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She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m glad you recognize that.”
“I’m also man enough to thank you out loud.” At least in private.
“Stay that way.” She left the room.
Mitch stared at the closed door. What the hell did she mean by that?
Who knew? Not him.
He stripped off the gown and grabbed his T-shirt. His bulletproof vest seemed to weigh more than usual, but he dropped it over his head to keep his hands free and tugged on his windbreaker. He ignored stabs of pain from his arm to zip up and tie his boots, besting his basic training time by a minute.
There might be loads of hospital workers around, but he didn’t want to leave Cath alone for long. For one thing, she might get another bright idea and wander off. For another, their attackers could be lurking out there or around the corner. They could have gained access to the ER area easily from the main hospital entrance.
She leaned against the opposite wall all alone, and he breathed easier. Glances up and down the hospital hallway did not send his sixth sense into overdrive. Exhaustion hit him, instead. He waited for an orderly to pass and walked over. “Ready?”
She looked up from her cell and fell into step beside him. “I’m sorry you got shot.”
“I zigged when I should have zagged.” He stepped aside to let a gurney pass. “The shooter must only practice with stationary targets because he had to fire twice.”
She stopped and looked him over. “Where else are you hurt?”
“I’m not. There’s a bullet in my vest. But they were aiming at me. Most likely wanted to get rid of me so they could grab you.”
They continued toward the waiting room in silence. Then she detoured into the vending machine area. “I’m hungry.”
His chest tightened. He surveilled the hall, not at all eager to stay exposed in a public place. “I’ll make you a sandwich when we get home.”
“Said the one-armed man.” She dug into her handbag and withdrew a small pouch.
“I’ve still got two hands.” He checked the empty corridor one more time and followed her into the alcove. A few more minutes shouldn’t hurt anything.
She dumped coins in her palm. “I don’t want to be responsible for waking everyone.”
“Nothing says we have to make a lot of noise.” He stuck a hand in his pocket, aware now what was going on. She wanted to talk about something but hadn’t made up her mind how to start.
“You want anything?” She studied the coffee machine selection.
“You know what I want.” Mitch slanted a furtive glance her way. Messy hair framed her perfect face and her shirt bore his blood, but she’d never looked prettier. He stepped closer and pulled his hand free. Do. Not. Touch.
She raised her eyebrows and her lips twitched. “I have a pretty good idea.”
Their gazes caught and the energy between them changed. He’d bet his last bullet she’d thought about the same twisting sheets he had. She made no reference to them, and he cleared his throat. “How I take my coffee.”
“I knew what you meant.” She punched the button for black.
Despite the plastic shield, the coffee’s aroma rose around them, and he cleared his throat.
“You were looking at your cell a minute ago.” He accepted his cup. “Any new messages?”
“I was thinking.”
“About your brother?” Except for the story about being homeless, she’d avoided mentioning Les when she had to have been thinking about him constantly.
She sipped her coffee. “Sort of. I couldn’t find my brother’s phone with his other stuff after the burglary, and I assumed he’d been carrying it in his pocket when he ran out of the house. But suppose the burglar found it. He could have been the one texting me and pretending to be Les. I wouldn’t have been any wiser.”
Mitch rubbed his jaw. “Your brother never showed at the bar either.”
“Exactly. He never even called to tell me he couldn’t get there. Still hasn’t. It’s not like him to leave me hanging. Not the brother I know.”
