Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (7 page)

Like hell it can.

He kept his voice low and gentle as he ordered, “Tell me,
dusha moya
.” Sweetheart. “Where are you injured?”

She jerked at his words and then moaned, a low, animal-like sound of anguish. Her skin was ashen and her forehead beaded in sweat and creased with pain.

“Elana, talk to me.” His voice was more demanding this time.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” She huffed out a breath. “I got skinned, as they call it in suspense novels. It hurts, but not so badly it can’t wait until we are in a safer place.”

Her reply was snippy, and he had to choke back an inappropriate laugh. How could she scare the shit out of him one second and make him want to laugh at her feistiness the next? Especially since she was lying through her little white teeth.

Elana sighed and looked around. “Where are we going?”

“Eventually Virginia and a hotel for a few hours until the SSI company jet lands at a rural airfield to pick us up for the flight to Idaho.” He made a quick turn onto a residential street. Elana gasped, grabbed the sissy bar, and shot him an indignant glance. He didn’t miss the wince of pain that flashed across her face when she moved her right side.

The gasp and look settled it. He’d be touching her. “Now? A place to pull off so I can see how bad your injury really is.”

“Whatever.” Her voice faded away, and she muttered under her breath, “Bossy just like my uncles.”

Vanko hoped she liked her uncles since she’d have to deal with a lot more of his brand of bossiness. He’d keep her safe any way he saw fit.

“Elana
?
” When she didn’t reply, he looked at her and found her eyes closed and her lips thinned. He could practically hear her teeth gritting.

“
Pizdets! Dermo!
” Fuck! Shit!

She was holding a tight rein over her pain and exhaustion. She didn’t want to be a fucking bother. What kind of half-assed men had she dealt with in the past that she couldn’t ask for help? God save him from stoic, brave, too-proud-for-their-own-good women.

He spotted a mostly empty church parking lot and pulled into it. After releasing his seat belt, he angled his body toward her. She moved away and then froze as if she realized what she’d done.

“Sorry,” she whispered, “it’s not you…it’s just—”

“Hush, I understand.” And he was afraid he did; too many years working at Interpol on sex trafficking cases had taught him to recognize the look he saw on her face and the fear coming off her in waves.

Elana was more than merely wary of men—and probably had a good reason for being so. She’d been abused in her past. He wanted to howl and hit something. He reined in the volcanic rage threatening to erupt. She shouldn’t have to deal with his anger in her fragile state. She needed gentleness and protection.

But he needed to know what had happened to her in the past, so he didn’t trip any triggers that might make her run from him or render her unable to react in a dangerous situation. If she didn’t volunteer the information, he’d get it from the dossier.

For now, he’d watch his tone of voice and try not to startle her with unexpected movements. She had to learn to trust him; her life might depend on it.

“Just taking your pulse,
zaychik moy
.” He reached for her left wrist.

Her pulse was weak and thready. Cold sweat formed droplets on her face. Her arm was cool to the touch, too cool. Tears leaked from the corner of her closed eyes. She shuddered convulsively and teethed her lower lip as if she were holding back cries of pain—or fear. She was in shock.

Yeah, he really wanted to kill someone, preferably the man or men who’d instilled a fear of anyone with a penis in her. But without a specific target for his anger, he, instead, left the car running, put the heat on high, and then got out. He circled around to the passenger door. Opening it, he reached for the large bag she’d clutched against her right side between her and the door.

“No!” She held the bag tighter.

“I need to look. Please.” He forced himself to be patient and was rewarded when she nodded and let go of the bag.

He looked from the blood smearing the bag and the side of her raincoat to her pale face. “Goddammit. A graze?”

She looked down and then back up at him. Her brow creased. “Yes, a graze. It’s bleeding a lot because I was running and aggravating it. I’ll be fine.” She belied the calm tone and words by biting her lip and hissing when he unbuckled her seat belt and began to pull her coat off so he could see the wound better.

Vanko winced at the thought he would hurt her even more, but he needed to know if she required a hospital or if the wound was something he could doctor. A hospital would expose her to more danger, but he’d take the risk if she required more care than he could provide.

