She eyed him askance. “If that wasn’t a lot of blood, I’d hate to see what is.”
“The onboard doc said the knife missed everything vital. To steal a phrase from Monty Python, ‘It’s just a flesh wound.’” He grinned and hitched a shoulder. It drew her attention to the contrast between the baby blue of his tank top and the deep, delicious hue of his skin. Then, his expression grew serious. “You did everything right today, Chrissy.” His thumb traced circles in her palm. He meant the gesture to be comforting. Instead, it made her burn for things she knew were impossible. “I’m crazy proud of you, woman. You should be crazy proud of yourself.”
“Trying to find something good in anything that happened today feels a little like searching for a pearl in pig shit,” she whispered.
“I do love your way with words.” His voice was so low she would swear she heard it with something other than her ears, something decidedly south of her head.
It was high time she let go of his hand.
Regrettably, the moment she wasn’t distracted by his touch, all those jagged, cutting thoughts took over again.
Wolf must’ve recognized the look that came over her face, because he squatted in front of her. “I know what you saw today was awful. And I know you have to be thinkin’—”
“About the wanton uselessness of it all?” she cut in. “Three men are dead and I can’t understand it. Why did they do it? Why did they come after us?”
He shook his head and the sun shining through the porthole created a halo effect behind him. He looked almost angelic. But she knew firsthand how devilish he could be.
“Don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m hopin’ the authorities will be able to answer that.”
She nodded, and for a while they were both quiet. Then, picking at the frayed hem of her shorts, she asked, “It’s not like in the movies, is it? In real life, gunshots are so much messier.”
“It’s not always like that. The M4s we use are…” He seemed to search for the right words. “Serious pieces of machinery. Military grade.”
And there was something in his voice, a slight waver, that had her glancing into his eyes. Those beautiful, black eyes that had seen too much destruction.
For the first time all day, she wondered how he was doing. He’d been the one forced to mete out those gruesome gunshots. And no matter how much practice or training he had, that couldn’t be an easy weight to bear.
“Are you okay?” She went to brush the ink-black hair away from his brow, and then thought better of it. Acting as if it had been her intention all along, she tucked a stray strand of her own hair behind her ear.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Not like I haven’t done it before.”
“Even so, I don’t suspect it’s something you get used to.”
“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in the tanned column of his throat. As with the rest of him, she found it strangely fascinating. “But men who live by the sword die by it.”
The air inside the room was heavy with something Chrissy couldn’t name. And the tight skin over Wolf’s razor-blade cheekbones told her he wasn’t as unmoved by what had happened as he’d like her to believe.
Making sure her expression was appropriately teasing, she hoped to defuse the tension. “Didn’t we agree you’d stop sounding like a fortune cookie when I was around?”
The tightness in Wolf’s shoulders loosened. A small smile played at his mouth—that wonderful, full mouth that knew exactly how she liked to be kissed. And that’s all it took for her to think, Lordy, I’ve got to get him out of here, or I’ll be throwing myself on him in two seconds flat.
In fact, she wasn’t sure how she’d refrained as long as she had.
“Okay,” she told him. “You’ve officially checked in with me. I know you probably have other things to attend to, so…” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Fly away, Batman.”
“Pretty sure Batman didn’t fly. Pretty sure it was Superman who—”
“Don’t get technical with me.”
“You’re right, darlin’. Today’s not the day for technicalities.”
The endearment had her silly heart tripping over itself again. “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”
“Done what?” His eyebrows knit together.
“Called me darlin’.”
“Sorry.” He looked genuinely contrite. “Don’t mean no offense. I’m not tryin’ to infantilize you or—”
She cut him off. “It’s okay. I mean, sure, the feminist in me might be screaming and shaking her fist. But the rest of me kind of likes it.”
She instantly regretted admitting as much because he lifted one eyebrow, his expression going dark and seductive.
“But don’t take that as an invitation to pick up where we left off two months ago.” She pointed a finger at his nose.
“Why not? You said you forgave me.”
“Forgiven and forgotten are two entirely different things.”
He pretended to pout, and it was disconcerting how he could look like a warrior ripped from the pages of a history book one minute and an earnest schoolboy the next. And, holy moly, would she have loved to fall for his particular brand of charm.
But she knew what kind of man he was. And she’d be damned before she ended up like her mother.
* * *
1:48 p.m.
“Well?” Izad asked the head of his security after Navid clicked off from his call and shoved his cellular phone into his hip pocket. “What did he say?”
“The Coast Guard ship is pulling into port now. Omid and Cas are positioning themselves to see anyone disembarking from the vessel. They will call us as soon as they know something.”
“Yes. Good. That is good.” Izad nodded, telling himself to be patient even as he resumed his pacing.
He was surprised he hadn’t worn a hole through the hotel suite’s carpeting. He’d been at his back-and-forth vigil ever since they heard the Second Wind put out a Mayday call over the marine channels. Which, of course, they’d expected. What they had not expected was for the Coast Guard to report, less than an hour later, that they’d rescued survivors from the Second Wind and were bringing them back to Key West.
“Survivors.” Izad mumbled the sickening word to himself now.
“Please, sir.” Navid placed a gentle hand on his superior’s elbow and steered him toward the sofa. “You are tiring yourself unnecessarily. Sit and rest.”