Wanting nothing more than to check on Sienna, Warrick resisted the instinctive urge and turned away to tranquilize the rest of the shifters. But each shot he took resonated in his head that he’d just failed her in a big fucking way to let the shifter get that close.
He’d cuffed her thinking she’d be safe and out of the way from the shifters; instead he’d made her a sitting duck for the attack. The sound of her scream, sharp with terror, still resounded in his head. His stomach clenched and bile rose in his throat as he shot another shifter.
A few minutes passed before the final two hostages were tranquilized, then loaded and secured in the van. Only after that was completed did he turn and approach Sienna.
Her eyes were squinted, a red handprint marred her cheek and she hadn’t wiped away a trickle of blood from her bottom lip.
“Sienna.” He touched her cheek with a gentle hand, but she flinched and pulled away.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Larson muttered and climbed behind the wheel, casting a narrowed glance at Sienna. “She all right?”
No. Warrick’s jaw hardened. Physically she would survive and that’s all that Larson was asking right now.
“Yeah. She’s all right,” he muttered gruffly and reached up to unlock the cuff that he’d attached to the van.
Sienna’s hand fell limply to her side and she made no effort to open her eyes or look at him. With a silent curse, Warrick removed the cuff from her wrist and then lifted her onto his lap, not trusting her in the back in case the tranquilizers wore off early.
Her head fell against his chest, and she sucked in a shuddering breath that cut straight to his heart.
Catching her jaw in a light grasp, he muttered, “Let me see.”
He turned her head so he could get a good look. She didn’t resist, and he noted her eyes were wide and glossy with shock. Her skin felt cold as he used his thumb to brush away the small drop of blood near her lip. Anger flared in his gut, but this time it was as much directed at himself as it was the shifter who’d decked her.
“Sorry, kid,” he said quietly and adjusted her on his lap, pulling her upper body back against his chest.
She stiffened, but after a moment her head fell to his shoulder and she let out a small whimper. A familiar surge of protectiveness slammed into him, the same one he’d felt since they were kids and that had only seemed to intensify as years went by.
Warrick glanced over the seats to check on the unconscious occupants they had in their van. Behind them, in the second van, Agents Hilliard and Rafferty were settling in with the other half of the load.
“I’m going to need a drink the minute we get to the safe house,” Larson muttered, pulling away from the building, lights out on the van.
Warrick grunted. “How far is it?”
“Couple hours at least. And I’ve got a feeling it won’t be a damn picnic when those guys wake up.”
No kidding.
Warrick pushed a strand of hair off Sienna’s forehead and resisted the urge to brush his lips against her furrowed brow. Once it had been common for him to hug her, or give her a reassuring kiss on the forehead. But back then it had been a brotherly gesture, and he hadn’t had to think twice about it. Then the day had come when he realized his feelings for Sienna weren’t quite of the sibling variety. That’s about when he’d run like hell.
He hadn’t spoken to her brother for at least a year, since Daniel had deployed to Afghanistan. Their only contact had been through scattered e-mails, occasional phone calls, and even then, talk about Sienna had been minimal.
They’d always tried to keep Sienna out of trouble when they were kids, because she was notorious for finding it. And tonight proved to be no exception.
When had she discovered the existence of the shifters? And how long had she known what was going on in that run-down lab? Worse yet, how deeply was she involved?
He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to shake the frustration and unease in his gut.
Two hours later, close to midnight, they traveled on a small highway in central Oregon. Warrick glanced down at Sienna, who’d pulled away from him shortly after they’d set off, now sitting rigidly on his lap. Her eyes were open as she stared out the window of the van, but he got the impression she wasn’t really interested in the darkened landscape. She must’ve sensed his gaze on her.
“Where are we going?”
The less she knew the better. “To a safe house.”
She stiffened and he knew she fought for control of her temper. “Yes, I heard that part earlier. Can you tell me where?”
“That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
“Great,” she said sarcastically. “I need to know.”