Between Love and Honor (Men of the Secret Service #3) - Tracy Solheim Page 0,44

grateful the guy was so focused on the passenger seat. The blood was already leeching through the white jersey. Quinn gave the MP one of her dazzling smiles.

“Lucky friend,” he said before backing away and waving them through.

“Is there a hospital on this base?” she asked once they’d cleared the gate area.

“Don’t need one. I’ll be fine.” Griff’s jersey, not so much.

She huffed beside him. “Why must men be such boobies?”

He laughed and then instantly regretted it when his shoulder began to burn more intensely. The marina came into view none too soon. He steered the car toward the coast guard cutter berthed in the last slip, its engines already fired up. When he parked, he grabbed the burner phone and the Glock. Quinn reached beneath the seat for the Berretta.

“Leave it,” he commanded.

She looked as if she was going to ignore him before thinking better of it. Wisely she grabbed the containers of food instead. When they got out of the car, Ben immediately felt woozy. He ended up leaning on the hood for balance. It was that or faceplant on the asphalt. Quinn raced around to grab him, still delivering a dissertation on the idiocy of men, but Ben was too busy concentrating on keeping himself upright to listen. They hurried up the gangplank where they were greeted by the first officer.

“Is there a medic on board?” Quinn asked before Ben could get a word in.

“I’m fine,” he argued. “I just need a bandage and clean shirt.”

The first officer exchanged a bemused look with her before they both hauled him off to sickbay just as the cutter was pulling away from the dock.

*

Quinn winced right along with Ben when the doctor shoved a needle in his shoulder.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor said. “The knife didn’t penetrate deeply at all. It’s a long gash which accounted for all the blood. But once we clean it up and glue the ends together just for giggles, you won’t even realize it’s there, Agent Segar. I’ll even add a sympathy bandage as your souvenir of your ride aboard the Pickering.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” she asked, her stomach still a mass of knots.

She couldn’t explain why she felt so helpless. There’d been many occasions when a colleague had been injured in the line of duty—several of them much worse. The distress she’d felt seeing the bloodstain spread on Ben’s chest had discombobulated her. It didn’t help that the doctor seemed intent on practicing his comedy routine. “He could barely stand up a few minutes ago.”

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” the doctor asked.

Right on cue, Ben’s stomach growled.

“I don’t remember,” he answered.

Given the events of the last twenty-four hours, she doubted he’d eaten at all. She reached into the container of goodies Marin had given her and pulled out a scone. The doctor sent his aide off to get a protein shake. Quinn carried the scone over to the exam table where Ben was sitting. His beautiful chest was now marred by an ugly red streak from his shoulder to the opposite corner of his pectoral. So close to his heart. She swallowed roughly at the sight.

Forcing her gaze up, her eyes collided with his. The desire she saw reflected in them nearly knocked her off her feet. The heat was quickly replaced by confusion, as if he didn’t trust himself completely. Or her. She could relate. Quinn felt the same way.

“Eat this,” she commanded softly, lifting the scone to his lips.

He kept his eyes locked with hers as he bit into the flaky pastry. Heat surged through her fingers where his lips brushed against them. His pupils dilated at the contact. She drew in an unsteady breath.

The doctor returned to Ben’s side, his presence breaking the trance between them. Ben snatched the rest of the scone from her and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes reverently as he chewed and swallowed.

“Mmm. God bless Marin.”

The doctor adjusted the bandage causing Ben to flinch. His eyes flew up just as Quinn was licking the sugar off her fingers. She quickly turned away at his pained hiss.

“You’re all set,” the doctor said. “The captain says we’ll be at the drop-off point in another twenty minutes.”

Ben was shrugging into a T-shirt with the cutter’s name emblazoned on the chest when she turned back to face him.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the container of scones and tucked into them. The doctor disappeared into a glass-walled