“Maybe. Why are you asking?” Spencer’s voice was guarded.
“I just pepper sprayed him.”
“For crying out loud, Bella, he’s on our side.” Still, Spencer didn’t say how he knew Holden, if he did. Or why.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Put him on the line, Bella.”
Grudgingly she handed her phone to Holden. “He wants to talk to you.”
Holden took her phone and she absently noted she’d have to clean it, so that she didn’t get any pepper oil on her.
“Holden here.” He looked at her but it was short-lived as he squinted his eyes closed again, tears pouring from them.
“Yes, I’m with her. She’s safe. Uh-huh. Yes, it’s true. She did. I’m buying next time. I’ll let you know.” Holden’s one-sided conversation with her brother was impossible to follow, but she thought she heard the roar of Spencer’s deep belly laugh when Holden said Yes, it’s true. Apparently she’d brought down a Goliath with the pepper spray.
“Trust me, Spencer. Thank you.” He handed the phone back to her. She gingerly held it to her ear, careful not to touch it directly on her skin until she cleaned it. Holden’s hands were probably full of pepper oil.
“Yeah?”
“Listen, Bella.” Spencer’s voice was lighter, but still serious. “For once in your life you have to follow everything someone else tells you. Holden is the real deal—we served together.”
“Wait—he’s that friend Holden?” Shock pulsed through her. Spencer had mentioned a Holden, the man who’d saved them both from certain death during one training mission gone wrong. Spencer always spoke with awe when he talked about Holden. “As in your bestie, your army buddy?”
“Yeah.”
She’d just pepper sprayed her brother’s best friend, and a war hero.
Way to begin your investigative journalism career.
“Did you know he was working the pageant? Why didn’t you tell me?” Bella knew her face was red. At least Holden’s eyes were too sore to notice.
“Why didn’t you tell me or Jarvis you were getting involved in the pageant, much less entering it? You don’t tell me a whole heck of a lot about what you’re working on, Bella. You let us think that you’re doing home-decorating stories.” Her brother’s frustration was tangible over the phone’s connection.
“Give me some credit, Spencer. I do more than lifestyle pieces.” Although his comment left a stinging barb. She was doing this article precisely to get away from her current kind of story. But it was secondary to finding clarity on, and maybe even the original triggers for, Gio’s eating disorders and mental illness.
His sigh would have bounced off the walls of the arroyo they played near as kids. “Just listen to whatever Holden says, Bella.”
“Will do. I’ve got to help him out with the pepper spray cleanup, then I’ll turn in for an early evening to binge-watch my favorite shows. All safe and sound.”
“Bella...”
Holden had moved to the staff refrigerator, and she saw his large, strong hand grab a quart of iced tea instead of what she assumed he wanted, the quart of milk next to it. “I’ve got to go now, Spencer. Thanks for verifying Holden’s identity and you have a good evening.”
Bella disconnected and looked around the staff room. No sign of her previous attacker, or anyone else. They were alone, she and Holden. His low groan drew her back to him. The man was in a lot of pain but she supposed he was swallowing most of it, keeping up some stoic front he’d learned in the military and perfected in the FBI.
“Wait, let me help you.” She took the quart of tea from him and handed him a bunch of napkins from the pile on the counter. “You grabbed the iced tea. I think you want milk, am I right? Come here, I’ll fix you right up.”
“Sure you will. Just like you sprayed me?” His words came between pants, indicating the depth of his discomfort. Regret tugged at her but she brushed it aside. Nothing she could do to change the past, but she could help Holden now.
She set the milk on the counter and grasped his forearms and ignored the warmth that emanated from his skin. It had nothing to do with physical attraction or any notion of romantic chemistry. The heat was his reaction to being attacked by a nasty chemical, right in the face.
“Here, kneel down with your back against the counter, and lay your head back on the edge of the sink. I’m going to pour the milk directly on your eyes. You’re going to have to open them.”
“And I should trust you because...” He lowered to the floor, his discomfort obvious but he was for the most part quiet. As much as one can be when tears and mucus were running like an Arizona spring rainstorm. As soon as his head tilted back, she opened the milk.
“Okay, here’s the first dose.” She poured the white liquid over his forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, then dabbed at his face with more napkins. She had no desire to get the oil on her hands. “Now, open your eyes as soon as you feel the milk again. We have to get it on your eyeballs.”