Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,53

I asked again.

“You need to go to your room.”

“I will,” I told her. “When you do.”

She glowered. “Why are you giving me shit when I’m recovering from a gunshot wound, a knife wound, and a broken ankle?”

I grinned. “Because I like you, sweet cheeks.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Is it working?”

An annoyed sound and I half-expected her to order me to leave. Not that I would. Now that she’d woken up, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“No,” she snapped. “Stop grinning.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing . . . at least until I got beaned by a pillow.

“You’re not funny,” she declared.

“I know,” I said. “But I like fighting with you.”

“Ugh.” She shifted in the bed, and I snatched up the pillow, hurrying over to her when it looked like she was going to attempt to get up. There were all sorts of monitors and tubes still attached to her, and I wasn’t about to mess any of that up. As much as I was arguing, I’d leave before I’d risk her hurting herself.

I would go . . . then just sneak back later.

But when I reached the bed, it wasn’t to find her attempting an escape. Instead, she slid to one side and lifted the edge of the blanket. “Come on then.”

I froze, the pillow in my hands. “What?”

“Get your ass in this bed, so we can both get some sleep.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“You trying to pick a fight?” she asked. “Or are you getting in?”

I tucked the pillow behind her head. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“You’re hurting me by not letting me get some sleep,” she pointed out, not inaccurately.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

Those brown eyes rolled. “You won’t hurt me, Dan.”

The way she said that, with complete and utter conviction, stole my breath, made my heart squeeze tight. Because she believed it. And it was probably the only thing she could have said to make me climb into bed with her.

Which was an oxymoron, wasn’t it?

Any other time I’d be diving between those sheets.

Tonight, however, I slid in carefully, slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, and holding my breath for a moment when she cuddled into me.

At least until she whispered, “Breathe, Dan.”

Then I closed my eyes, relaxed, and breathed, just like she’d ordered.

19:14hrs

Two days after Ava had woken up, Olive gave her the all-clear to leave the infirmary.

She was weeks—okay, months away from active duty—mostly due to her ankle, but also due to the wounds. After she’d gotten the blood loss under control and given Ava several transfusions to replace the blood she’d lost, Olive had needed to pump some serious antibiotics into Ava’s system. And that was on top of an emergency surgery Ava had needed at the satellite base in order for Olive to remove the bullet.

Once Ava had been stable enough for transport, the whole team had flown back to England, to the better medical equipment, knowing that Ava would need the newest tech they had for physical therapy.

Save the life in the field.

Stabilize at the satellite base.

And then full recovery came at headquarters.

“I fucking hate this,” she muttered as I wheeled her down the hall.

If she didn’t have the broken ankle, she might have been able to make it by simply walking—albeit slowly—to her room. But with her ankle casted and the twin healing wounds on her abdomen, Ava wasn’t in any position to be walking anywhere.

“Bitching won’t change anything,” I said.

A beat, her head tilting up to glare at me. “You were nicer in the cell.”

“So were you.”

She snorted, shaking her head when she saw my lips twitching. “Thanks for wheeling me,” she muttered after a few minutes of rolling. “Olive and Laila threatened to put bells on the chair if I went by myself.”

“Should I grab some cans from the kitchen and tie them to the wheels?”

“Like one of those Just Married cars?”

“Exactly.”

“When I get her, I’ll introduce Luna 2.0 to you”—another glare—“and your junk.”

I winced. “No cans. Got it.”

She didn’t reply, but I watched her stifle a yawn and sink back a little more in the chair. As much as she hated the fact it was going to take her time to recover—she was right up there with my patience—that was just a fact.

“Stupid ankle,” she muttered, something I’d heard already more than a few times. “Without it, I’d be back in a few weeks.”

“Gotta get more graceful.”

More glares.

“God, you’re pretty.” Her lips parted, face softening for a few moments. Then her eyes started to narrow