He held out his hand. “Give me that arm.”
“It’s just a scratch.” She did as he asked anyway.
“The skin is broken. An infection in the desert could be fatal.” His fingers were gentle, awareness skittering up her arm.
Stop it! You shouldn’t think of him that way.
No, she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t seem to help it.
“Isn’t it enough to know that you’re safe with me, that I would never do anything to hurt you?” He dabbed at the scratch on her arm with the alcohol swab.
The sting made her gasp. “People die in the desert, Zach. I still can’t help but believe that we’re risking our lives to sneak across the border, not because that’s the only way, but because you want to avoid the authorities. The last thing in the world I want to do is make trouble for you. Even if youarea drug dealer or an arms trader or some kind of cartel mercenary, I don’t think I could bring myself to turn you in. But I don’t want to die out there just because you’re afraid you’ll go to prison.”
Drug dealer? Arms trader? Cartel mercenary?
Zach looked up to find Natalie watching him, a pleading look in her eyes, and a part of him wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity of the situation.
A preponderance of evidence. How do you like that, McBride?
He saw now that it had been a strategic mistake to keep everything from her. How could he expect her to trust him when connecting the dots created such a damning picture of him? She was an intelligent woman, an investigative reporter. Of course she would put it together like that. If Zach had met someone under these circumstances, he’d probably have reached a similar conclusion.
It was time for a new strategy. He would tell her enough of the truth to alleviate some of her fears, but not enough to endanger his mission—or her life.
A freaking preponderance of evidence!
Shit.
“I served in Iraq and Afghanistan.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the truth and more than Zach ought to tell her.
He could almostseethe little wheels in her mind spinning.
“So you’re a veteran.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you still active duty or in the reserves?”
He almost smiled at how quickly she’d gone from thinking of him as a criminal to wondering if he were some kind of undercover military operative. That’s exactly why he hadn’t told her before. She was too damned smart.
Next time a chick saves your life, make sure she’s not a reporter.
“Neither. I was honorably discharged six years ago.”
Let’s see what you make of that, angel.
He dropped the swab into the trash and reached for the antibiotic ointment, aware that she was studying him.
“That’s where you learned how to use guns and fight the way you do.”
“Learned how—and got lots of practice.” He rubbed ointment on the scratch, then put the cap back on the tube and picked up a large adhesive bandage.
“Is that how you got shot?” Her voice had lost its inquisitive edge and taken on a softer tone, but she was still testing him, still probing, still looking for loose threads to pull.
“Yeah.” He peeled the paper strips off the bandage and pressed it over the abrasion. “We were ambushed by Taliban fighters in the Hindu Kush mountains in the Nuristan province of Afghanistan. I caught a round in the back.”
“That must have been terrible.” She rubbed her hand over the bandage, her eyes filling with concern. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine—”
“I’m not looking for sympathy.” Memories he didn’t care to relive made his voice colder than he’d intended, the screams of dying friends echoing in his mind. He crumpled the bandage wrapper in his fist, tossed it in the trash, then closed the first-aid kit. “I told you so that you’ll understand why we don’t need a guide.”