“Dutch,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of my chin, “I do actually have a plan.” He glanced back at Amador before I could say anything else. “Speaking of which, I’ll also need some duct tape and a pair of handcuffs.”
Amador grinned. Bianca sighed, a blissful expression softening her face.
Chapter 9
What would MacGyver do?
“Is this really necessary?” I asked, jiggling the handcuffs.
The animosity I felt at having my father threatened had waned ever so slightly in the wake of one constant reality. Reyes had threatened me before, more than once. Truly like a cornered animal, he lashed out until he got what he wanted, and yet he’d never hurt me, or anyone I care about, for that matter.
There had been police officers in the next room and he didn’t want to be taken back to prison, so he did what he always does, he went for the jugular, knowing how I would react, knowing I would do anything for my dad. Despite my rationalizing the situation, it was hard to get past the fact that an escaped murderer could recite my parents’ home address on cue.
“It’s either that,” Reyes said, gesturing toward the handcuffs with a nod, “or I tie you up and lock you in the basement. I’m good either way.” The most devilish grin I’d ever seen crept across his face. Damn his evil dad.
Bianca brought in more towels and a fresh change of clothes for Reyes and set them on the closed toilet seat. Which made sense, since we were now in a freaking bathroom and I was handcuffed to the towel rack. Handcuffed! This was too much.
She giggled, raised her brows in a gesture that was nowhere near subtle, then closed the door behind her. It was a conspiracy.
Though he had yet to turn on the water, Reyes dropped the towel and stepped into the shower. The bleeding had stopped. With his back to me — not that that fact helped my weak knees in the least — he poured the peroxide over the open wound. I heard it bubble and him hiss, but my eyes were glued to his lovely backside. Immaculate shoulders covered in the smooth lines and sharp angles of his tattoo tapered down to a slim waist and quite possibly the most beautiful ass I’d ever seen. His legs were next, solid and built for battle. Then my gaze wandered back up to his arms, like corded steel and—
“Are you finished?”
I jumped, the handcuffs scraping loudly on the metal bar, and glanced up at him. “What? I was examining your wound.”
He grinned. “With your X-ray vision?”
True, I couldn’t actually see it from that angle, but his back was bruising on his left side all the way to his spine. That was bad enough. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Right.” He turned toward me and with the will of a recovering alcoholic resisting a much needed drink, I forced my gaze to stay locked on his face. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” He leaned out to put the brown peroxide bottle on the vanity and brushed past me, the heat of him grazing over my cheeks and mouth. Then he ducked back in and turned the shower valves.
“You know, you should probably put more peroxide on after you shower.”
“Worried about me?” he asked just before he closed the shower door.
“Not especially.” Watching him through the wavy glass was like studying an abstract painting and knowing the model the artist used for his masterpiece was utterly perfect. I forced my gaze away. He had threatened my parents. I had to remember that. Still, it was really hard to stay mad at a wounded naked man.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Bianca peeked around the doorjamb. “Coast clear?” she asked.
“Yep. Dr. Richard Kimble is in the shower.”
She stepped in quickly and put a pair of boots on the floor.
“You’re risking a lot for him,” I said under my breath.
Bianca offered a sympathetic smile. “He gave me everything, Charley,” she said, her voice almost begging me to understand. “I would have nothing without him. Besides the fact that I would be a waitress or cashier, barely scraping by, he gave me Amador. My husband wouldn’t be alive right now if not for Reyes. The only thing I’m risking is what he gave me. Who better to risk everything for?” She smiled, then closed the door behind her as she left.
The smell of a woodsy shampoo drifted toward me and I shifted my weight to the other foot, took hold of the towel rack with my other hand, perused the array of soaps in the soap dish, sighed in annoyance really loudly, then let my gaze wander back to where it most wanted to be, as though he were made of gravity. Soap bubbles drifted down the glass door, making it oddly clear. I leaned closer. He wasn’t moving. He stood there with one arm braced on the wall, the other holding his side. It reminded me of our earlier encounter, making him seem almost vulnerable.
“Reyes?”
His head turned toward me, but I couldn’t make out his features. “You fall for my threats too easily,” he said, his voice echoing against the tiled walls.
I leaned back. “Are you saying I shouldn’t?”
“No.” He turned off the water, opened the door, and wrapped a towel around his waist without drying off first, then offered me his full attention. “That would make the entire effort pointless.”
“You do make a mean bluff stew,” I said, glancing away. “Your threats are rarely without merit. But I’ll remember that in the future.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Remembering who he’d threatened, I offered him my best glower. “Even if you weren’t serious, you shouldn’t have threatened my parents like that.”
“I was desperate,” he said, shrugging an eyebrow.
“I understand you didn’t want to be taken back to prison, but—”
The expression on his face stopped me. He seemed almost disappointed. “No, Dutch, not because I didn’t want to go back to prison. Because I wasn’t going back to prison.”
I blinked, my mind stumbling to grasp his meaning.
“Do you know what could have happened to those officers had they found me? To Bianca and the kids had they seen … that? What I’m capable of?”
His meaning dawned. “You were protecting them. Protecting the officers.” I suddenly felt like the village idiot. Of course he wouldn’t have been taken back. He would have died — or horridly maimed someone — first. And there I stood in that laundry room, thinking of no one but myself. Even looking at it from a different perspective, what would it have done to the kids had they seen Reyes handcuffed and taken away? He didn’t hurt me. He’d never hurt me. He’d literally saved my life on several occasions, and I pay him back over and over with doubt and distrust.
Then again, he had held a knife to my throat.
“I was keeping you quiet,” he said, inching closer. Water dripped down his face, his hair hanging in wet tangles over his forehead. He watched me like a predator watches his prey, his eyes unblinking, his lashes spiked with moisture. He raised a long arm and braced it over my head.
“Would you really hurt my parents?” I asked.
His lashes lowered as his gaze rested on my mouth. “I’d probably go after your sister first.”
Why did I bother? “You’re such an ass.” I would have pushed him away had my hands been free.
He shrugged. “Gotta keep up the illusion. Someday you’re going to figure out exactly what you’re capable of—” He leaned in close. “—then where will I be?”
He removed the towel and began drying off. I turned toward the wall, both hands clutching the bar amidst his deep chuckle. He scrubbed his hair with the towel, then dressed in the loose-fitted jeans and T-shirt Bianca had laid out for him.
“Can I borrow a finger?” he asked.
I turned back. He was holding up the T-shirt and trying to wrap gauze around his waist at the same time. “I thought you had a genius IQ.”