Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(65)

And that’s when Rock leveled Ghost with a hard look. “What the hell, man? Why’d you shoot my ear off?”

“First of all, it’s not off, it’s just missin’ a chunk,” Ghost said.

“Oh, goody. I love it when we argue over semantics,” Ozzie snorted, grinning even as he continued to type and watch his computer screens.

Ghost shot the guy an exasperated look before turning back to Rock, finishing with, “And secondly, I didn’t do it.”

The room fell silent as Ozzie quit typing, his fingers hovering over the keyboards.

“Then who did?” Boss asked from his position in the doorway. The concerned expression he wore made his scars stand out white against his tan skin. Of course, when Becky strolled over to hook an arm around his waist, his face softened slightly before he bent to place a kiss in her hair, next to her temple.

The exchange was so natural it was almost instinctual, and Vanessa, watching with envious eyes, was dismayed when another hard sob threatened. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold it in. But because of her clenched jaw and tightened lips, it came out sounding less like a sob and more like a hysterical little eep.

“What’s wrong with you?” Boss demanded, glowering. “Are you sick? Did you catch something in the jungle while you—”

Desperately, she shook her head, hoping he’d leave well enough alone.

Geez, Van, you’re really impressing the hell out of your boss and your coworkers today, aren’t you?

“The dam’s sprung a leak,” Steady offered, and Boss’s brows slid down his forehead, his expression all but screaming ah, women’s theatrics; I get it.

But he didn’t get it at all. Nobody did.

“So who tried to smoke Rock?” Ozzie asked, oblivious to the fact that she was sitting there suffocating under the guilt of knowing her actions could have very well gotten Rock really killed instead of only pretend killed.

“Dunno,” Ghost shrugged. “I heard the shot directly to my left after I’d fired off the blanks, and I tried to track him. But by the time I’d eluded those CIA boys, the sonofabitch was long gone.”

All eyes, including Vanessa’s—red-rimmed and still brimming with tears, no doubt—turned to Rock. And, oh, he was so beautifully alive. Looking much worse for wear, but alive. She couldn’t help herself, she reached over and squeezed the hand that was closest to her, needing to assure herself that he was real and warm and vital, half-expecting him to pull away because he was so rightfully pissed at what she’d done.

But he didn’t.

Just the opposite. He turned his palm and laced their fingers together, and her heart pounded against her ribs until she fancied everyone seated around the table could see it fluttering the fabric of her safari shirt.

“Non,” he shook his head. “You all stop makin’ eyes at me. I haven’t the first clue who that might’ve been. Unless Rwanda Don didn’t want me talkin’ to the CIA and decided to hire someone to take me out. Which I wouldn’t doubt, come to think of it.”

“Rwanda Don?” Boss asked as he toed out a chair and settled his bulk into it, pulling Becky down onto his lap.

Bill walked into the room right at that moment with Eve directly on his heel, and it was obvious from the man’s stony expression and Eve’s red cheeks that they’d had yet another disagreement about something. Vanessa wasn’t sure what the story was with those two, but it was obviously long, convoluted, and painful. And speaking of…

Rock must’ve decided the whole hand-holding/reassuring thing had gone on long enough, because he returned her hand to her lap and gave it a judicious pat before planting his tattooed forearms on the table. And so much for her momentary, desperate hope that maybe he’d forgiven her for bringing him here, for nearly getting him killed.

But how could she really expect him to do that? She couldn’t even forgive herself.

Oh, God. If she started crying or…or eeping again, she was sorely tempted to grab Ghost’s sniper rifle and just put herself out of her misery.

Fortunately, Rock’s next words interrupted the world-class pity party she was in the midst of throwing for herself. “Rwanda Don is a long story. You sure we have the time for it?”

Boss frowned as he glanced at his watch. “Hell no. General Fuller arranged transport for us back to the States, and the van should be here any minute.”

“Well, if we don’t have time for this Don person,” Becky piped in, “then would someone mind telling me what the heck happened out there?” She flung a hand in the general direction of the front door.

And, yep, that was just the distraction Vanessa needed, because she was way past needing an explanation herself. After all, she had seen Rock get shot. Four. Times.

Yet here he sat. Not a scratch…er…not a bullet hole in him.

“Steady,” Rock nodded toward the Knights’ resident medic, “you want to take this one, mon ami. It was your idea, after all.”

The smile that lit Steady’s face was blinding, and it occurred to Vanessa why everyone—including Steady himself—had tried to pair the two of them together when she first joined the group. After all, they both had that hot Latin blood, and Steady possessed the kind of dark beauty all women found irresistible.

All women except her, obviously.