“So you’re impressed with your men.” By the time he finished, the words rang out in the room. It took all of Tony’s control to keep his expression blank and not shift in his chair. “Your point is?”
Connor pushed up and stood straight again. “I take off as soon as the weather clears.”
“This is a waste of time and money.”
“Possibly, but it’s my time and my money to waste.”
“Not really since it’s my men out there on the retreat.” Tony needed to bring them in clean and without them being subjected to questioning. Not unless he could control it, and he knew Connor wouldn’t let that happen “My suggestion would be to let this play out. I paid for a certain number of days and want those men out there, including Mark, who will show up soon, in the woods, building rapport as promised.”
“While getting shot at.”
“I think we’ve discussed that issue enough.” Until Tony knew more about the who and why of the gunshots, he pivoted around the topic.
“I agree.”
Forget relief. Anxiety smacked into him. “You’re still going.”
“I’m getting my people out.”
That superman complex was going to ruin everything. Tony sensed it. “I guess that’s your choice.”
Connor nodded. “I’ll let you know what Mark says.”
“Meaning?”
“When I find him, I’ll get him to talk. Because, Tony, I will find him. That’s what I do.”
Chapter Eight
Hope stood behind Cam and looked out the small window next to her cabin door. The rainy gray sky beyond didn’t provide much light, so they had to rely on a few dull bulbs.
The small space was lined wall to wall with mud-soaked men. The mixed scent of wet clothes and stale air in the confined room gave it the feel of a locker room, though he’d smelled worse, but for her this couldn’t be good.
After the frantic racing around outside and piling inside the cabin, Joel could finally breathe. Hearing the familiar crack and watching Hope fall had taken a good twenty years off his life. When she’d moved and Lance had covered her, Joel forced his mind on the attacker, but the twisting-gut fear about her getting hurt had kept him off his game.
Somehow they’d made it with minimal injuries. Hers being the biggest cabin and having the only indoor shower, it won as the staging area—a good place to regroup and plan. And in Lance’s case, receive medical treatment.
Charlie was in the other room now while Jeff paced outside the door. Joel had ordered they all rotate in the bathroom and then put on dry clothes. He had enough to worry about without having someone get deathly ill, and he was willing to do anything to keep Jeff occupied. The man was walking around in circles mumbling about finding a new job.
Now Joel hovered over Lance where he sat on the arm of the couch. The stitching would have been done five minutes ago if the guy would stop jerking and hissing. You’d think he’d never been injured before.
Sure, the shot was a bit more than a flesh wound, but not much more. They all had scrapes and bruises, but Lance delivered most of the flinching. How he’d ever made it through his wife giving birth was a mystery.
With one last stitch, Joel dropped a bloody bandage in the small trash can by his feet. He kept up a running dialogue with Lance, thinking it might calm the man down. “You got lucky.”
Lance winced as Joel wrapped a clean bandage around his upper arm. “We might have different definitions of that word.”
“I’m not even going to mention that you passed out from a puny shot in the arm.” Okay, maybe he’d mention it that one time, but now he’d stop.
“I thought I was dead.”
Joel had worried a bullet hit Hope, and the punch of pain had nearly knocked him over. Although he didn’t want anyone hurt, he wasn’t upset Lance had caught it instead.
He was about to thank him for trying to protect Hope, but she broke in. “There isn’t a special prize for the least amount of tears when shot.”
“I didn’t cry.” Lance’s voice rose as if swearing under his breath didn’t telegraph his disgust for the suggestion.
“Because you were unconscious,” Cam said without ending his surveillance on the world outside the cabin.
Joel chuckled. He could go a lifetime without seeing whiny Jeff again, but Joel liked Lance. Charlie, now, he was an enigma. Joel had no idea what to think about that guy.
When Lance glanced down at the white bandage and the line of red seeping through, the color left his face. Joel rushed to reassure him. It was either that or risk having the guy pass out again. “The bullet went through and didn’t knick anything important.”