fumbled the key into the ignition. The car sputtered to life. She put it in gear and spun loose gravel as she pulled out.
“No hard feelings,” she called as they passed the group of very pissed off badasses .
She only pulled the shotgun in after they’d turned the corner.
She wasn’t heading back to Key West , which was like a cul-de-sac surrounded by the Caribbean. The only way to go was back up Highway 1. She gunned it up the gravel road and made it to McDonald Street, all the while looking into her rearview mirror. Nothing. Well, some cars came and went, but nothing suspicious. She turned up Highway 1 and over the bridge to the next Key. She realized she was shaking. Her hands felt clammy. Her cheek and jaw hurt like crazy. A groan came from the back seat. She couldn’t think what to do about that. In fact, everything was suddenly very confusing. She pulled off to the side of a road next to a wood frame cottage whose owners didn’t believe in paint.
Uh-oh.
She opened the door and leaned out, barely in time to keep from barfing all over her lap. She hung on the doorframe while she heaved again. The cars whizzed by. They were getting a great close-up. Right into the road. Real lady, Drew. Perfect end to a perfect afternoon. But she felt better when she sat up. She fumbled for a tissue in her purse and wiped her mouth, then used another to mop her damp forehead.
Sensing movement behind her, she grabbed for the shotgun propped in the passenger’s seat. When she turned, she saw Dowser trying to sit up. He groaned and hung his head. His face was bruised and scraped, and he cradled his bare midsection with one arm. He had scrapes over his ribs too. And older, bigger scars. A lot of them. She managed to turn the shotgun on him, though it was tight quarters.
He glared at her out of one swelling eye. “I’m an asshole.” It came out “ash-hole.” “But I’m not the enemy here.”
True. He had saved her from rape or worse. And watching the muscles in his bare shoulders bunch as he moved was taking a toll on her. Boy, for an alcoholic, he was really built. Made Roger look like a little girly man. What were all those scars about? “S-sorry,” she muttered. “I’m a little, uh, disconcerted by what happened back there.” She put the safety on and laid the shotgun down.
Dowser grimaced painfully as he made it into sitting position. “You even think about conshequences ? Going into a plaish like that.…”
Stupid. But she wasn’t going to admit that. “I needed to find you.”
He looked up at her. Boy, those brown eyes would be devastating if they weren’t so bloodshot and swollen. They had a depth in them—more colors than just brown, though she couldn’t quite tell what colors from here. She’d never liked brown eyes much. Maybe she’d never looked closely enough before. And then there was the lurking pain. “Why?” he croaked.
Million-dollar question. Not a match made in heaven. This drunk could not be the guy who raised her magic. There was some mistake. Probably hers. Remember Roger.
If she even had any magic. Seeing herself in the Miami airport in a linen suit? Big deal. Subconsciously she had wanted to go to Miami because of her obsession with this guy. So she had seen herself there and then recreated the scene by flying there and wearing the linen suit. Circular loop. That’s all. As for the instant and unnerving attraction to this man … well, she was on the rebound from Roger, doing and feeling crazy things. It happened. And she wasn’t even going to think about how, exactly, she’d found him in this little marina.
So she couldn’t answer that simple question. She took a big breath and started the engine. “You need a hospital. Is there one around here?”
“No doctors,” he gasped. “I’ve been beat way worse than this.”
Hard to believe. She wanted to ask him about that, but she caught herself. She didn’t want to know anything about him. She just wanted to move on from
“No hard feelings,” she called as they passed the group of very pissed off badasses .
She only pulled the shotgun in after they’d turned the corner.
She wasn’t heading back to Key West , which was like a cul-de-sac surrounded by the Caribbean. The only way to go was back up Highway 1. She gunned it up the gravel road and made it to McDonald Street, all the while looking into her rearview mirror. Nothing. Well, some cars came and went, but nothing suspicious. She turned up Highway 1 and over the bridge to the next Key. She realized she was shaking. Her hands felt clammy. Her cheek and jaw hurt like crazy. A groan came from the back seat. She couldn’t think what to do about that. In fact, everything was suddenly very confusing. She pulled off to the side of a road next to a wood frame cottage whose owners didn’t believe in paint.
Uh-oh.
She opened the door and leaned out, barely in time to keep from barfing all over her lap. She hung on the doorframe while she heaved again. The cars whizzed by. They were getting a great close-up. Right into the road. Real lady, Drew. Perfect end to a perfect afternoon. But she felt better when she sat up. She fumbled for a tissue in her purse and wiped her mouth, then used another to mop her damp forehead.
Sensing movement behind her, she grabbed for the shotgun propped in the passenger’s seat. When she turned, she saw Dowser trying to sit up. He groaned and hung his head. His face was bruised and scraped, and he cradled his bare midsection with one arm. He had scrapes over his ribs too. And older, bigger scars. A lot of them. She managed to turn the shotgun on him, though it was tight quarters.
He glared at her out of one swelling eye. “I’m an asshole.” It came out “ash-hole.” “But I’m not the enemy here.”
True. He had saved her from rape or worse. And watching the muscles in his bare shoulders bunch as he moved was taking a toll on her. Boy, for an alcoholic, he was really built. Made Roger look like a little girly man. What were all those scars about? “S-sorry,” she muttered. “I’m a little, uh, disconcerted by what happened back there.” She put the safety on and laid the shotgun down.
Dowser grimaced painfully as he made it into sitting position. “You even think about conshequences ? Going into a plaish like that.…”
Stupid. But she wasn’t going to admit that. “I needed to find you.”
He looked up at her. Boy, those brown eyes would be devastating if they weren’t so bloodshot and swollen. They had a depth in them—more colors than just brown, though she couldn’t quite tell what colors from here. She’d never liked brown eyes much. Maybe she’d never looked closely enough before. And then there was the lurking pain. “Why?” he croaked.
Million-dollar question. Not a match made in heaven. This drunk could not be the guy who raised her magic. There was some mistake. Probably hers. Remember Roger.
If she even had any magic. Seeing herself in the Miami airport in a linen suit? Big deal. Subconsciously she had wanted to go to Miami because of her obsession with this guy. So she had seen herself there and then recreated the scene by flying there and wearing the linen suit. Circular loop. That’s all. As for the instant and unnerving attraction to this man … well, she was on the rebound from Roger, doing and feeling crazy things. It happened. And she wasn’t even going to think about how, exactly, she’d found him in this little marina.
So she couldn’t answer that simple question. She took a big breath and started the engine. “You need a hospital. Is there one around here?”
“No doctors,” he gasped. “I’ve been beat way worse than this.”
Hard to believe. She wanted to ask him about that, but she caught herself. She didn’t want to know anything about him. She just wanted to move on from
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