when he had. She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” he asked. “He doesn’t want you to testify.”
“But if he has me killed, he’ll do time for my murder,” she pointed out. “Either way, he winds up in prison.”
Clint shook his head now. “He’s smarter than that. He’s been careful with what he’s said. Nothing would be admissible in court.”
“Then how can you be sure?” she asked.
He took his gaze from the street to stare at her for a moment. “After the shooting, how can you ask that?”
“Maybe they were shooting at you,” she suggested. “I’m sure you have more enemies than I do.”
“Nope,” he said. “Just you.”
She glared at him, but he was focused on the road again and probably missed it. “I highly doubt that.” He had to have made a lot of arrests in his years as a vice cop. “Luther could have ordered a hit on you.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset if I got hit in the cross fire,” Clint agreed.
“Were you?” she asked. “You need to pull over, so I can look at your shoulder.”
He glanced down at it as if he hadn’t realized he was bleeding. “We’re almost there.”
“Where?” she asked. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Payne Protection Agency,” he said.
She shook her head. “I don’t want a bodyguard,” she said.
“You need one.”
After the shooting, she really couldn’t argue with him, especially if the officer really had been one of the people shooting at her. But there was one thing she could refuse. “I don’t want you.”
* * *
I don’t want you.
Clint wasn’t surprised. He knew she hated him—that she blamed him for her brother’s death. She wasn’t the only one who held him responsible. He did, too.
I don’t want you.
Those words hung in the air between them in the SUV. She didn’t want him, but he wanted her. He had since the first moment he’d seen her. She was beautiful in a way that went deeper than her golden skin. But even back then, when they’d first met, she hadn’t liked him. She’d known—before Javier died—that working with Clint would get him killed.
Regret and remorse hung heavy on his shoulders, hurting more than the wound he hadn’t noticed until she’d mentioned it. He was surprised she wanted to check it. But true to her word, once he pulled the SUV into the parking lot of Payne Protection, she was reaching over the console.
But when she peeled away the edges of the torn jacket and shirt, he flinched, and a curse slipped out between his gritted teeth. “Pouring salt in it?” he asked.
Her full lips curved slightly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any with me.”
She touched it again, and pain radiated down his arm. He asked, “Are you sure?”
“I didn’t have time to grab the shaker before you tossed me out the window,” she reminded him. “The blood is starting to clot. But you’re going to need some stitches so you don’t have a jagged scar. And some antibiotics. You must have hit it on the edge of the dumpster, because I don’t see a bullet.”
“Bullet probably would have hurt less.” The minute the words left his lips, he regretted it—especially when he saw the smile slide away from her lips, turning them down into a grimace.
She pulled her hand away from his shoulder. “Javier probably wouldn’t agree with you—if he had survived.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. But he knew the apology, which he’d uttered many times, would never be enough for her. It wouldn’t bring back her little brother, and that was the only way she would ever forgive him.
But even if he couldn’t gain her forgiveness, he needed her trust. “We’re here,” he said, and gestured toward the building. Lights glowed through the windows in the brick walls.
She glanced at the building. “Good.” When she reached for the door handle, Clint caught her shoulder to hold her back.
“You can’t get out yet.”
She turned toward him with her dark eyes narrowed. “You can’t keep me—”
He already knew that. “I have to make sure it’s safe,” he explained.
“Nobody could have followed us here,” she said, “not with the crazy way you were driving.”
He glanced around the parking lot, which was brightly lit with streetlamps. “Not followed,” he agreed. “But they could be here.”
“How?”
“You don’t think any of Luther’s shooters would recognize me?” he asked. He’d worked vice so long that most of them had to know who he was. “You don’t think Luther knows where I work now?”
She shivered as she looked out the windows, too. “Then you shouldn’t have brought me here, either.”
He sighed because he couldn’t argue with her. “I probably shouldn’t have. But the chief is here. He wants to talk to all of you.”
“The chief?”
“Police Chief Woodrow Lynch.”
“The former FBI guy.” She shivered again.
Lynch was intimidating, which was probably one reason why Parker hadn’t refused the assignment. Another was that Parker felt like Clint did—like they all did—about Luther Mills. He had to be stopped.
“And who is all of us?”
“Everybody Luther threatened in those phone calls. The CSI tech, the prosecutor, the judge’s daughter, the arresting officer...” All of Luther’s victims in one place.
It had been stupid to bring her here, to bring any of them here. A wave of nausea washed over him at the thought that he might have put her in more danger.
“Are you okay?” Rosie asked as she turned fully toward him again. She reached out and pressed her hand to his face.
Clint braced himself, but her touch affected him, making his pulse quicken and his breath catch in his lungs.
“You’re really warm,” she said. “Have you had a tetanus shot lately? You could be getting an infection from the metal that cut your shoulder.”
He was getting hot, but that was more from her touch than anything else. Her hand was cool against his face, but her soft skin made his tingle.
“When
