3. Evie
Evie
Even though he opened up a little when we were on the ferry, Burke still seemed really distant, and I couldn’t figure out why.
Did I do something wrong?
Did he find me repulsive?
As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror naked, I studied my body.
I was average everything. Average breast size, average waist-size.
Average height. My entire life, I’d been nothing but average.
I was even an average student. Not the best, not the worst. I pulled mostly B’s, the odd A, and then a motherfucking C in calculus, because fuck calculus.
Even in college, I was an average student.
No dean’s list or summa cum laude for this girl.
I seemed to be born to exist in the middle of the pack.
Even when I tried to excel at something I thought I was good at, or enjoyed, I was still just … average.
Pouting, I lifted my arms and with my right hand I swatted at the bottom of my arm—my bat wing—and the way it hung so lifelessly. I worked out, but no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I dieted, I could not get rid of the arm waddle.
I thought I had a decent figure. I was no size-double zero supermodel. I had hips, a waist and thighs that could act as decent earmuffs for a man who ventured south with his mouth.
Maybe I just wasn’t Burke’s type?
And if that was the case, what was his type?
He certainly couldn’t get me off him fast enough, which only made the mortification I felt about falling on him all the worse.
I cupped my hand over my mouth and blew out a breath.
Did I stink? I sniffed my pits. No. I smelled like my normal ylang ylang, sweet orange, vanilla and cinnamon deodorant.
Confused, I stepped into the shower and let the slightly-too-hot water sluice over my skin, washing my frustrations down the drain.
I stayed way too long in the shower, using all the decadent soaps and shampoos, until my skin resembled a prune and my belly rumbled.
I used more of the fancy hotel creams and toners, rubbing them into every inch of my body, before slipping on my black tank top, flannel pajama pants and the complimentary fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
“Food’s here,” Burke called.
“Coming right out.”
I’d fastened my hair into a Dutch braid that fell over my right shoulder, and just before I stepped out into the living room, I grabbed some slightly tinted lip balm from my purse, slathered that on, blew a kiss at the mirror, then joined my grumpy bodyguard.
He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The man was set on torturing me in several different ways.
“Do you need help putting your arm back in the sling?” I asked, approaching him in the kitchen.
He grunted. “I’m fine for now.” The bullet wound had a big, gauzy bandage over it, and before we left, Justine, a doctor on San Camanez, showed Burke and me how to redress the wound when necessary.
“What about changing your dressing?” I stepped closer, taking in the peeling medical tape and the damp appearance of the gauze.
Careful not to actually touch his injury, I pressed lightly on the skin around the bandage.
“She told us to watch out for signs of a blood infection. We should check to see if the area is red and oozing.”
Burke glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and I could tell he was considering jerking away from me, but then sighed, rounded his shoulders, and thought better of it.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. We should redress it and I should put my arm back in the sling.
” His pout would have been cute if I wasn’t so frustrated with his hot and cold behavior. “I just hate feeling so helpless.”
“You’re not helpless; you’re just injured. It happens to everyone. Where’s your bag with the medical supplies?”
“In my room, on the bed.”
Before he could tell me that he’d go get it, I was off toward the room he claimed as his, grabbing the small toiletries bag and the discarded sling.
The island in the kitchen was covered in various cloche-covered dishes. My mouth watered.
But, first things first. We needed to get him bandaged and in a sling.
“Sit down, patient,” I said, pulling out one of the barstools. “Nurse Evie is here to change your dressings.”
His smirk was real, and I liked the way it made little crinkles form at the corners of his eyes. Resting his left elbow on the island, and only slightly wincing, he let me peel away the bandages and tape.
“You’re taking the antibiotics Justine prescribed?” I asked. “To ward off infection.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
With the pad of my middle finger, I pressed gently around the stitched-up bullet hole. Nothing oozed, and he didn’t seem to gasp or wince. That was a good sign.
“Do you have first-aid training or something?” he asked.
I glanced down at him as I peeled open a new piece of gauze from the sterile packaging. “Of course. I’ve taken the course several times over the years. I’m sure I need to recertify myself as it’s been a few years, but there are some things you never forget, you know?”
