Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (20 page)

They entered the restroom and Brooks guided Christie to the sink. While Natasha ran the water, he set his Stetson on a small corner table that had a vase of flowers and a couple of magazines.

Natasha tested the water with her fingers. “Cool, but not cold.” She pushed up Christie’s white cardigan sleeves and began rinsing off the pebbles and asphalt. The cardigan was dirty at the cuffs.

“This is the second time you’ve saved my life.” Christie’s eyes were glossy as she looked at Brooks. “How could I possibly thank you enough?”

“Bake those sour cream chicken enchiladas that are so damned good this Sunday during the playoffs.” He gave her a teasing look. He wanted to make her feel better, and he knew this would do it. “And how about your mother’s incredible red velvet cake for dessert?”

Christie smiled. “You’ve got it. I’ll have plenty of your favorite beer on hand, too.”

“I’d say we’re even.” He his gaze met Natasha’s as she cleaned Christie’s palms. Natasha looked away.

“I think I’d need to cook and bake for you for at least a year.” Christie flinched as Natasha tried to gently take gravel out of Christie’s palms. “Make that two years—one for taking that bullet and the second for saving me from being run down. I think maybe a third year because you were hit by the car.”

Brooks smiled. “Just feed me when I come to see you and the baby doll, and I’ll be happy.”

“That car…” Christie shook her head. “I saw the man’s eyes and I could tell he was aiming straight for me. Why would he want to run over me?”

Natasha said nothing as she turned off the water. She grabbed a clean white towel from beneath the cabinet. Brooks saw the tension in her features. He felt it deep in his gut that she was taking the blame for this, and it had something to do with why she’d been so upset and withdrawn.

“I don’t know why.” Brooks let out his breath. He wouldn’t insult Christie’s intelligence by brushing it off by telling her the guy probably hadn’t seen her, just to make her feel better. “Could have been a case of mistaken identity. I just don’t know.”

Christie winced again as Natasha poured hydrogen peroxide over one injured palm. “It’s crazy. Why would anyone want to kill me?”

“Brooks might be right.” Natasha didn’t look at Christie. “The man probably thought you were someone else.”

“Maybe.” Christie stared at her hands where the hydrogen peroxide bubbled and foamed on each cut and raw area.

Blood made the foam pink. Christie remained silent as Natasha finished up by patting her hands dry with the towel, putting Betadine on the wounds then put a little Neosporin on each of the bigger injuries. Natasha finished by wrapping gauze around Christie’s hands.

“I feel like I have mummy hands.” Christie plopped on the closed toilet lid as Natasha forced her down and examined her knees.

Natasha proceeded to grab a clean white cloth in the cabinet beneath the sink. She wet it and set to working on Christie’s knees.

Christie glanced at Brooks. “We need to take a look at your leg.”

“I’m not pulling my pants down for either of you ladies.” Brooks winked at Christie who laughed.

They both turned to Natasha as red crept up her neck to her face. She refused to look at either of them while she finished attending to Christie’s knees. He had a strong feeling that Christie knew he’d spent the night with her cousin.

Natasha finished cleaning with the hydrogen peroxide, Betadine, and Neosporin. “Looks like your palms took the worst of it.”

“Thanks, Nat.” Christie looked at Brooks. “Your T-shirt is torn, and so is your overshirt.” Christie gestured to his belly. “If you won’t remove your pants, you can at least take off your two shirts and let us check out your abs.” She wore a mischievous expression.

Brooks held back a grin. “If it will make you happy.”

She nodded. “It will.”

He shrugged out of the overshirt and tossed it aside before removing his shoulder holster and setting it, Walther and all, on a small table in the restroom. He tugged his now ragged and slightly bloody T-shirt over his head and let it land on top of the other shirt. Natasha stared at his chest, as if unable to look away.

“Talk about definition and a hard body.” Christie spoke as Brooks watched Natasha. “Don’t you think so, Nat?”

“I think you’re right—Brooks needs to be cleaned up.” She dropped the cloth that was pink with Christie’s blood into the sink. Natasha knelt and grabbed another fluffy white washcloth from the cabinet under the sink again before straightening and wetting it. “He has several cuts and scrapes.”

