SEAL's RESOLVE - Rebecca Deel Page 0,52
not be the tallest man on Wolf Pack, but he carried plenty of muscle from the constant workouts and brutal training regimen Eli and Jon devised to keep them all in shape. He wasn’t a lightweight.
“How did you know about the shooter?”
“I saw movement outside the window and reacted.” Thank God he had. Otherwise, Kristi might have been shot.
He frowned. Why would the kidnappers risk her life? Maybe they were angry that Stewart sent Fortress instead of paying the ransom, but they couldn’t cash in on another kidnapping if the vic was dead.
Kristi’s fast and shallow breathing caught his attention. “Slow, steady breaths, Kristi.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re heavy, Rafe,” she said faintly. “Do you carry bricks in your pockets?”
He smiled as he shifted to place his body between her and the window. “Just packing a lot of muscle. Is that better?”
“At least I can draw a full breath, painful though it is.”
“Stay still. As soon as Cal and Jon are sure the shooter is gone, Jackson will check you.”
She growled. “I’m tired of medical people poking and prodding me. If Dad finds out about this, he’ll push even harder for me to move back home.”
“Might be best.” She would be out of her normal environment and in a place harder for the kidnappers to reach her.
“Best for who? Not me. Dad would take every opportunity to promote Hugh’s good qualities.”
“We’ll find the answers to your questions and ours.”
Five minutes later, Eli walked into the workroom with Jon on his heels. “Clear.”
Rafe slid his weapon into his holster and crouched beside Kristi. His heart sank at the sight of her pale face. “Get Jackson,” he said to Eli.
“I’m here.” The medic hurried into the room with his mike bag. His eyes widened as he scanned the room. “Holy cow,” he muttered. “There’s enough lace in here to give me nightmares.” Jackson knelt beside Kristi. “What hurts?”
“Ha. What doesn’t?”
He snorted. “Narrow it down for me.”
“Ribs and head.”
“Any bullet holes I should worry about?”
“No.” Kristi’s hand shot out to grip Rafe’s wrist. “Are you okay?” Panic lent a sharp edge to her voice.
“Not a scratch.” Why was she more concerned about his safety than her own?
Kristi’s grip loosened. “Thank God. I want to sit up.”
“Let me check you before you move.” Jackson ran his hands over Kristi’s limbs quickly, then moved to her ribs. “So far, so good. Rafe and Jon will give me a hand as we roll you to your back. Let us do the work.”
“I’m fine,” she protested. “I have work to do.”
“You’ll get to it faster if you cooperate.”
“Hop to it, buddy. Otherwise, I’m drafting you to help with lace, silk, and pearls today.”
The medic flinched. “Your woman has a mean streak, Rafe.”
“That’s why she’s perfect for me.” He squeezed Kristi’s hand. “Ready to roll?”
She smiled at his pun. “Sure.”
Jackson glanced at Jon. “You and Rafe roll Kristi over while I hold her head steady.” When Jon and Rafe were ready, the medic placed his hands on either side of Kristi’s head. “Slow and easy, boys.” In less than a minute, Kristi lay on her back. Minutes later, Jackson straightened. “Congratulations, Kristi. You’re the proud owner of a bruise on your forehead and more bruises on your ribs.”
“Great. Do I get a sucker, Doctor?”
The medic chuckled. “I’m fresh out. Your boyfriend got the last one. I’ll have to restock my supply.”
“We’ll add them to the grocery list. I deserve a treat after someone shot at me.” Despite her attempt at levity, her voice wasn’t quite steady.
A quick grin. “I agree. Ready to sit up?”
She nodded.
Jackson moved aside and motioned to Rafe. “Slow. This will hurt.”
Rafe got into position and eased Kristi to a sitting position.
She groaned. “You would have a made a great professional football player. That’s some tackle you have.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I’m not. Bruises are better than a bullet.”
Jackson patted her hand. “Stay still until we’re sure you won’t pass out when you stand.”
With Kristi resting against him, Rafe looked at Jon. “Sit rep.”
“Shooter’s in the wind. A male, at least six feet tall, 225 pounds, wearing tactical boots.”
Not an amateur. “Weapon?”
“A 9mm handgun.”
“Not a sniper, then.”
“Not this time. Which of you was in the lead?”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Kristi.”
“She wasn’t the target.”
“Figured that.”
“How do you know?” Kristi asked Jon. “Both of us were walking to the other side of the room when the shooter fired.”
He indicated the bullet hole in her wall. “Angle of the shot. The shooter aimed at Rafe. The security company