“If you don’t wake her up, keep her up for a while, then she’ll sleep while we’re awake and be asleep when we all need to be at our best. Or even worse, too damned tired to hold onto us, or run if she has to. We have only a few nights to get her ready for the trip we’ll hopefully be making next. Now wake her up, or I will.”
His gaze was level, commanding.
“You can’t just make these decisions without talking to me first, Sinclair.” She was shaking, fury nearly robbing her of any control. “That’s my daughter. And I won’t allow you to jerk her out of a perfectly sound sleep just because you say so. And you sure as hell aren’t making any more surprise trips with her without letting me in on what’s going on first.”
Her fists clenched with her anger as she stared up at him. He watched her with that cool, assessing gaze, as though she were an amusing little insect under inspection at the moment.
“Tonight, with any luck, we head to Mike Toler’s ranch, just outside town,” he repeated, then surprised her further. “Mike is former C.I.A. and has some contacts and information I need about a possible safe house in Virginia. Until I find out if that house is available to me, I don’t want to say more. Mike will shelter us as long as we need, but I only want to stay a day or so. Long enough to acclimate Cassie to me, and to give you a chance to rest. Period. Then we leave. Satisfied?”
She pressed her lips tightly together. He wasn’t being mocking or sarcastic. He seemed perfectly serious.
“Let Cassie sleep a while longer,” she stated firmly. “Another hour. She’s just a baby, Dash. She needs this.”
She moved to step around him then, to make her way back to Cassie’s bed, when the pain in her thigh suddenly intensified, sending her stumbling as she forced herself not to cry out with the shocking strike of agony through the muscle.
She knew better, was her next thought, to move without thinking first. The pain from the flesh wound had been growing steadily and she had a feeling it was going to bring her problems. Now, it had thrown her back against Dash’s body as he caught her against his chest, then swung her into his arms.
She gasped. His chest was just as hot, just as firm, as it had been in the bathroom. His arms flexed beneath her back and thighs, muscles rippling with strength as he stalked to the sink counter across the room.
“I forgot about your leg.” Self-disgust filled his voice. “I should have taken care of that first thing.”
He sat her on the counter before she even had a chance to get used to being in his arms.
“Stay put,” he growled, giving her a hard, fierce look.
She stayed put. But she watched him closely as he went back to the bed, pulled out a small bag from his larger case then lifted one of the chairs and carried both back to her.
“Let’s check your side first,” he announced. “I know you cut yourself shimmying out of that window.”
She looked back at him in surprise.
“A piece of your shirt hung on that broken window,” he said. “There was blood on it.” He pointed out the rip as he started lifting her shirt.
Elizabeth tried to breathe in deeply, naturally, as his fingers probed the tender area gently.
“It’s not too bad,” he murmured. “When you get out of the shower we’ll put some salve on it and bandage it.”
She nodded silently as he lowered her shirt again and then watched her expectantly.
“I’m going to put you back on the floor. Take off your jeans so I can check that leg.”
Elizabeth blinked. Out of her jeans? “No,” she snapped hoarsely.
The wound was high on her thigh, several inches above her knee and to the side. There wasn’t a chance in hell…
“Don’t make me cut them off you, Elizabeth.” He sighed, staring down at her. “We’re both tired and both riding our tempers. If I don’t take care of this it could become infected and then you won’t have a chance of helping Cassie. Is that what you want?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s dirty,” she hissed.
His expression grew harder. “That’s the truth. Now take the jeans off, before I take them off for you.”
His hands went for the snap. She slapped them back, almost laughing at the look of startled surprise that flashed across his face. His eyes narrowed, the dark golden-brown depths glittering in determination.
“Fine,” she muttered, sliding off the counter, thankful her T-shirt was at least long enough to cover what was most important. “I’m starting to think you’re too bossy, though.”
He grunted. He didn’t say a word, but the sound held a wealth of male superiority. She flashed him a resentful look as she eased the jeans down, biting her lip as the material scraped over the wound.
“Up.” He gripped her hips and lifted her back to the counter; the jeans still hung at her knees. “You forgot your shoes.”