“You’re scraped down your side and getting a bruise where your gun was.” Christie gestured to his side. His body ached like hell, especially in that location. “You must have landed on the holster. I bet that hurts like crazy.”

“Yep, I did land on it.” He looked at his side. He had a feeling the imprint of his holster would be purple in no time. “But it’ll be fine.”

Natasha looked wary as she approached him and still wouldn’t meet his gaze. He could have told her he’d do it himself, but he wanted to feel her delicate fingers on his skin. God, how he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her.

He watched as she started washing the affected area. Just her soft touch made his groin tighten and he felt his cock hardening.

Shit.
Not a good thing with Natasha’s cousin watching.

Old Mrs. Whitcomb’s tits, old Mrs. Whitcomb’s tits, old Mrs. Whitcomb’s tits.

The thought of the old bat who had terrorized him and her other students back in Big Sky Elementary was enough to douse his arousal. He relaxed as his cock did the same.

He sucked his breath in through his teeth when Natasha touched a sensitive location on his side.

“Sorry.” She gave him an apologetic look. Their eyes met and held for a few moments before she tore her gaze away. “Other spots are probably going to hurt more.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He clenched his teeth as she cleaned more blood away, along with a great deal of asphalt. The cloth grew increasingly red-streaked and spotted with his blood.

“You need to get an x-ray of your leg to make sure nothing is fractured.” Natasha now ignored the grimaces Brooks tried to hold back as she cleansed his wounds. “You should go straight to the hospital after I finish here.”

“I’m sure my leg is fine.” He almost laughed when Natasha narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. “I’m just sore and could use a long hot bath.”

“Hospital,” Natasha said curtly. “When you leave.”

“I don’t need to—”

“I mean it.” She glared at him, a deadly stare if he’d ever seen one. “Do it, Brooks.”

He raised his hands. “All right, Nurse Natasha.”

She made a
humph
sound as she got to her feet and dropped the washcloth in the sink next to the one she’d used on Christie. Natasha gestured for him to come closer. “I’ll finish up and you can get to the hospital.”

“Natasha’s right.” Christie looked at her gauze-wrapped hands. “You shouldn’t chance anything.”

He shook his head, wanting to laugh. He had no plans to go to the hospital but he figured he had to appease them, and if lying did the job, so be it. “Message received. Loud and clear.”

“Good,” Natasha and Christie said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

Seeing Natasha laugh made Brooks smile. For that one moment he could see the woman he’d met in Denver, the same one he’d seen in the surveillance photos, the one Christie always talked about.

In the next moment, the laughter was gone from her eyes, leaving a sadness so profound it made his heart ache for her.

Heat rose within him and he wanted to kill whoever had taken her joy.

When both Christie’s and Brooks’s wounds were attended to, he pulled on his ragged T-shirt, secured his shoulder holster, and settled his western hat on his head. He watched Natasha without letting her know that was what he was doing. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his torn overshirt, while trying to wrap his thoughts around what had been happening since the first day of the tradeshow.

He had no doubt the incident with the man trying to run down Christie was related to Natasha’s behavior, and the fear even more present in her eyes.

Christie looked from Brooks to Natasha. “I’d better get home.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t feel right being away from Jessica right now.”

Natasha’s expression was twisted with concern and she gave Christie a hug. “Do you need me to drive you?”

“I’m fine.” Christie shook her head. “I just need to get home.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Brooks adjusted his shirt so it covered his weapon. “Do you have everything?”

“My shoulder bag.” Christie looked around the restroom and Natasha handed her the pink purse. Christie hooked it over her shoulder and gave Natasha a big hug. She leaned back. “Are you okay, Nat?”

“I’m the one who needs to ask you that.” Natasha’s eyes grew glossy, as if she was about to cry. “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” Christie smiled and looked at Brooks. “Thanks to this wonderful white knight. Twice now.”

“At your service.” He tried for a teasing tone.

“Sour cream chicken enchiladas and red velvet cake.” She grinned. “Next Sunday, don’t be late.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to worry one little bit about that.”

Christie gave Natasha another hug. “I’ll call you. And you
will
be at next Sunday’s football party.”

