Mission: Marriage: Bulletproof Marriage

“Blind luck, my ass. Try blind skill.” This time, when she grabbed him, he didn’t resist. Half tugging, half shoving, she got him moved to the limited shelter provided by a Dumpster trash bin. His eyes drifted closed. Shaking his head, he tried to keep them open. “Let’s go.”

“Stay conscious. Sean, you’ve got to stay with me.”

“Why?”

The question appeared to blindside her. “Because,” she told him fiercely. “This isn’t the way you want to go out.”

“True. But it’s taking all I have to stay conscious. So tell me, Super-spy. Now what?”

“Usually I have backup or radios or one of a hundred tricks a well-equipped spy has at her disposal.” She snorted. “I’m guessing there’s no use looking toward the sky for a James Bond-style helicopter to magically appear and rescue us, right?”

The fact that she could joke in such a tense situation made him attempt a smile. “Let’s move.”

They made it to the next building without incident, huddling under the small portico over a back door, protected a bit by metal trash cans.

“Listen,” Sean said. They both heard the sharp click as the shooter reloaded. Any second now, he’d squeeze off another volley of shots.

Heart in his throat, Sean tensed. He’d been away from this game far too long.

“Is he following us?” Natalie whispered.

“You broke protocol,” Sean suddenly told her, fiercely. “I thought you were a professional.”

“I am. I—”

“Professionals don’t leave without telling their partner. You could have gotten us both killed.”

“Stop, Sean.” She glared at him. “I screwed up, true. I’m sorry. But this shooter was obviously heading for our B and B. I surprised him out in the open, before he was ready. He could have cut us down in our sleep. So part of this worked out for the good.”

Attempting a nod, he sucked in his breath instead. He didn’t know how much farther he could go. His strength ebbed out of him with every breath.

“How—” He couldn’t finish.

“How did he find us? I don’t know. Maybe we need to do a sweep for bugs.”

Another series of shots. Several rounds cut a wide swath through the metal trash bins.

“Too close. Run,” he gasped. “Go. Save yourself.”

“No.” She prodded him forward.

Assess. The. Situation. She wouldn’t leave him. Nor he her, he knew. Never. His life wouldn’t be worth living if he lost her again. Result. He had to save himself, and, in doing so, save her.

The sirens were nearly upon them. Somehow, he had to get them to safety. No way could they attempt to explain to local authorities what had happened here.

“Come on.” He made his voice harsh. Strong. Commanding. “Let me lean on you.”

Without hesitation, she moved her shoulder under his arm. Taking a deep breath, he lurched forward.

Chapter 5

Somehow they made it out from the porch and across the alley, moving through the neighboring yards, backtracking to their B and B.

The tourniquet held and he left no trail of blood to betray them.

Leaning on her heavily, Sean forced himself to shuffle his feet, step after step after painful, labored step. Grunting from the strain, Natalie kept her shoulder under him, staggering at times in her attempt to keep them moving.

Luckily, their room had French doors that led out to a small terrace. Privacy was always a good thing.

“Get me in that way. We need to avoid any questions from our hostess.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she huffed.

Shouts from the porch they’d recently vacated told them the police had arrived. Sweat rolling down his brow, Sean struggled futilely to increase his pace.

“Come on,” she urged. Together they shuffled forward as fast as they could. Sean kept his teeth clenched against the pain, forcing himself to move without uttering a sound of complaint.

Finally, they slipped through the metal garden gate. Natalie pulled it closed behind them, then quickly picked the lock on the French doors.

Pushing Sean inside, she slammed the door closed and drew the curtain shut. He staggered to the bed and dropped down on the mattress, breathing heavily.

They were safe. For the time being.

“What now?” he panted.

Licking her lips, she swallowed. “I have to see about getting that bullet out of your leg.” She rummaged around in the knapsack she’d carried with her all day, finally pulling out a small box. Then she grabbed the pillowcase off one of the pillows and tore it into strips, and some of the strips into pieces.

“No way.” He tried to rise, but couldn’t. Fighting against nausea and unconsciousness, he couldn’t even lift his leg to move it. “Damn thing burns like hell.”

“Hold still.” Her voice, still harsh and sounding completely unlike her, stopped him cold.

Through a haze of pain, he eyed her. “Like I can move,” he ground out, wondering if she’d ever been shot. He had, almost more times than he could count, though never seriously. No major organs or arteries. This was one aspect of his job he hadn’t missed over the last two years.

“You might be wanting to move in a minute.” Was that a warning? Without waiting for his response, she pushed him back and began unwrapping the makeshift tourniquet that had kept him from bleeding to death.

Each pass of the material hurt like hell.

Gritting his teeth, he bit back a few choice curse words. Instead, he managed to keep his voice relatively level. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve got to get the bullet out. And it’ll be painful.”

Her matter-of-fact tone told him she was cutting him no slack. Still, he’d done fieldwork for too long to argue with truth.

“How about whiskey? Do you have any?”

She barely even glanced at him. “No, of course not. Do you?”

He shook his head, wincing as a piece of fabric caught on the edge of his raw wound. The sharp bite of pain made everything spin, and he sucked in air, trying to stay conscious.