Nobody's Hero (54 page)

“No. You don’t need to be going up and down
those stairs. You look like you’re about to keel over. Just tell me
which car.”

“The light blue Nissan.” She pointed and he
saw the sedan parked under the light.

“Go sit down. I’ll be right back.”

Good thing he hadn’t removed his prosthesis
yet. Last thing he wanted her to see was his gimpy leg. He went
back down the stairs, holding onto the rail so that he wouldn’t
have a mis-step, and walked across the lot to the car. Using the
remote, he unlocked it and found Marisol lying across the back
seat, even though she was still strapped in. He unbuckled her and
pulled her toward him.

She moaned in her sleep.

“Shhh. It’s okay,
bebé
.” He remembered
all the times he’d carried Teresa to bed when she’d fallen asleep
watching TV and wished she were that small and innocent again.
Marisol’s dead weight lay against his shoulder and he closed and
locked the door again. He’d come down for the luggage, if any,
after he got this little bundle into bed.

The stairs were a little trickier to ascend
this time, but he managed to hold onto her with one arm while he
used his other to help pull him up the stairs and keep him steady.
At the top of the stairs stood Savi; apparently, she hadn’t trusted
him to carry her daughter up the stairs.

And yet she’d driven halfway across the
country to come to him for help of some kind. What was up with
that?

Savi fell into step beside him and opened the
door for him, then locked it again after they’d entered the
apartment. He turned to whisper to her, “Help me get her into bed.
Then we’ll talk.” Damián led the way across the living room and
stood beside the bedroom door, which she opened for him. A blast of
cold air hit him. He’d need to turn the heat on in here to warm it
up. He’d give Savi and Marisol the bed and he'd sleep on the sofa.
Good thing the bed had clean linens and was made up.

Savi pulled down the red, green, and white
mosaic comforter and he laid the little girl’s head on the pillow
and guided her legs onto the bed. When he reached to remove her
shoes, Savi grabbed his hands.

“No! I’ll do that.”

Holding up his hands, he backed off to let
the girl’s overprotective mother take care of her, while he went to
the wall near the doorway to turn up the thermostat. He whispered,
“It’ll warm up in here in no time.” Savi left Marisol’s clothes on
and pulled the comforter and sheet over her. Bending down to kiss
her, Damián couldn’t help but notice her curvy ass in her tight
jeans. He tried not to remember their day in the beach cave, making
love and connecting in such a way he’d never thought they’d be able
to leave each other.

But they had.

Savi stood and turned and he noticed she
winced and held her hand to her side again. Had someone hit her in
the ribs? What the fuck had happened? Did a perp connected with one
of her clients come after her? Shit. Doesn’t the clinic offer any
kind of protection for its counselors? That was a dangerous line of
work, given the violence and abuse associated with the clients.

Madre de Dios
. What if it was her
husband? That made more sense even. Domestic violence was rampant
these days. He planned to get some answers and soon.

He motioned for her to precede him back into
the living room. When he started to close the door, she stayed his
hand. “No!” She looked apologetic for getting so excited. “Mari
might wake up and be frightened to find herself in a strange
bed.”

Sure. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Can I get you a Coke, beer, tea, or
something?”

“No Kool-aid?” She smiled and her teasing
took him by surprise.

“Sorry. When the munchkins aren’t around, I
prefer beer.” He smiled.

“A Coke sounds good. I need to keep my wits
about me.”

Damián wasn’t sure if it was because of him
or whatever threat she was running from. He hoped it wasn’t him.
Surely she knew he’d never hurt her. Hadn’t he proven that in her
hotel room and at the beach all those years ago?

He went to the fridge and pulled out a can of
Coke. “Glass and ice?”

“No. The can’s fine.”

He handed it to her. “Let me take your
jacket.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just keep it on.”

Fine.
Only she wasn’t fine and he
needed to find out what was going on. He motioned for her to have a
seat on the couch and picked up the beer bottle he’d been drinking
from when she arrived.
Jesús
, he needed to get buzzed.
Having Savi so close again, without anyone around… He needed to
dull every sense he could, especially the throbbing in his
dick.

