CHAPTER EIGHT
The rear door to the bunker sealed with a hushed whoosh, cutting off the rhythmic patter of rain, the distant rumble of thunder. The scent of wet leaves and dense pine wafted in on a swirl of cold air, replacing the usual hint of citrus cleaner mixed with gun oil and ozone. Neve kicked off her muddy gear, walking down the corridors in wool socks, leaving damp prints on the concrete as Wynn ushered her crew into the medical bay.
They’d detoured to the hospital on the south side of Hope, idling a safe distance away while Zadie hacked into their CCTV, put the cameras on a ninety second loop. Coulter and Shepherd had carried the woman in, claiming they’d found her unconscious on a trailhead before vanishing amidst the instant rush of doctors and nurses.
It hadn’t been perfect, but enough to soothe their honor — ease any guilt that she’d gotten hurt in the first place. The remainder of the ride back had been unusually quiet, even Shepherd elected to let the music fill the empty spaces.
The somber mood continued as Neve leaned against the far wall, watching Wynn make her way through the ranks, quickly dismissing Scout and Zadie before turning to Neve and Coulter.
Wynn crossed her arms, foot tapping the floor, eyes narrowed. “You both took hits to your vest, so… Who’s my first victim?”
A hint of a grin lifted Coulter’s lips as he waved toward Neve. “Ladies first.”
Neve glared at him, wanting nothing more than to smack the glib smile off his ridiculously handsome face, when Wynn stepped in front.
She gestured to her. “Everything’s wet anyways, so… I’ll have Scout grab you a hoodie and some sweats. And I can give you a gown if you’d like…”
Neve huffed. “I don’t need a damn gown.”
She reached for her shirt, yanking it over her head before tossing it on the floor. It landed with a wet slap, the sound loud against the hum of the overhead lights. The cool air sent a rush of goosebumps prickling across her skin, and she crossed her arms over her chest before her damn nipples poked out someone’s eye.
Coulter chuckled, grinning at her when she flipped him off as Wynn helped her onto the exam table after texting Scout to grab some clothes. Neve hopped up, looking everywhere but at Coulter as Wynn traced the bruising down the right side of Neve’s ribs — did a full body sweep just to be sure.
Wynn removed her gloves. “Nothing looks broken, but you’re gonna be sore for a while. I can have Darwin run the ultrasound over it?—”
“I’m fine, Wynn. I’ve busted ribs before, and trust me, this isn’t nearly that bad. A couple shots of whiskey, and I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”
Wynn shook her head, went over to one of the cabinets before grabbing a bottle. She shook out a pill, then slapped it in Neve’s palm. “Skip the Glenfiddich, and take this. I’ll recheck everything in twenty-four hours. Ensure you’re not getting any worse.”
Neve nodded, downed the pill with a sip of water, then thanked Scout when she appeared at the doorway carrying clothes for both her and Coulter. Neve slipped the hoodie over her head, wincing when the movement twisted her ribs before shucking her pants, then pulling on the sweats.
Coulter stood on the far side, his gaze raking over her as if he’d never seen her in a bra and panties before. Which, of course he had when she’d been part of his unit — more times than she could possibly remember. Not that she’d made a habit of stripping down to her skivvies in front of her teammates, but modesty hadn’t always been an option, and she’d wanted them to see her as a team player.
And that wasn’t taking into account the fact she and Coulter had gotten insanely close to hopping into bed — becoming lovers. And god knew, she’d wanted to. But she’d agreed they needed to wait until their relationship couldn’t bite either of them in the ass.
Until the timing was right.
That hadn’t happened, yet, and after the kiss in the hallway, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d hold true to his promise to not let her go the next time he had her in his arms.
If the stars would finally align.
Neve drew in a soothing breath, hating the way her ribs pinched it off before she’d gotten enough air as she turned, froze — heart hammering, her breath locked up tight. Because beyond the sculpted muscles, the thick bands across Coulter’s abdomen that created shadows along his skin…
Bruises.
Covering his torso in varying shades of blue and purple that faded into a mustard yellow at the edges. They started just below his pecs, vanished beneath the waist band of his boxers. What looked like a collection of impact points that had spread out in waves like ripples on the water, discoloring every inch of skin in their wake.
She swallowed, gagged, her gaze rising to his face. Eyes closed, mouth clenched tight, he looked on the verge of passing out.
That cooled any residual anger. Had her chest aching for a different reason.
She walked over, took his hand in hers. He blinked his eyes open, jerked his head toward her as he glanced at her hand, then back to her face.
He sighed, used his other thumb to brush the line of her jaw. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“I sure as hell hope not because it looks like you should be dead.”
“One more hit, and he might end up that way.”