Her coat out of the way, he let out some of his pent-up rage and tore open her bloodied blouse from the bottom along the right seam up to her armpit and then unzipped her skirt to expose the wound. With her sitting, he couldn’t get to all of the wound track, but he saw enough.

He grunted with relief. Although it was more than a graze, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The bullet had torn a shallow, ragged gouge across the fleshy part of her upper right hip and below her waist. The bloody wound track was obscene against her pale, fine-grained skin.

The torn flesh still bled, probably because of her mad dash away from the shooters. He looked at her face. She was so pale he could see the veins beneath her skin. When he focused on her now dull gray eyes, he could see she was at the end of her resources. For some reason that pissed him off.

“Do
not
lie to me about your health again. You’re in shock. You need rest, food, and liquids.”

Elana stiffened and shot a blazing glare at him so hot he swore his skin burned. His
zaychik
had a temper. Good to know.

“I know my capabilities. So deal with it.” At his angry snort, she huffed out a breath. “Listen to me, you alpha-male throwback—you couldn’t do anything while driving us away from danger…so I…” Her rebuke trailed off. She took several slow, deep breaths and then continued speaking through clenched teeth. “I did what I had to do. And we aren’t safe…yet.”

She was magnificent in her indignation. In that instant, Vanko recognized he’d do anything to protect her, to possess her fire. But he’d have to be patient. His Elana had demons, demons that caused her to be leery of “alpha-male throwbacks.” After he’d gained her full trust, he’d let her know how their future would proceed.

For now, he’d work on keeping her safe and making her feel better.

Before he could speak to calm her down, she touched his forearm for a split second before pulling her hand away. “Sorry, my words were uncalled for. None of this is your fault.” She looked over his shoulder and out into the parking lot. “What I meant to say was—can’t treating my wound wait until later? The pain is tolerable and I am not bleeding to death…and, um, those men could be hunting for us.”

She was afraid. That was understandable, but unacceptable. Vanko placed a finger under her chin only long enough to tilt her head so he could look directly into her weary eyes. He ignored the slight flinch at his touch. “Listen and believe…I’ll protect you no matter where we’re at or who finds us—do not doubt that.”

He held her wide-eyed gaze until she nodded, but fear still lingered in her eyes. Breathing deeply and slowly to keep his anger at bay—the violent emotion aimed at the situation, not her—he then spoke in a gentler tone, “Please,
zaychik moy
, do not hedge the truth again. Your health and safety are my biggest concerns.”

“I’m not your
little bunny
.”

Oh yes, she was; she just didn’t realize it yet.

Elana laid her head against the neck rest. “And I do trust you, because Keely and her husband sent you. We can’t trust anyone else in D.C. at the moment.”

He noted the “we.” She already thought of them as a team against the enemy. It was a beginning, but wasn’t enough. He wanted her full and unconditional trust, and not just because he was an SSI operative. Once he had that, he’d have the key to winning her heart and soul.

“Yes,
we’re
a team.” He pulled out a clean handkerchief and tore off a portion of her already ruined shirt. “I need to apply some pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. Now, brace,
dusha moya.
I’m sorry. This will hurt.”

Vanko covered the gash with the scraps of cloth and then pressed—hard. He cringed as she arched away from the seat and groaned, a low and painful sound in the back of her throat.

“Easy,
milaya moya
.” My sweet—and she was sweet. Sweet, sassy, and very, very brave.

He released the pressure and eased her out of the raincoat, completely this time, then bundled the coat against her side and over the temporary pads he’d placed against the wound. He used the belt of the raincoat to hold the makeshift pressure bandage in place. After he was sure the bulky dressing would stay in place, he buckled her back into her seat.

“Do you want something for the pain? I can…” He moved to stroke some hairs off her face, and she edged away from his fingers.

Fuck, Petriv, control yourself. She isn’t ready for your casual touches.

But they weren’t casual, and he wasn’t sure he could avoid touching her.

Elana stared at his hand and then, to his amazement, traced a finger over her blood staining his skin. The light touch sent a frisson of awareness down his spine.

Or maybe it was her blood on your fingers she shied from?

