Shock Wave. Dana Mentink
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didn’t answer.
She turned to find him tense, face grave as he bent over Wally. “Can you get the towel out of my pack?” he asked.
Fueled by the gravity of his tone, she hurried to snatch it up and hand it to him. He pressed it carefully to the dog’s side and then pulled it away.
“Is he hurt?” she whispered.
He held up the towel for her to examine with her glow stick. Her breath caught as she saw the dark stain. “Blood?”
He nodded and turned back to the dog, who kept wiggling out of his grasp. “Hang on.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a tiny cellophane package. “Can you hold one of these and see if he’ll lick it while I try to stop the bleeding?”
She took the bag of saltwater taffy from him, unable to resist a grin. “You’re still the candy man, aren’t you?” She couldn’t tell exactly, but she thought he might have blushed.
“Yeah, well I guess every man has his vice.”
Even in a war zone, Trey was the one person who could be counted upon to have a stash of sweets collected from anywhere he could acquire it—packages from his mother, trades with the other soldiers and even some sugarcoated almonds he’d managed to score from a local villager. It amused her and Luis that the big, bold captain had the insatiable sweet tooth of a toddler. Her cheeks warmed when she remembered how he’d shared some partially melted toffees with her. Even in their mushy state, she’d never enjoyed a piece of candy as much as that mangled treat. Nothing had tasted as sweet since and she doubted anything ever would.
Shaking away the thought, she unwrapped a piece of yellow taffy and held it up for Wally, who held still long enough to sniff at it.
“Good stuff, Wally,” she said. “Try a taste and see.”
Wally shot out a slender pink tongue and gave a tentative lick. Then he set about sniffing the thing with his tiny jelly bean of a nose. One more halfhearted lick and then he lost interest, wiggling out of Trey’s grasp and starting off to give the walls a thorough once-over.
“Sorry,” she said, tossing the candy aside. “He doesn’t have a sweet tooth.” She’d gone for a teasing tone, a way to smooth things over between them, but he didn’t answer her.
She came closer and saw he held the towel in his hands, staring at the stains. “Is he too hurt for you to help him?” She put a hand on his hard biceps, feeling the wash of shame at her earlier actions. “Maybe I can carry him while we look for a way out. If we wrap his wounds tight...”
“It’s not that,” Trey said. “Wally is perfectly fine, no wounds at all, anywhere.”
“Fine? Then...”
He held up the blood-stained towel. “This isn’t his blood.”
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