Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 72669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
It wasn’t fast, but it was a constant sound that had started worrying me the moment it began.
His fingers started in on the rope seconds after he’d seen it, and I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth to keep from crying out at the feel of his fingers against the raw skin.
He moaned something low in his throat, but movement in the doorway had my eyes widening when I saw the black-clad figure staring at me with a gun in his hand.
“There’s a man with a gun in the doorway,” I told Booth.
Booth snorted.
“That’s Nico,” he said. “He’s on the SWAT team. Can’t you read the letters on his shirt?”
I could.
But between my head injury and the stress of the situation, my mind wasn’t quite comprehending what I was reading on his shirt, though
“He’s pretty mean looking,” I offered.
The man smiled, and I realized he could hear me.
“This is who you work with when your pager goes off?” I pestered Booth.
Booth grunted an affirmative.
A second black-clad figure filled the space next to the Nico guy. This one was a red head, and I knew him.
Well, knew of him.
He was on TV a lot.
He was the spokesman for the police department, and was on the five o’clock news whenever something went down in the city of Kilgore.
“I know you!” I exclaimed happily.
The man’s smile was instant.
“Yeah?” He asked.
I nodded emphatically, and Booth’s snort of amusement was followed shortly by my hands becoming free.
“Owww,” I whined pitifully. “That hurt.”
Booth pressed a kiss to the side of my head.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.
He sounded ravaged that he’d hurt me, and I suddenly felt bad for the outburst.
The two men in front of me studied me as Booth came around and dropped to his haunches in front of me, his training kicking in.
He looked over my injuries methodically, taking in every scrape, bruise, and abrasion.
While I watched him work, a man that I’d still yet to see with a slight limp and beautiful eyes dropped his medic bag at his feet.
Booth pulled out some four by four gauze pads and poured some saline over it before pressing it to my wrist as gently as he could.
I still cried out, causing his eyes to darken even further.
“Fuck,” he growled. “God, I’m fucking sorry.”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his forehead.
“You don’t ever have any patients kissing you, right?” I asked him, worried now.
“No,” he laughed. “Not that I’d welcome it, anyway.”
I sighed and closed my eyes.
“My ass is asleep,” I told him.
He ignored me and finished cleaning me up, mainly focusing on my hands.
“Your pupils are equal and reactive to light,” he said. “I was worried about that concussion.”
I nodded. “Me, too.”
“Open your eyes and look at me,” he ordered, putting pressure on my chin to lift my head up.
I opened my eyes and stared straight into his.
“Yes, sir,” I followed orders, suddenly very tired.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asked. “Do you need to go back to the hospital? Are you…”
I shook my head.
No, I didn’t.
Last night I’d stayed only due to the concussion, and although I could still feel the ache, it wasn’t hurting anywhere near as bad as it had been.
“No,” I said, not understanding what he was asking.
“He didn’t touch you?” Booth’s voice sounded close to breaking again, and it was then that I realized what he was asking.
“No,” I shook my head. “He didn’t touch me. I swear.”
His head dropped, and it looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
“Thank fuck,” he groaned desolately.
I threw my arms around his shoulders and buried my nose into his hair.
“I love you, Michael Jones,” I teased, knowing he hated his name, but hoping it would lighten his mood a little hearing me tease him with his given name.
“Who?” Booth teased right back.
I laughed.
“Mike Jones.”
Then, surprising the absolute shit out of me, every man that’d somehow ended up in the kitchen said, “WHO?”
***
Five hours later I was ready to fall asleep.
Last night’s beating, combined with today’s kidnapping, on top of the pain pills had me on the verge of passing the hell out.
The only thing keeping me awake, however, was the conversation I was having with Booth, Luke, my parents, and myself.
“Oh my God,” my mother said. “He’s been doing things for us for years.” She shook her head. “I never thought anything of him bringing us the mail. He’s done it so many times before that I never even gave it a second thought.”
“According to his boss at the post office,” Luke said. “He’s been asking for that route for years. Every time the regular driver goes on vacation he takes over the route on top of his own. It’s a part time gig, and he only runs it from about ten in the morning until two in the afternoon.”