Vanko held his breath. He liked her touch and didn’t want to scare her into removing it.

“No,” she said on a sigh, “no pain medications. Just get us out of here.” Then she covered his hand more fully with hers and gave it a quick squeeze before pulling it away and moving it to hold the padding over her wound. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

God, she was attempting to reassure him, when it was his duty to take care of her. Her actions—and the courage it had taken for her to touch him—humbled him.

Her words might have said one thing, but she didn’t look fine. She was a slender, fine-boned woman unused to the adrenaline cocktail flooding her body. When and if the epinephrine levels dropped, she could lose consciousness.

“Stop examining me as if I were an alien life form…I promise I’m fine. I’m running on no sleep, no food, and whatever fight-or-flight hormones my body is producing. Sleep and food will go a long way to seeing me back to my normal good health.”

Vanko gave her an abrupt nod. “But tell me if anything changes before we get to our hotel. I can always find an emergency room. Do you need me to go through a drive-through and get you something to drink and eat on the way out of D.C.?”

“That sounds good.” She gave him a small smile, and he spotted dimples on both cheeks which made him want to make her smile more often.

He checked to make sure she was fully tucked inside the car. “Now lie back and rest as much as you can.”

“So very bossy.” She relaxed into the seat, her left arm now clutching her right as she hugged the bulky padding against her body.

Vanko closed the door and then ran around the Hummer and got back into the driver’s seat. He quickly pulled out of the lot. Then he made a call to Sanctuary. As he waited for it to go through the automatic signal scrambling, his gaze constantly switched between traffic and Elana’s pale face. She had closed her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep. Her posture was too alert as if she needed to be ready to fight off the enemy—or the odd dangerous male.

“Vanko! Did you pick up Elana?” Ren’s voice boomed over the vehicle’s sound system.

“Yes. We need damage control with the D.C. cops, or I’ll get pulled over before I get out of town.” Someone had probably gotten his plates and vehicle description and given them to the responding officers. “The bastards shot Elana before I got to her.” His wrath leaked into his tone of voice.

“Goddamnfuckingsonofabitch.” Ren then added some special Russian curses aimed at the shooters’ ancestors.

Elana inhaled sharply and stiffened in her seat.

Note to self: angry male voices upset her also.

“Does she need a hospital? Can you treat the injuries?” Ren asked. “D.C. isn’t a good place for either of you right now. The shooting and your sidewalk driving maneuvers went viral as they happened.”

Elana gasped. “No! Vanko…”

The fear in her voice stabbed him in the gut. He shot a worried glance her way. Her eyes were wide open and her pupils so dilated he could only see a thin circle of silver around them.

“Everything will be okay, Elana.”

She shook her head wildly. She worried her quivering lower lip with her teeth. He hated seeing her fear, hated he couldn’t shield her from whatever had put the fear into her.

If he hadn’t been in crazy bad traffic, he would’ve pulled over and held her until she stopped shaking, except that probably would’ve scared her more. Instead, he answered Ren, “I can handle the injury—it’s a gouge on the fleshy part of her hip. She’s more exhausted and scared than anything else.”

“Fuck, just fuck,” Ren said.

“The situation is a cluster fuck, buddy.” However, the circumstances had brought him to Elana. Fate worked in strange ways, as his sister always said.

Elana grabbed Vanko’s forearm. He looked away from the traffic. She’d lost what little color she’d had in her face and was more than merely afraid now, she was terrified.

“Elana? What is it?”

Her fingers fluttered on his arm. “Not safe…he’ll…recognize me. Could already be…on his way.” Her hand slipped away as she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

Some sixth sense told him the “he” she feared the most wasn’t any of the ones chasing her now or the man who’d hired them.

Yeah, he really needed to find out more about her background. His gut screamed this mess was due to become a total goat rope, and soon, if he didn’t get a handle on it.

Left hand on the wheel, Vanko clasped her cold hand, needing the connection even if it scared her even more. Crazy as it sounded, he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on to her. Plus, he wanted her to rely on him to buffer her fears. She needed to see him as her safe harbor in the coming hours and days.