Friendly Fire (Ricochet 2)

“Are you okay?” Rick rubbed her back until the fit subsided, his brows pulled together in concern.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed when she was finally able to speak. “Let… let me do your back.” Quinn struggled to k

eep her voice from breaking.

Rick turned around, but she caught a wary expression on his handsome face. She must not be holding it together well. He knew something was up.

Quinn lifted her trembling hands, already knowing what she would find on his tan skin, but her mind not quite accepting the truth. Her gaze drifted down. There it was, a mirror image of what she saw on Rick’s abdomen— a round, pink scar down low near his waist. Quinn recognized it immediately. Her father had two similar scars on his flesh, though faded to a pale white over the years. She’d know it anywhere.

A bullet wound.

Quinn wiggled out from under Rick’s hold, trying not to disturb him. Unfortunately, he was too heavy and holding onto her too tight to escape unnoticed. When she shoved his arm off, Rick’s eyes popped open.

“G’morning, doll. Did you sleep well?” Rick released her, grinning as he lazily turned onto his back to stretch.

Unable to stop herself, Quinn’s eyes narrowed in on the raw, pink wound that was exposed. The cool air from the ceiling fan rushing across her skin helped to mask the reason for the goose bumps that broke out on her flesh. She jerked upright, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. Quinn didn’t want Rick to catch her looking at his injury, let alone have him realize that she knew he lied to her about it.

She heard the sheet rustling behind her. “You okay?”

Swallowing down her nerves, Quinn pasted a smile on her face and looked at Rick over her shoulder. “Never been better.”

He returned her smile, so she focused on getting dressed before he figured out something was up.

“Want to get some breakfast?”

Rick came around the bed, sliding his hands around her waist. He had on a loose pair of athletic pants and a tank top, covering up the evidence of his injury. Holding back the tears that pressed against the back of her eyes, Quinn threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

“I can’t. I have to meet my lawyer today.”

Rick frowned. “I forgot. I could come with you and we could get breakfast afterwards.”

“No!”

Rick’s eyebrows shot up at her outburst.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that this is something I want to do on my own, for myself. You know?”

Quinn could tell that Rick didn’t like her answer, but he also didn’t insist that she let him tag along. “Okay. Can I come by later?” He lifted a hand to trace his thumb across her jawline.

Nodding, Quinn replied, “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Alright.” Rick cupped the end of her chin, tilting it up so he could kiss her again.

This time, Quinn melted into his touch. She would ask Rick or maybe Mara about the bullet wound later. Right now, every emotion she had for this man was racing through her veins, overwhelming enough to help her forget her concern. Rick’s tongue plunged into her mouth, parting her lips to gain access, giving her a long, sensual kiss.

When they finally separated and Rick dropped his hands and emptiness flooded Quinn’s heart. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to strip naked, dive back into bed, and lose herself in Rick’s embrace all day. Lawyers, her divorce, and bullet wounds could wait until another time.

Sighing, Quinn knew she had to get this over with so she could cut Travis out of her life for good. She bent down to put on her shoes. Rick followed her to the door, grasping her hand and threading his fingers between hers.

Quinn picked up her purse as Rick opened the door. When she moved past him, he tugged her hand until they faced each other. “Call me as soon as you’re done.”

“I will.”

He gave her one more quick kiss and she left, the door to his condo not clicking shut until she stepped into the elevator. Downstairs, Mack’s old truck roared to life when Quinn turned the key. She sat in the garage for a few minutes, waiting for her hands to stop shaking.

Why would Rick have a bullet wound?

She knew he had served in the Marines, so it wasn’t that much of a shock. But this was a fresh wound. He had recently missed work to heal from it. That made it less than a month old.