Wildstar

"You must have miscounted," Devlin murmured to her. "Someone else was holding out in the mine with Purcell."

She nodded. Grateful that the ordeal was finally coming to an end, Jess let her head droop wearily.

It was jerked up again when Devlin gripped her shoul­der. "I told you to get back," he grated, giving her a grim look that promised a reckoning. "Now do as I say."

Too drained to protest, Jess obeyed. Forcing herself to her feet, she returned to Burke's side.

It was only when she knelt beside him that she realized her forgotten patient wasn't moving. Alarmed, she bent an ear to Burke's chest. The heartbeat was erratic but definite—and a thin stream of air issued from his blood­less lips as he breathed, she saw with relief. Burke had only passed out.

She inspected his wound again. Blood was still welling from the gash, so she tore off the sleeve of his shirt and made a pad, then tied the bandanna around it and his arm. When she'd finished bandaging Burke's wound, she stayed with him, feeling guilty for abandoning him earlier. Rest­ing her chin on her updrawn knees, she closed her eyes. She was so tired she could almost fall asleep sitting right there.

It was nearly a half hour later when Devlin finally came to find her. Jess looked up wearily to see him standing over her, his expression hard.

From the unsmiling look on his face, she could tell he was still angry with her. And he was about to light into her, unless she missed her guess. She sighed heavily. She didn't want to argue with him. She didn't have the strength.

Devlin didn't say a word, however. Without warning, to her complete shock, he reached down and hauled her to her feet. She barely had time to issue a gasp before his lips crashed down on hers in a fierce, punishing kiss.

Taken aback, Jess could only cling to him and accept the bruising pressure of his mouth. There was little evi­dence in his kiss of the erotic lover of the night before, and yet it still had the power to send her pulse rate soar­ing.

To her immense regret, his kiss ended almost as sud­denly as it began. He didn't let her go, though, but instead dragged her into his arms, his grip so tight it almost crushed her.

"If you ever scare me like that again," he rasped in her ear, "I'll beat you black and blue. Do you understand me?"

His harsh, commanding tone held a possessiveness that should have riled her, but Jess could feel only relief that Devlin cared enough to be worried about her. She nodded obediently against his chest. "Is it over?" she murmured contritely.

"Yes." His tone was still gruff. "Purcell's dead. Shot by one of his own men who was holding out with him. The others have been arrested."

"Thank goodness."

Hearing a groan just then, she looked back over her shoulder. On the ground, Burke stirred and flinched, then tried to grab his wounded arm.

Jess pulled out of Devlin's embrace and knelt again be­side the injured man. "Be still!" she admonished.

Burke had regained consciousness and was looking at her feverishly. "Jessica . . . my beautiful daughter. . . ."

Jess stiffened.

Devlin froze.

He hoped Jess would consider Burke's mumblings merely the ravings of a wounded man. It was clear Burke wasn't entirely himself. His face was contorted in pain, his blue eyes unfocused.

Burke wet his dry lips. "I have a lot . . . to make up for."

"What are you talking about?" Jess asked, sounding be­wildered, wary.

Burke shook himself groggily.

"What did you mean? I'm not your daughter."

He suddenly looked more alert, as if he realized what he'd just revealed. "Nothing. I meant nothing."

"Then why did you say it?" When he didn't answer, Jess's expression turned suspicious. "I don't know what kind of trick you're trying to pull this time, Mr. Burke, but you can just stop it right now."

"I'm not trying to trick you. . . . I wouldn't do that."

"You honestly expect me to swallow that?" she de­manded. "You wouldn't hesitate to bilk your own grand­mother if you had something to gain. I want to know what you're up to this time."

Grimacing, Burke looked more wounded by her accusa­tion than by his actual injury. "I don't deserve your trust, Jessica . . . I realize that . . . but I'm not trying to hurt you."