He dried his hands, slipped into sterile gloves, and opened the tweezers. “I’m going to get the bullet fragments now. Try to hold still.”
Her lips curved in a dopey smile. “Okey-dokey.”
He worked quickly, trying not to hurt her, but, of course, that was impossible. The drug blunted her pain, but her every gasp and whimper was a fist to his solar plexus. He removed three fragments, rinsed the wound, and sutured it, causing her more pain. Then he cleaned her skin with some sterile saline and bandaged her. “How are you?”
She watched him through dilated pupils, a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her face pale. “As good as new. I really can’t take a shower? I feel so dirty.”
Dylan had an idea. “I can give you a sponge bath.”
“A sponge bath?”
“You’ll see.” He cleaned up the mess and put away the first aid kit, then grabbed the room’s ice bucket and carried it into the bathroom. He filled it with hot water and grabbed the soap and a washcloth.
He found her naked on the bed, drowsy but still awake. He set the bucket down on the nightstand, soaked the washcloth, and started with her face.
“Mmm. That feels good.”
He moved his way down her body, washing away proof of the day’s cruelty——blood spatter, dust from the drywall, mud from the river. Every inch of her was precious to him, her body sacred ground. Her throat. Her shoulders. Her breasts. Her belly. The curve of her hips. Those slender legs. Her little feet.
Yeah, he was in deep shit.
He set the dirty cloth in the ice bucket. “Is that better?”
She nodded. “I’m so sleepy.”
He kissed her. “Just rest. I’m going to take a quick shower.”
He covered her with the sheet, double-checked the door, and walked into the bathroom with his pistol. When he stepped out of the bathroom once more, towel around his waist, she was deep in a painless sleep.
* * *
Gabriela layon her good side next to Dylan, tracing a finger down the groove at the center of his belly, her body replete from sex—very slow, careful, gentle sex. “What a pair we make. You’re bruised and battered. I’ve got stitches.”
Dark bruises covered his chest and ribcage, and there were blotchy red marks on his belly where that son of a bitch had shocked him.
Dylan’s eyes were closed, but he smiled. “I’ve been worse off. Believe me.”
“That place looked like a butcher shop. It must have been awful.” She placed her palm over the red marks.
His brow furrowed, his smile fading. “I’ve never felt pain like that—ever. Nothing even comes close. I had to hold out because, if I’d broken, they would have killed you. I thought of you, Gabriela. The whole time, I thought of you. I even prayed and asked God for a miracle. And then you were there with that Tavor.”
Tears filled Gabriela’s eyes, an ache in her chest to think of him suffering like that. Then she had to say it. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. If I hadn’t let myself get washed downstream—”
“Hey, it wasn’t your fault.” He sat up, took her face between his palms, his eyes looking straight into hers. “They knew right where we were when I shot down that drone. They probably flew another one into position and watched us cross. They would have been waiting for us no matter where we came out of the river. You didn’t get us into that mess, but you sure as hell got us out of it.”
His fingers slid into her hair, and he kissed her, soft and slow. “You are the best mission I’ve ever had.”
Gabriela saw a ray of hope in his words. She slid a palm up his chest, gathered her courage. “I don’t want this to end.”
He looked confused. “You want to keep running from the bad guys forever?”
“No, I don’t wantthisto end—you and me.”
He grinned, chuckled. “I know. You told me last night.”
“I… I did?”
“The morphine loosened your tongue a little.”