“Who hit you?”

Savi slowly lifted the can to her lips and
tipped it back, drinking long and slow. Stalling, no doubt.
Finally, she lowered the can and stared at it, tracing a
worse-for-wear pink-polished fingernail around the rim. He let the
silence swell until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Was it your husband?”

She looked up, her brows furrowed, then shook
her head. “I’m not married.”

Divorced or never married? He didn’t want to
get too personal, but there was the matter of getting her injuries
checked out.

“I have a friend who was a corpsman—a
medic—in Iraq. Will you let him check your injuries?”

She squared her shoulders, ready to do
battle. “What injuries?”

“Well, there’s the black eye, swelling, and
bruising on your face. And you’ve been favoring your left side. Did
he hit you there, too?”

She sagged into the couch a bit. “It’s
nothing.”

“Let my friend be the judge of that.”

“I’m not leaving Mari.”

“Who said anything about leaving? He’ll come
over here if I ask him.”

“No. The fewer people who know I’m here, the
better.”

“Who are you running from, Savannah?” Maybe
if he used the name she didn’t want to connect with anymore, he
could get her to show some emotion other than fear.

Savi’s blue eyes flashed. “I told you not to
call me that.”

Bingo. Now she was angry. He liked seeing
that emotion better. “I liked your hair better blonde. Why did you
change it?”

“None of your business.”

“Hey,
chica
, you just showed up on my
doorstep out of nowhere, beaten up and on the run. You’re the one
who asked me for help. Don’t get all defensive with me. I’m just
trying to figure out what’s going on here.”

He took a long draw on his beer, draining the
bottle, then lowered the bottle to his lap—hopefully obscuring his
hard-on—and stared at her. After a moment, she reached up and
twirled the end of a curl.
Dios
, her hair looked so
soft.

“I felt safer changing my appearance.”

Well, he’d expected her to respond that she’d
just felt like it or got tired of dumb-blonde jokes or something.
Her response indicated she’d been on the run or trying to hide from
someone for some time, because she’d been a brunette a month ago
when he’d first seen her again. Now a redhead.

“Marisol’s father?”

Her hand froze and she looked up at him
again, studying his face for some time. “What about him?”

“Is he the one who roughed you up and sent
you running?”

Her body relaxed into the couch and she took
another swig of the soda. “No. He’s been out of my…out of the
picture from day one.”

Damn
. She’d had to raise her daughter
on her own. That was rough.

He was dying to ask if it was her Sugar
Daddy, the man who’d told him never to put his hands on her again,
but playing twenty questions wasn’t going to get him anywhere. She
wasn’t going to answer even direct questions.

“Let me see where you’re hurt.”

She grew tense again, but didn’t make eye
contact. “No. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” When she looked up at him again,
he held her gaze. “Your choice—me or my friend. Which will it
be?”

She shot daggers at him for a moment, but he
didn’t back down. Leaning forward, wincing at the pain, she laid
the can on top of an automotive magazine on the coffee table and
sat back against the couch.

“It’s nothing. Really. Just a bruise.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. I have
some…expertise with bruising. Remove your jacket.”

After a few seconds, she raised a shaking
hand and unhooked the belt of her hip-length jacket. Her hands
continued to shake as she reached up to undo the top button.

“I haven’t ever hurt you, Savannah. Have
I?”

He couldn’t read her expression. Hell, that
was supposed to be an easy question. Why was he no longer certain
of her response? What had he ever done to hurt her? She was the one
who refused to have anything to do with him after their perfect
fucking day at the beach.

Cool it, man. Give her time.

When she finished unbuttoning the coat, she
peeled it off, revealing a cobalt blue blouse. More buttons. He
wanted to reach out and unbutton them himself, letting his fingers
graze against the tops of her breasts, but instead she leaned
against the back of the couch and lifted the tail of her shirt. He
caught a glimpse of black and blue marks along her ribcage. All
carnal thoughts left his head.

“Lie down.”

“No!” She took a deep breath and stood up.
“I’d rather stand.”

