“Do you think we’re gonna make it all the way to my truck?” Force wheezed, when they were out of earshot.

“Don’t have to,” Wolfe groaned. “We just need to get out of their sight.”

“Good plan.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

A noise awakened Dana around dawn, and she immediately sat up in Wolfe’s bed, going on full alert.

“It’s me,” Wolfe whispered from the other room.

She turned and fumbled for the lamp on the bed table, illuminating the bedroom. “Where have you been?” she whispered back, even though nobody else was in the house.

He limped through the door, grimacing as if every step was agony.

She took one look at him and grabbed her throat, her head dropping forward as she stared. “What happened?” Soot mixed with blood on the side of his face, and parts of his clothing appeared to have been on fire. She hastened to him, careful not to touch anywhere. “You need a doctor.”

“I need a shower.” He stumbled into the bathroom, pausing near the sink to sway in place. Moonlight streamed through the skylight high above, illuminating his injuries.

She braced her feet so she could catch him if needed. “Wolfe.” She didn’t know what else to say. Was he still mad at her? Should she apologize?

He reached for the hem of his shirt and then moaned.

“Let me.” Skirting him, she gently pulled up his ruined shirt, wincing at the bruises already forming across his inflexible chest. Smoke and soot tickled her nose, and she sneezed.

“Bless you.” His head dropped, and debris fell from his hair.

“Thanks.” She needed to talk him into seeing a doctor. “Is Angus all right?”

Wolfe deftly removed the gun and holster from his thigh and set them on the counter. “Yeah, he’s okay. Busted up a little bit, but he’ll be fine in a couple of days. Maybe by tomorrow.”

That was good. “How bad is your head?” She released the button of his jeans and unzipped them, sliding them down his legs with as much care as she could. “Oh. Your boots.” Her fingers clumsy, she untied them and held on to the first one, which had to be a size sixteen. “Step out.”

He did, not making a sound. Even so, his pain was palpable.

She helped him with the other boot and then out of the jeans and boxer-briefs. Even those had a burn hole along the side. “Were you in a fire?”

“Bomb.” He turned and reached into the shower to turn the knob. Steam rose. “Give me a minute, okay?”

She faltered. “You’ll need help in the shower.”

“No. I just need a minute. You and I have a discussion coming, and I’m not ready.” His gaze held both pain and what looked like anger? “I could use about a hundred aspirin and a warm brandy, if you’re looking for something to do.”