He grunted.
“What about you? I’m sure you had some training since you were in the military or … marines or something.” I gently tapped the dog tags that hung around his neck and between his well-defined pectoral muscles.
“Marines,” he said after clearing his throat. “Same as the McEvoys. Well, except Jagger. He didn’t serve. And yeah, we all had to do some bit of first-aid training.”
Justine sent along an antibiotic ointment that she wanted Burke to apply twice a day, so I squeezed some onto the new gauze before sticking it onto his skin. “I’ve never had a job where I technically needed to have first-aid. But I liked being on the list of employees who had it.”
“What’d you go to college for?” he asked.
Tearing off strips of white medical tape, I answered without looking at him.
“I have a bachelor’s in criminal justice and a master’s of business administration.
It was the MBA that landed me my job at Track Croft.
” Frowning, I focused on placing the tape perfectly straight across the top edge of the gauze.
“A lot of good either of those degrees is doing me now, though. I make beach glass mosaic art and sell it at local craft markets.”
His big hand fell on top of mine, stilling my movements, my palm against his shoulder. “Hey, you did what you had to do to survive. I’m guessing you didn’t have much of a support system?”
Emotion grew thick and jagged at the back of my throat as I shook my head.
“So, going after Track and his dad would have been stupid. You took the hush money, because it made sense. I get it. We all do. Nobody is judging you. Even taking the money and starting a new life for yourself didn’t seal your safety, though.
Barnes said he found bugs in your cottage.
And your emails and phone calls are probably being monitored. ”
The thought of being so watched without consent …
it was just another way Track Croft violated me and didn’t think twice.
His death was too swift, in my opinion. The man should have suffered longer.
Suffered the way his assault victims suffered.
Because the trauma doesn’t end when he pulls out and zips up his pants. It’s everlasting.
With Burke’s hand still over mine, our eyes locked on each other, my pulse picked up speed until it was faster than a hamster’s. “When this trial is over, you can take that money and do whatever you want. Use your degree, or not. But you won’t have to hide.”
“That would be nice.” I huffed mirthlessly. “I mean, I like making beach glass art, but it’s a hobby. Otherwise, I’m kind of bored. I’d like to be useful. Helpful in some way.”
“You will be.”
My smile was small, but that sharp mass at the back of my throat was shrinking.
Sudden keen awareness of how close I was to him, how my chest rose and fell rapidly right next to his face, and the fact that we were touching, made him awkwardly shift on the stool and clear his throat.
“Sorry,” I said, removing my hand from his shoulder and peeling off another piece of medical tape.
“You’re a good person, Evie Sanchez,” he said, his words a sexy, gritty rumble from the darkest depths of his chest. “Coming forward like this, when you don’t have to, proves it. It’s never too late to do the right thing.”
I didn’t say anything else. I finished bandaging him up, helped his arm back into the sling, then together we went about lifting all the cloches and plating our bounty.
I was a full-bellied, exhausted emotional wreck by the time I fell into bed.
I was supposed to meet Gabrielle at the law office she was working out of tomorrow at eleven. Which was good, because something told me, despite my fatigue, I was going to have a terrible night’s sleep. Then again, I didn’t sleep very well anyway. Not since the attack.
I also needed to go shopping and pick up something dressier for the deposition. I packed in haste when Brier and Barnes picked me up. I should have packed better; it was all so rushed.
I was just climbing into bed when there was a gentle knock at my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I said, pulling the covers over my legs to my waist.
Burke appeared, still shirtless, still in his sling, still gorgeous. “What time are you setting your alarm for in the morning?” he asked, his phone in his right hand.
“Deposition is at eleven. I’d like to go shopping and find some clothes more suitable to wear to such an important appointment. So … seven, seven-thirty. That way we can have breakfast and be out of here by eight-thirty. Most stores open at nine.”
He nodded, creating an alarm on his phone. “I set it for seven.”
I reached over to the nightstand and set an alarm for the same time on my phone. “Me too.”
“Well … uh, goodnight, Evie.” His crooked smile did all kinds of inappropriate things to my insides.
“Goodnight, Burke.”