter—are some of the best people I’ve ever met.
“Can I trust him?” I ask, shutting my laptop and popping out of my seat.
“Um, I think so?”
“That’s not very reassuring, Harper!” I stalk out of my office and pause at the edge of the dining room, trying to see the locked front door, but it’s out of view from where I’m standing. All seems quiet, though.
A deep voice says something in the background, but it’s muffled. “Ryland wants to know if you have a gun?” Harper asks.
“No, of course not! Are you kidding me?”
“Just a precaution until Gray and Aubrey get there. They’re on their way right now.”
“I am not letting some random stranger in here if you think I need a gun,” I state firmly.
“Not from him,” she quickly amends, “but from whoever might be after him.”
I wish that made me feel better, but it doesn’t. If bad guys are chasing this man, then he’s leading them here. At the same time, if he’s hurt and needs help, I can’t say no. My parents always taught us to help, if we could.
“Gray and Aubrey are coming over?” I verify. Knowing the big former SEAL nicknamed Demon is on his way makes me feel much better. He’s not someone anyone with half a brain would mess with, and I know he’ll be armed.
“They should be there any minute,” she assures me.
“Okay,” I relent. “Hopefully this guy isn’t hurt too badly.” I know Aubrey is a trauma nurse and will come prepared to help, so double bonus having them here.
“Probably just a scratch. I don’t have any other details, but everything will be okay. I’m sure of it.”
Of course, she is. Harper is forever hoisting a full glass, while mine is just shy of half-empty.
“Let me know what happens.”
“I will.” Hanging up with my sister, I clutch my phone tightly as I take a couple of steps toward the front door, fighting down my nerves. Knowing Gray and Aubrey will be here soon makes me feel better, but I’m still wary. A lot can happen before they arrive.
The sound of knocking makes me practically jump out of my shoes.
Laying a hand over my racing heart, I hurry forward, moving easily between tables and chairs I navigate daily, and step into the entryway.
Through the glass, I see a man with dark hair.
He’s hunched over, and it looks like he’s in pain.
“Shit.” I hesitate a moment before rushing over and unlocking the main doors. Before I can say a word, he looks up at me with the most vivid green eyes I’ve ever seen, staggers inside and then collapses to the floor. “Oh, my God.”
Staring down at the unconscious man, who looks like he crawled through someone’s garden in a rainstorm, I’m not sure what to do.
Then I notice the blood seeping through his beige linen shirt.
Not good. Circling him, I hurriedly peek through the doors before I lock up again.
No sign of Gray and Aubrey. So not good.
Okay, so that means it’s just me and, um, this injured man whose name I don’t know. Lovely.
Trying not to panic, I lower down to my knees beside him, debating whether or not I should call 911. But Harper made it sound important to be discreet. Calling 911 would mean involving the police. And I have a feeling green-eyes would have called them himself if that were an option.
I chew on my lower lip, debating what to do. Maybe just put pressure on his wound? Wait for Aubrey to decide what to do next once she gets here?
I kind of want to see what I’m dealing with, so I know how much to panic. Reaching for the edge of his shirt, I carefully lift it, cringing at the way the linen sticks to his bloody skin. Ouch.
It’s hard to tell exactly what happened, and I’m no doctor, but I do know basic first aid.
Pressure it is. Hopping up, I grab a fresh cloth napkin from the hostess station and drop back down, carefully pressing it to what looks like a knife slash.
I’ve spent enough time in enough kitchens to know what that looks like. And this one is not pretty.
“What kind of trouble are you in?” I whisper, taking a moment to study his face.
If I were a woman who hadn’t sworn off all men, I might say he’s attractive.
He has a head of thick, dark hair, a broad forehead, perfectly-straight nose and long lashes feathering over cheekbones sharper than the blade that wounded him.
I’m not sure what possesses me to do it, but I reach out and wipe a fleck of dried mud from one exquisitely chiseled cheekbone.
Cleanly-shaven. Skin so smooth, I can’t help but wonder what the heck kind of products he uses.
Some kind of peptide cream maybe? Because no one’s skin is naturally that flawless.
“Bonjour.”
I jerk back slightly at the deep velvety voice laced with a melodic French accent. Stunning green eyes look up at me. My mysterious patient is awake, and his mouth quirks in the slightest smile.
“Um, hi.”
“You must be—” He winces, laying a bloodied hand over mine where I’m still pressing the napkin to his side.
“Savannah,” I respond. God, those eyes. They’re like emerald shards of glass. Absolutely hypnotizing.
“Taches de rousseur,” he mumbles, then passes out again.
I have no idea what that means, and suddenly I’m wishing I’d studied French in school instead of Spanish.
Ay caramba! What have I gotten myself into?