“Christie.”
She looked up. Boone, sweat making his face shiny, stared at her. He had his gun out.
“Christie, I’m okay. You need to get dressed. Right now.”
She moved on the bed, sore from the most incredible orgasm she could ever remember. “I’ll go turn on the shower.”
“No. There’s no time. Just get your clothes on. Just hurry.”
She nodded. Turned on her elbow to get up. But his hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“Stay low. I don’t know where he’s shooting from, I don’t know what he can see. So stay low, grab your clothes and get to the hallway.”
She moved in slow motion, finding her shirt, jeans, bra, panties, shoes. Then she crawled on her own carpet to the hallway, expecting a bullet in her back the whole way.
She bumped into Milo and nearly screamed, but he just licked her face, huddling close, his tail wagging. She hugged him tight, then struggled into her clothes, watching as Boone made his way to the window.
How could the bastard have seen them? The blinds were drawn, so how could he see? Was his timing on purpose? Was he watching them make love, just waiting until they came to shoot Boone? If she hadn’t seen the red dot, then Boone would have fallen on her body. He would have still been inside her.
She was shaking, so damn hard she couldn’t hook her bra. There was no way she was going to cry. Not while he could see her. Not while that asshole was outside, looking in.
“Where’s your purse?”
“What?”
Boone didn’t look at her. He was almost to the window, and she could make out the muscles in his back, in his thighs. He didn’t touch the blinds, but she saw where the bullet had broken through. She could see the glint of glass on the carpet.
Even the blood on the bed hadn’t felt like this. Hadn’t ripped the last shred of safety from the edges of her mind. Finally, she got the bra on and then she put her shirt over her head. The moment of blackness nearly made her pass out, but she didn’t cry.
“Your purse. Where’s your purse?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Are you dressed?”
“I don’t have my shoes on.”
“That’s okay. Can you get to your purse without standing up? Can you keep clear of the windows?”
“I think—Yeah. I can.”
“Do that. Carefully. Then get your keys out, okay?”
“Okay.”
He looked at her. “Keep it together, Christie. I’ve got you.”
She nodded, thought about putting on her sneakers, but she headed for the kitchen on hands and knees. Milo trotted along with her, trying to get her attention, but she ignored him. Inch by inch she crawled until she saw her purse next to her chair. She’d put it there so casually, not ever thinking that it was out of the line of sight of a sniper.
There was no sound at all from the other room. All she wanted to do was turn, see Boone, just for a second. Make sure he was still there. Still alive. But she kept moving until she could touch the edge of her purse, feel the leather strap in her hand.
If her heart would just stop pounding, she’d catch her breath and it would be okay. It wouldn’t hurt so much. She brought her purse up to her chest, and crawled back to the hallway, instantly better when she saw that Boone was fine.
He wasn’t naked anymore. He had on jeans and he was pulling on a pair of socks.
Socks. She hadn’t gotten socks, and she hated to wear her sneakers without socks, but she couldn’t get them now. The tears she’d been fighting broke through. She swiped them away, pissed that she was crying over stupid socks.
“Christie?”
She sniffed, swiped. “Yeah.”
“You have the purse?”
“Yes.”
“Get out your car keys.”
“Okay.” She opened her purse and found her keys, but she had to hold them in her fist because they made so much noise.
“Now make sure Milo follows, and head for the garage door, okay? Keep low. Take your purse, and go to the door, but don’t open it, you understand?”
“Yeah. Okay. You’re coming, right?”
“I’ll be right there.”
She didn’t have to encourage Milo. He’d caught on that things weren’t good, and he was sticking close to the pack, his tail between his legs, his nose low to the ground. She knew just how he felt.
When they got to the door that led into the garage, Christie realized she hadn’t taken her shoes, which made weeping over socks seem pretty ridiculous.
She put her back against the wall, her purse on her chest, her arms over her purse. Her bare feet were flat on the cold floor. Milo sat in front of her, his head on his paws, his eyes staring up at her.