Into the Lair (Falcon Mercenary Group #2)(13)

Gabe sent us.

She closed her eyes. Yes, she wanted to know why, but at the same time, she couldn’t discount what Gabe had drilled into her head. Trust no one.

It had been proven to her over and over that trust was not something to be given lightly, if at all. She couldn’t even trust herself or her judgment, so how the hell was she supposed to hand her wellbeing over to complete strangers? Strangers who had drugged her, tied her and tackled her.

No thanks.

The SUV ground to an abrupt halt, jarring her uncomfortably. Before she could react, Ian got out and yanked open her door. As soon as he touched her, she shrank away.

His stare grew menacing, but it was clear he wasn’t angry at her. No, he was focused on her battered appearance with a frown that would scare the hell out of the boogeyman.

His touch grew gentle as he slid his hand up her arm. Then he simply reached in and picked her up off the seat. He carried her around back where Braden had popped the door.

“I’m afraid this will have to do,” Ian said as he lowered her to sit just above the bumper.

Her legs dangled over the edge of the truck, and he urged her to lie back. Panic set in as she processed the vulnerability of her position. Her hands flailed, but she found them restrained by his firm grip.

“Look at me, Katie,” Ian said in a quiet, firm tone.

She stopped for a moment, unwittingly lured by the strength in his voice. For just a moment, she felt safe. It had been so long since she’d gotten even a fleeting taste of what it felt like to live without fear that she grabbed on to the feeling and absorbed it hungrily.

His eyes bore into hers. “I won’t hurt you, at least not intentionally. We haven’t gotten off to the best of starts, but I’m not a bastard who beats up women.”

Her mouth went dry as his fingers slowly pulled at her shirt.

“Shine the flashlight over here, Braden,” he said.

Ian scowled when the beam of light hit the splotches of discolored flesh on her abdomen. In an effort not to make her uncomfortable, he tried to keep as much of her br**sts covered as he could.

It amazed him that such a slender, slight woman would have so much in the boob department, and he couldn’t help that his gaze kept returning to the lush mounds. If he moved his finger at all, it would brush the soft underswell.

With gentle hands, he probed her ribs. She winced in a few spots, but it didn’t feel like she had broken anything. Satisfied that at worst she’d suffered painful bruising, he tugged down her shirt then turned his attention to her arm.

The area above her elbow and the elbow itself was swollen. He could tell it hurt when he moved it, but she remained motionless and stoic.

“This could use some ice,” he said as he carefully lowered her arm back to her side.

She averted her gaze. “I’ll be fine. It’s not broken.”

Braden reached out and ran his fingers lightly over her bruised cheek. His expression was bland, but Ian could see how tightly his jaw was drawn.

“What does Ricardo de la Cruz want with you, Katie?” Braden asked.

Her blue eyes became ice crystals. She visibly retreated behind a mask of indifference. It was a lot like watching a brick wall go up.

Ian pulled a T-shirt from one of the bags then opened a bottle of water. He poured it over one corner of the shirt and set to work wiping the dried blood from the cut on her hand.

She had small hands, dainty almost, and as soon as he made that observation he wanted to laugh. She was about as far from dainty as a woman could get.

When he was through cleaning the wound, he let his hands trail down her leg until he got to her foot. It was dirty, and there was a large cut on the bottom. It had to hurt like hell.

He felt her tremble when he began wiping at it, and he glanced back up at her to see that she’d relaxed her guard somewhat. Pain glittered in her eyes, and he was gripped by an odd, fierce rage for what she’d endured.

How the hell did he know she wasn’t some drug-running floozie in league with de la Cruz? For all he knew, he and Braden had walked into the middle of a lover’s quarrel. Still, no matter what her sins were, no woman deserved to be a man’s punching bag.

He swabbed the T-shirt over her small feet, and he was fascinated by the incongruity of her pink toenails. They looked decidedly feminine on a woman who was as prickly as a hedgehog.

“Get me something to bandage her hand and foot with,” he said to Braden.

Braden dug around in a first-aid kit, pulled out a roll of gauze and thrust it at Ian. Ian eyed Braden’s hand resting on Katie’s other knee. It was a possessive grip, and he moved his thumb in a soothing up-and-down motion over her skin.

Ian rolled his shoulder then began winding the gauze around the instep of her foot. When he was satisfied with the result, he taped it and cut the end.

He reached again for her hand that was now resting on her taut abdomen. For a brief moment, her fingers curled trustingly around his, but then she flexed them, the tips flying off the back of his hand as if she’d realized what she was doing.

A few seconds later, he had her hand wrapped, and he tossed the gauze into the truck.

Braden slid an arm underneath her and eased her forward. She regarded him with wary eyes as she gingerly sat up. Her gaze flickered to Ian, and for a moment he saw fear—of him—shadowed in her face. Before he could offer any reassurance, the vulnerability was gone, replaced by a look of annoyance.