The Boss and His Cowgirl(2)

“No!” Clay resisted. “Georgie. We’re not leaving without her.” More gunshots—or firecrackers; he wasn’t sure at this point—went off and then a woman’s high-pitched scream scraped his nerves.

“Aw, crap.” Hunter surged through the scrum of security surrounding the car, and Clay leaned around Boone to see.

Georgie lay crumpled at the bottom of the steel loading-dock steps. Police scrambled around the corner chasing a group of people wearing Guy Fawkes masks as they ran away. When Hunter grabbed Georgie, she screamed again but he hauled her to her feet and hustled her to the car. Her face was smudged with residue from the oily smoke, and her glasses looked as if they’d been sprayed with black paint. The poor girl couldn’t see a thing.

Boone got out of the car but had to shout to be heard over the commotion. “Georgie, it’s okay. We’ve got you.” She visibly relaxed at the sound of his voice and let Hunter bundle her into the backseat. Boone dove in behind her as Hunter jumped into the front seat and told the driver to take off.

The SUV accelerated through the alley and they passed the cops, who had taken the protesters to the ground and were handcuffing them. Sirens wailed a shrieking duet with squealing tires as the SUV careened onto the street. Two police cars and a second SUV with Barron Security forces inside formed the motorcade as they raced away.

Georgie was wedged into the middle of the backseat between Boone and Clay, shivering uncontrollably and gulping air. Her hand flailed, found Clay’s and latched on. Clay was too furious to speak. Georgie was his employee and she’d been terrorized by those sons of bitches. Her nails bit into his skin but he ignored the sharp prick. Boone removed her glasses and passed them to Hunter to clean while he took out a handkerchief and gently wiped her face. She shuddered and squeezed Clay’s hand harder. He squeezed back.

Hunter twisted around in the front seat and handed the glasses back. Clay took them and gently placed them on Georgie’s face. She was shaking and didn’t speak. With her glasses back in place, she squinted and looked around. Boone’s handkerchief was now a dirty gray so Clay retrieved the one from his back pocket and dabbed at the side of her face closest to him. He gave her hand another squeeze.

“Wh-what happened?” Georgie swallowed and Clay’s gaze was drawn to her slender throat.

“Sugar, it’s okay.” Boone leaned in from the opposite side. “You’re safe now.”

She inhaled and let her breath out slowly, visibly relaxing as she did so. “The lights. And smoke. I...couldn’t see. Did I fall down?” She raised her right leg and stared at her shredded nylon. “The guy with the gun? Did they get him?” She rubbed her left shoulder with her right hand since Clay still held her left.

“Gun?” Hunter’s voice was sharp.

“I thought...” She inhaled and rubbed at her chest as if breathing deeply hurt. Tears glistened on her lashes and she closed her eyes. “Did I hear gunshots?”

Hunter spoke into the high-tech microphone straddling his jawline and listened before saying, “Probably firecrackers. Police didn’t find any weapons.”

Clay continued to wipe the smoke residue off her cheek. When she winced and jerked her head, he realized her face was bruised. “Someone hit you?” His voice was sharp and demanding.

She shook her head then pressed the heel of her free hand against her forehead. “No. I fell. A couple of times, I think. It was...dark. I couldn’t see anything.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she gulped in air.

Clay was afraid she’d hyperventilate. “You’re okay, Georgie. Where else are you hurt?”

Georgie glanced down. Her skirt and jacket were both torn. There were runs in her hose and both knees were scraped and bleeding. Another deep breath had her clutching her side. “Ow.”

“What is it?” Clay didn’t recognize his own voice and regretted sounding so gruff that Georgie jerked away from him. He hadn’t released the hand he held so she didn’t get far.

“I’m sorry.” She turned worried eyes to him then glanced away. “This is my fault. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

He made an effort to soften his voice. “This isn’t your fault and I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at the protesters. I’m angry because this happened to you, Georgie. Understood?” He smoothed his thumb in small circles against the back of her hand. “We’re headed to the hotel so you can get cleaned up. Don’t...just don’t worry.”

Her bottom lip quivered and she closed her eyes again. Clay cut his eyes to Hunter. The other man’s expression was remote but for the regret and anger in his eyes.