Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,56
glad you didn’t. You were tough when it counted. I owe you, Claire.”
She started to say he didn’t owe her anything, that they were in this together.
Instead, she said, “You owe me? Fine, then take me with you. That’s what I want in payment for your debt.”
His lips curved again. It made her remember how good it felt when he kissed her. It seemed a lifetime ago.
“You’re a hard lady, Claire.”
She smiled, certain she had won. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He didn’t have time to argue before the door swung open and one of the nurses walked into the room pushing a wheelchair in front of her.
“Ready to go home?” Nurse Riley, a stocky woman with curly brown hair, asked with a smile.
“More than ready,” Ben said.
Exactly what Claire was thinking.
* * *
A cool October wind ruffled the leaves on the big sycamore in Ben’s backyard, a welcome change after the long summer’s heat. A storm was blowing in off the Gulf. Heavy black clouds rolled over the city, and the air was heavy and damp.
Ignoring the codeine pain pills the doctor had prescribed, Ben sat at the computer in the bedroom he’d converted to a study, clenching his jaw against the throbbing in his side. Though the gunshot wound was healing, it still ached like holy hell, but the pills made him sleepy and he needed to stay focused, his mind sharp as he dug for anything that might lead him to Bridger.
In the Atlas Security office, Sol Greenway was working overtime trying to come up with Bridger’s real name.
Ben leaned back in his chair. The room was quiet, no classic rock playing on his iPod, no sound coming out of the speakers near the treadmill. His home gym sat forlornly beside it, the chrome weights gleaming with accusation.
His study served two purposes: a place to work cases when he was away from the office, and a weight-training area so he could stay in shape. He usually worked out five days a week, mostly heavy lifting and strengthening exercises, running on the treadmill to keep his heart rate up.
Since he got home, he’d been doing a little lightweight training, trying to build himself back up, but it wasn’t enough. He’d be glad when he was fit enough to get back to his regular routine.
With any luck, that would be soon. With even better luck, he’d also find a link to Bridger that would lead him to Louisiana or wherever the bastard had taken Sam.
Seated at the computer, Ben flexed his wrists, then rested them on the keyboard and went back to work searching the internet for white-supremacist groups in Louisiana. So far he’d found nothing that pointed to Bridger or his brothers, but he’d come up with a lot of interesting information, and knowledge was often the key to solving a case.
In the hall outside the study, light female footsteps sounded. Ben looked up to see Claire walking through the open door. Pleasure at seeing her slipped through him. Ben firmly ignored it.
She’d been staying in his house since they’d traveled back to Houston in Marine Drilling’s fancy Citation jet, fussing over him until it was driving him crazy.
“You’ve been at this for hours,” she said, her hands planted on her slender hips. “The doctor told you to take it easy.”
She looked so damned pretty. The bruise on her cheek was beginning to fade, and her bottom lip had healed. He was clearly feeling better because he wanted to suck on it, wanted to kiss that sexy mouth. Hell, he wanted to drag her down the hall into his bedroom and strip off her jeans and T-shirt, see what she was wearing underneath. He wanted to rip off another pair of panties.
She was driving him crazy, all right.
“I’m not the type to sit around, Claire. At least this gives me something to do besides lounge in bed and worry about Sam.”
In El Paso, he had tried to convince her to fly back to L.A., but he could have saved his breath. He knew how determined Claire could be when she put her mind to it. He hadn’t forgotten how she had hauled his sorry ass to the car then driven like a bat out of hell to the hospital while he bled all over the seat.
“I keep thinking we’ll hear something. Now that we’ve given them the plate number, the police should be able to find Troy’s truck and stop him.”