Dead Man's Curve. Paula Graves
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She’d had another weapon.
“Ava,” he said.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Her voice had a raw, uneven tone, the shaking in her hand growing to an alarming wobble.
He reached out and moved her hand away from his face. She struggled but didn’t pull the trigger before he took the gun away and wrapped his arm around her as she started to fall backward. “Whoa, there.” Dropping the Glock to one side, he gave her a quick appraisal, looking for her injury.
There. Under the hem of her jacket. Blood spread across the right side of her charcoal trousers and seeped upward onto her olive-green blouse. As she tried to slap his hands away, he tugged the blouse up and away, revealing a ripped furrow in the waistband of her pants. Beneath it, the bullet’s path had carved a bloody gouge in the soft flesh just above her hip bone.
“Ow,” she groaned as he plucked a piece of scorched fabric from the wound.
He needed to get her back to the motel. And he needed not to get caught. Irreconcilable goals.
“You didn’t blow yourself up,” she muttered. He looked up from the bullet wound to find her hazel eyes focused on his face.
“Says who?” he asked, reaching in his back pocket for his multibladed knife. There was a set of tweezers tucked into the handle, if he wasn’t mistaken. Given the messy condition of her wound, he was probably going to need them.
“You’re wanted by the FBI.”
“I’m not on the list anymore,” he disagreed, sliding the tweezers out. “Dead, you see.”
Her mouth twisted with frustration. “You’re not dead. And you’re under arrest.”
He couldn’t hold back a grin at her serious expression. “Can I finish cleaning this wound before you take me in?”
“This isn’t funny.” Moving more quickly than he thought she could, she grabbed the Glock he’d taken from her and swung it back in front of her. This time, her hands didn’t shake nearly as hard.
Fear battled with grudging admiration. She was tougher than she looked. “What are you going to do, shoot me?”
“If I have to.”
“Getting back to the motel on your own isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warned, sitting back on his heels.
“I’ll deal.” Keeping her pistol aimed at his chest, she pushed to her feet, struggling not to sway. “Sinclair Solano, you’re under arrest for the murder of three American oil company employees. For starters.”
“I didn’t kill those men.”
“We’ll let the courts sort that out.” She twitched the Glock’s muzzle at him. “Move.”
He wasn’t going to let her take him in. He’d had his chance to face justice years ago and had traded it for a chance to make things right. But Alexander Quinn had warned him there were no easy outs. Once he went back to El Cambio and pretended nothing had changed, he might never be able to clear his name.
He’d taken the chance. Now, it seemed he might have to pay.
“Do you know who those men were?” He nodded toward the two bodies lying several yards away.
Her gaze slanted toward them briefly before locking with Sin’s again. “No. Do you?”
“The one who grabbed you was Emilio Fuentes. Major player in El Cambio’s military wing. He was Alberto Cabrera’s top commander.” He watched her expression for any signs of recognition. Her eyes narrowed; she knew something about El Cambio, he thought. “The other was Carlito Escalante.”
“The Spider,” she murmured, recognition dawning.
She wasn’t just playing at whatever job she was working, clearly, if she knew Escalante’s nom de guerre. He tried not to stare into the muzzle of her Glock. “Why do you suppose two of El Cambio’s top enforcers were wandering around the Smoky Mountains?”
“They’re looking for you.”
He gave a brief nod. “They’re looking for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not one of them. Because I betrayed them a long time ago, and somehow, they figured out I’m not dead.”
Her eyes narrowed in her pain-creased face. “Betrayed them how?”
“Long story, carida. Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”
“Are there others out here?”
He suspected there were. If Cabrera had sent two enforcers, he’d probably sent a dozen. The arrogant son of a bitch had never economized on anything. “The motel is about a mile in that direction,” he said, nodding toward the northwest. “But I can’t promise you won’t run into more like those two.”
Her nostrils flared, the only sign of reaction to his words. “Or maybe you’re just telling me that so I’ll let you go.”
He shrugged. “Your call.”
She pushed painfully to her feet, keeping the pistol barrel pointed at his chest. “Walk.”
“I’m not going back to the motel with you, so you might as well shoot me now.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched dangerously. “Why did you even come back here? You had to know you’d be arrested if anyone ever found you.”
“There’s a man named Alexander Quinn.” Her forehead creased slightly with recognition, so he proceeded without further explanation. “He recruited me years ago. Not long after I joined up with El Cambio.”
“Recruited you for what?”
A flash in the gloom behind her distracted him. It was quick, but his instincts were honed for action after all these years living on the edge of the razor. He threw himself at her, praying she wouldn’t shoot before he knocked her to the ground.
A sharp report shattered the air around them. It took a moment for him to realize it had come from the woods, not from her pistol.
He held her down, lifting his head just enough to peer through the underbrush for more signs of movement. Beneath his body, she wriggled, her breath coming in short, pained gasps.
“Shh,” he whispered, dropping his head back below the underbrush.
“Was that—?” Her words came out in a raspy wheeze.
“Someone shooting at us?” he whispered, shifting to give her room to breathe. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
* * *
RAIN NEEDLED HER FACE, soft prickles she could barely feel. All of her senses seemed gathered on the burning ache of her torn flesh and the dizzying sensation of Sinclair Solano’s very warm, very alive body covering hers. She expected more gunfire, but it didn’t come.
“They didn’t just leave,” she whispered, hating that she was on her back, blind to the angle of attack. But moving more than an inch or two might make them easier targets. Sometimes, waiting for a more advantageous situation was the only reasonable option.
Not that she had to like it.
“I know.” Sin edged slowly to one side. As the weight of his body eased from hers, she sucked in a deeper breath. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t, as the rise and fall of her diaphragm tugged the skin around her wound.
Biting her lip, she carefully rolled to her side. The movement brought her close to Sin again, but she had a better view of the woods in front of them. “There could be people coming from all directions.”
“I know.”
She had held on to the spare Glock, she realized with a twinge of surprise. For a few moments there, when he’d slammed