Just A Hint - Clint. Lori Foster
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answer came too fast.
He opened his hand on the side of her face, tunneling his fingers into her baby-fine hair. He wanted to spare her as much as possible, so he leaned down until his forehead touched hers and spoke very softly, for her ears only. “You have a lot of scrapes and bruises, Julie Rose. If you need a doctor, we can take you—”
Her doe eyes darkened even more, and her breath came low and fast. “You still think they raped me.”
The question had to be forced out of Clint’s tight throat. “Did they?”
She shook her head hard. “No.”
“Julie…”
“No, they didn’t,” she insisted. “They would have, but they hadn’t yet. They…” She looked around, saw that Mojo and Red were pretending to pay no attention. “They touched me,” she whispered. “And hurt me. Just to be mean, just to scare me…”
The rage was unbearable, but Clint kept his hold on her light and easy. Without conscious decision, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I should have killed them.”
She bit her lip, nodded. “You could have. I mean, you’re capable of killing, right?”
Lying to her would be pointless. “Yes.”
“You’ve killed before?”
In the military, he had. But he didn’t want to frighten her, so he said nothing.
“We agreed,” she reminded him with a nudge.
“I answered questions, and now it’s your turn.”
He shook his head at her.
“Is that a no, you haven’t killed, or no, you won’t answer?”
“That was a sign of exasperation, actually.”
“Oh.” She looked thoughtful. “Do you always throw up after you’ve hurt someone?”
Christ. Clint heard Mojo muttering, Red chuckling. The woman had been kidnapped, held captive, abused and bruised, and all she wanted to do was ask questions.
If he’d measured his words more carefully before he spoke, then maybe he wouldn’t have sounded so defensive. “It has nothing to do with guilt, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her arched brows lifted. “Oh? Then why do you get sick?”
Assuming she needed to talk, that she needed the distraction of mundane conversation, Clint explained. But he felt stupid doing it. “I have a bad stomach.”
Her expression softened. “And a big heart.”
That was too absurd to deserve a response. More often than not, the descriptions given him included “heartless” at the very top of the list.
Her hand trembled when she touched his jaw. “I might have died if it wasn’t for you.”
Clint tended to agree. What they needed to find out now was who the hell wanted her dead, and why.
Mojo cleared his throat. “Want me to check her now?”
Alarm stiffened Julie’s fragile body. Clint soothed her, stroked her. “Mojo has medical training. The way you fainted has us all concerned. If you say there’s no need for a doctor, well, that’s up to you. But we’ve got a long night ahead of us and we’ll all feel better if you let him check you over, just to make sure.”
She tucked her face into his neck. Her breath was hot, her words muffled against his flesh. “No offense, Mr. Mojo, but I don’t think so.”
Clint met Mojo’s questioning gaze and nodded. Mojo wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he needed to talk to her, to reassure her.
Mojo gave in with a frown so black, it would’ve scared grown men. His tone, however, was soft and gentle and coaxing.
“Just Mojo, no mister to it. I’ll be painless. I need to see if you have a concussion, if you have any breaks.”
“No one hit my head, and you already saw me walk.”
Red said, “No, ma’am. You stood up, but then you fainted without taking a single step.”
Her head lifted with a startled expression. “That’s right.” And then to Clint, “How did I get to this van?”
“I carried you.”
Her brow puckered. “I don’t remember it.”
“That’s because you fainted, which is why Mojo needs to look you over.”
“How far?”
“What?”
“How far did you have to carry me?”
Clint huffed. “You have more damn questions than—”
“And you never answer me.”
Red laughed outright, while Mojo struggled to hide his smile.
Clint worked his jaw. “Not far, all right?”
At about the same time, Mojo said, “Close to two miles.”
Julie’s plain face looked adorable in her astonishment. “Two miles! You’re kidding.”
For a closed-mouthed bastard, Mojo was suddenly full of confidences. “A rough two miles. Woods, weeds, roots. Not much moon, so the path was hard to see—”
Clint thought about slugging Mojo. He silenced him with a look, then turned his attention to Julie Rose. “You don’t weigh a thing. It was no big deal.”
Even in the dim light of the van, Clint could see her blush. She fidgeted and then nodded to Mojo. “All right, you may check me.” Her body pressed closer to Clint’s. “But be quick about it.”
Clint started to move out of the way, but no more than an inch separated them before Julie wrapped herself around him. She moved so fast, he had no choice but to sit back and hold her. She settled in his lap—and she felt very right there.
Mojo indicated that it was okay, for Clint to just stay put so she wouldn’t get more upset. They both wondered if Julie was still a little in shock. She was too rigid, jumpy, alternately silent and then chatty.
And she hadn’t mentioned her fiancé again since renouncing him.
After Mojo climbed into the back of the van with them, he pulled a narrow flashlight from his pocket.
Clint nudged Julie’s chin with the edge of his fist. “He needs you to look at him a moment, Julie Rose.”
She swiveled her head toward Mojo—while pressing closer to Clint.
Though she tried to hide it, Clint was aware of the tension rippling through her. He wished he could spare her, but they needed to see that she wasn’t seriously injured, and they needed her to answer some important questions.
Red hit a hole in the road, and she jerked hard, startled beyond reason. Clint rubbed her back, her narrow shoulders, helping to ease her. Her softness drew him. Her vulnerability drew him. Her scent drove him nuts.
Mojo ignored the telltale reaction that proved her calm a facade. He took her wrist and checked her pulse rate, then slid his fingers around her wrist, her elbow. “Can you move your arms and legs okay?”
With him guiding her, she obediently flexed each arm. But when she went to rotate her right foot, she gasped, then quickly tried to cover it up. “Oh, it’s a little sore. But not bad.”
No one believed her.
Mojo touched her ankle, his brow furrowed with concentration as he pressed and probed. Julie grimaced, and her breath hissed out.
Sitting back on his heels, Mojo shook his head. “It’s swollen. Not broken, I don’t think. Probably just a sprain, but I can’t be sure without an X ray.”