Natasha smiled, but Brooks could tell she had to work at it. “Be careful driving home.”

“Definitely.” Christie turned to Brooks. “I’m ready.”

He made what could be considered a gallant bow that a knight might give a lady in the old tales. “After you, Lady Davidson.”

Christie laughed and her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Natasha. “What did I say? A true white knight.”

Natasha smiled. “I’ll call.”

“You’d better.” Christie left the restroom and walked into the store.

Brooks gestured for Natasha to go in front of him and then he followed both women to the front entrance. The women couldn’t resist hugging each other one last time, and then Brooks escorted Christie outside.

He looked at Natasha who stood in the store’s doorway. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Not necessary.” She shook her head. “I have a lot to do.”

“I’ll be back,” he repeated.

Doing his best not to limp, he put his hand on Christie’s shoulder and escorted her across the street, after making damned good and sure no cars were even close. He also checked to see that the vehicle used in the attempt to run her down was nowhere in sight.

Her SUV was parked close to his truck, and he opened the door for her after she pressed the unlock button on her fob. She winced as she climbed into the vehicle.

He braced one hand on the top of the SUV and one on the door. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I’m going to be sore and my hands sting a bit, but otherwise I’ll be just fine.”

He thumped the side of the SUV. “Be careful driving home.” She nodded and smiled, and he closed the door for her.

His phone vibrated in its holster on his belt. He pulled out his cell and checked the display. It was Jase Wright.

“Jase.” Brooks walked toward the street, back the way he’d come, and grimaced from the pain. “What’s going on?”

“A call came in about Natasha Simpson.” Jase sounded concerned. “An unidentified woman left a tip that Natasha is in trouble and has been an unwitting pawn until recently. The caller said Natasha discovered she was being used, and her family and friends’ lives have been threatened. According to her, everyone Natasha is related to is in danger.”

“Shit.” Brooks let out a harsh breath. “I had a feeling that’s what was going on.”

“The woman said all of Natasha’s family needs to be under watch without letting anyone know that’s what’s happening.” Jase’s voice grew tighter. “If they go into protective custody, bad shit will happen.”

Brooks cursed as he walked back to the sidewalk from the parking lot. “Was the call traced?” He didn’t have any real hope it had been.

“The phone was a burner and tossed in a garbage receptacle not far from Natasha’s store. Near the old post office,” Jase said. “No prints on the phone.”

“I was just at Natasha’s shop.” Brooks glanced at the street. “Someone deliberately tried to run Christie Davidson down.” He didn’t mention his own injuries or how he got them. “She’s lucky to be alive.”

“Goddamn.” Jase growled the word. “Do you want to call Trace or should I do it?”

“I’ll do it.” Brooks reached the sidewalk and looked across the street at Natasha’s shop. It looked darker inside than it had been, and he realized the lights had been turned off. He frowned. “Is Trace at the office?”

“He’s out on assignment,” Jase said. “Are you going to be in contact with Natasha even though she’s been threatened if she goes to law enforcement?”

“Already have been.” Brooks looked up and down the street. “I’m just hoping no one knows I’m with ICE.”

“You were undercover for so long, it’s possible they won’t,” Jase said.

“That’s what I’m thinking, but I’m not going to take chances.” After checking both ways, Brooks started across the street. “I’ll get to her, and make sure the people threatening her won’t have a clue.”

“What can I do?” Jase asked.

“I’ll call and let you know.” Brooks reached the opposite side of the street. The crosswalk was a couple of doors down from Natasha’s shop. “Just be prepared.”

“Will do.” Jase signed off.

Brooks pressed the “end call” icon on his phone and walked up to Natasha’s store. It was definitely dark inside. He tried the door handle. Locked.

He cursed. It was likely Natasha had left, probably through the back exit. He was LE and no doubt she felt in danger around him. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

Regardless, he had to talk with her and work something out. He had to help her—he wouldn’t allow her, or the ones she loved, to remain in danger.

He checked to see if he was being watched. He couldn’t be entirely positive. Someone might be watching from a shop across the street, just as he’d planned to watch Natasha’s store before he saw the car bearing down on Christie.