Page 21 of Straight Shooter

He bit his tongue to avoid speaking the comment that burned his mouth. Of course she’d have an aversion to hospitals. Most thieves were afraid of being identified through reports of their injuries.

“Are you worried Moretti will look for you?”

She pushed herself into a sitting position. The movement was awkward and self-conscious under the stiff blanket. He kept his focus on her face until she got situated.

“He’ll know I took the lifeboat. All he’d have to do was see if a woman had been brought in and treated for hypothermia and a knife wound. Wouldn’t be hard to narrow down, I’m sure.”

She wasn’t wrong. He’d seen it happen a thousand times. Hell, some criminals who had serious injuries were often killed in the hospital minutes after they were treated. Moretti wouldn’t let it go. He wanted to know who hired her.

“I’ve got some butterfly bandages,” he said, deciding to ignore her comment for the moment. “That’ll hold it for now.” He figured that once she stood and started walking the pressure would be too much for the gash, so he applied three of the bandages along it. Then he wrapped gauze around the area and secured it with medical tape. “All set.” He sat back on his haunches and returned the items to the bag.

She leaned forward and examined the region. The corner of her mouth hitched up into a smirk. “Thanks.”

“I’d say ‘anytime,’ but try not to get into a knife fight again.”

A soft chuckle broke through her lips. “I’ll try.” She dipped her chin and stared at him through lowered lashes. “Thank you—for everything.”

Hell. He’d done what any other decent FBI agent would have done in his position. He shoved his hands in the still-damp pockets of his slacks and shook his head. “Don’t mention it.” The words came out rough and begrudgingly, but she didn’t seem to notice.

He watched her pick at a stray thread on the blanket. “Yeah, well. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead—or worse. So I’m going to mention it.”

“Like I said, just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble now.”

She pursed her lips. “What does that mean?”

He snorted. Why didn’t it surprise him that she’d balk at that? “How about we keep it simple? Don’t do things that could get you killed or imprisoned.”

She grinned. “If I did that, you’d be out of a job.”

Humor lightened her words, but they set his blood boiling.

“After all that just happened, you seriously won’t commit to staying away from this shit?” He gestured at the vast, deadly ocean that could overturn the lifeboat and suck them under in seconds if the wind shifted. He stretched his neck, tilting his head from side to side. He shouldn’t be so bent out of shape about a stranger’s life choices. But . . . she wasn’t a stranger. Her relation to Milo, Serena, and Dani made him feel responsible for her for some fucked-up reason.

The smile flew from her face and her eyes turned glassy. “It was a joke. But to answer your question, no.” She lifted her chin, and the hard angle of her jaw screamed defiance. “I won’t change my life. This is who I am. I can’t change any more easily than you could pick a different career path. So why don’t you save your judgmental bullshit for someone who cares?”

“Judgmental?” The word teetered on a squeak. He laughed and dragged his fingers through his still-wet hair. “I’d hardly call my opinion judgmental. It’s called knowing the difference between right and wrong, and a little thing called self-preservation.”

Her tongue moved along the inside of her cheek and her eyes blazed with fury. “Go to hell.”

He laughed. The sound was brittle and derisive. He flipped open the lid of the first aid kid, retrieved a sealed plastic packet, and tossed it into her lap. “Anti-nausea pills. Take two. Looks like we’ll be here awhile.” The words came out sharper than necessary, but it beat saying something he’d regret later.

He laid himself on the opposite side of the lifeboat with the blanket, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. He tried to focus on how he’d explain to his lieutenant that he’d destroyed the case, but the memory of Peyton’s delicious, soft skin chased away every other thought. In a few hours he’d be free of her.

And that didn’t sit well with him.

Chapter

Nine

What an ass. Looking at Rhett’s relaxed form, Peyton shook her head and pulled her knees to her chest. The lifeboat’s constant spinning and tossing turned her stomach. Frustration zinged along her nerves, but she wouldn’t spill the well of tears in her eyes until she was alone and on solid ground.

Rhett was a good guy—he’d saved her life more than once, and she wasn’t cocky enough to be ungrateful. But he was a fed. And in his mind, he was superior. His words had been cold, accusatory. What he didn’t understand was there was no such thing as clear definitions of right and wrong. Blurred lines and gray areas were what she’d grown up with. Rhett probably needed a textbook to tell him about morals.

Her tongue burned with the need to explain herself to him, but she knew he wouldn’t understand. He’d never see where she stood, would never respect her life choices because they went against what he believed in. If Milo and Serena hadn’t found honest paths, Rhett probably would’ve found a way to lock them up.

Dampness collected under her nostrils and she sniffed it away before catching the tear forming at the corner of her eye. She wouldn’t cry, dammit. Not over a guy. And sure as hell not over an FBI agent who’d turn her in if he knew she’d succeeded at stealing from Moretti.

His distaste for her decisions had wounded her pride. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was as dirty as any other criminal, gray areas be damned.