He stood, as well, and leaned closer,
reaching out his hand. While he didn’t touch the bruising at first,
she gasped when his fingers made contact with her for the first
time in more than eight years.

Get a grip, man. And not on Savannah.

The bruising appeared to be two or three days
old, tops, given the still-dark color. Her skin was so white,
though, that it was hard to tell. There didn’t seem to be much
swelling, but how was he to know if there was some kind of internal
injury or a broken rib? This wasn’t an impact area he played with,
either, so he didn’t really know what the danger signs were.

“I need to ask Doc what to do.”

With Savan—Savi, he’d learned not to ask,
just do it. He pulled out his phone and hit Marc’s speed-dial. He
answered after three rings, sounding sleepy. “Sorry to wake you,
man, but I need your help.”

“Shoot.”

“A friend of mine has been in…some kind of
fight and she has some bruising over her ribs.”

“Getting a little rough with the subs,
Damián?”

“Man, this is serious. It’s not from impact
play. She’s been punched by a fist, it looks like. Under her
breast. Where the ribs are. It’s still dark in color. Happened at
least two days ago.” He looked up at Savi, who nodded in
agreement.

His friend went into Corpsman mode. “Could be
some internal bleeding, fractured rib, or other problems. You
should have her checked out at the ER.”

“Can’t do that. What’s plan B? What can I
do?”

“Starting tomorrow, you could apply some heat
to the bruises. That’ll speed up the healing. Ice wouldn’t be much
help this long after the injury. That should have been done right
away. Ask her to take a couple deep breaths and see how much pain
it causes. If she can’t fill her lungs, then get her to the ER
whether she wants to go or not, because it could be something
serious.”

“Hold on.” Damián lowered the phone. “Take
some deep breaths. Really fill your lungs.”

She tried to do as he told her, but he heard
the catch in her breath as she winced slightly. He put the phone to
his ear again. “Might be a problem with her breathing, Doc.”

Savi stood taller. "No, there isn't. I'm
fine"

Damián stared at her. Why wouldn't she admit
she was in pain?

“You still there, Damián?"

"Shoot."

"Now, I want you to press on her
sternum.”

“I didn’t take anatomy, Doc.”

Marc laughed. “Her breastbone—the bone right
between her breasts.”

Damián looked at her chest.
Oh, yeah, like
she’s going to let me do this.
“If you press there and she
experiences a sharp pain, it could mean a fractured rib. Just take
the heel of your hand and press there—not too hard. Support her
back. You’ll know right away if there’s a problem.”

Oh, there was a problem, all right.

“Be right back.” Damián laid the phone on the
coffee table and moved closer to Savi. “I need to check for a
broken rib. Just try and relax.”

She took a step back.
Yeah, that’s what I
figured.
“Hold still,
querida
.” He maintained eye
contact with her. Though he knew she was afraid, she seemed to do a
good job of keeping the emotion out of her eyes. She almost went
into some kind of emotional shut-down, her gaze becoming empty.
Dead.

Damián placed his left hand in the middle of
her back and his right one between her breasts and felt the bone.
He’d never really thought much before about there being a bone
there. He pressed firmly. No response, well, except for his dick
which probably was as hard as her breastbone right now. At least
nothing seemed to be broken. With reluctance, he let her go, but
she continued to stare into space.

“Savi? Look at me.” She blinked and turned
toward him. “Where’d you go?”

“Go? I didn’t go anywhere. Just check for the
broken rib and get it over with.”

What the fuck?
He’d known women to go
into subspace and block out parts of a really intense scene, but
how the hell had she shut her mind down so completely like that in
the space of seconds? When he touched a woman, she usually
remembered. Hell, maybe he’d just see if he could get a response
from her this time.

He placed his hand at the small of her back
again. She jumped.

“Wait. I’m not ready yet.”

“You don’t have to get ready for anything.
Just look at me,
querida
.”

Her eyes scrunched up in distress. “Take a
deep breath and let it out slowly.” She did as he instructed and
relaxed by small degrees. “Good g…good.” Better not freak her out
with words like
good girl
.