Page 18 of Fighting for Scarlett

But she hadn't.

She’d thanked him.

Thanked him.

Why would she do that?

Did she regret her choices and was happy to go home and face the consequences, even if they were life in prison because at least she was alive?

As much as he’d like to believe that this was all some big misunderstanding, it was there in black and white. In Scarlett’s own words, she’d said she wanted to sell the Reactivator and had negotiated a price of just under five million dollars.

No matter that there was a part of him that wanted to protect her, wrap her up in his arms, and soothe the suffering she had endured, he had to remember that she was not to be trusted. She was a traitor, she’d betrayed her team, Prey, and her country.

Whatever game she was playing he wasn’t going to fall for it.

With that in mind, he set the woman on the ground in front of him and immediately felt gut-punched when he saw her beautiful face was streaked with tears.

She made no move to hide the fact that she’d been crying, but he could see the pain in her big brown eyes. There was confusion and a tiny hint of anger, maybe at being caught. But it was the relief that made him want to second-guess everything he knew to be true.

Why was she so relieved to have been found?

The only logical explanation was that she was an innocent victim, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

Acting.

That had to be it.

She was trying to con him.

Nice try, sweetheart, but it’s not happening.

Instead of saying that aloud, he merely pulled his pack off his back, unzipped it, and rifled through it in search of his first aid kit. Traitor or not, Scarlett was injured, and he’d need to attend to those wounds if he wanted her fit and healthy to stand trial once she was returned home.

When he had his kit open and everything he needed laid out, he turned to find Scarlett standing right where he’d put her. There was a glassiness to her eyes that he didn't like, and she was worrying her bottom lip just like she had that first night when she’d been all adorably nervous.

At least he’d thought she was nervous, now he wasn’t so sure. The woman had mad acting skills, he’d give her that.

“Need to clean your wounds. Out here they’re just asking for infection to set in.” It was only seven hours to exfil, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Raul was giving me antibiotics,” Scarlett whispered as he knelt before her, took one of her hands, and began to clean her wrist.

For a second he stilled. Why would the man order injuries to be inflicted on her but then give her antibiotics to keep her healthy?

He wouldn’t.

Another lie.

Seemed like Scarlett just couldn’t help herself.

Offering a grunt as a reply, neither spoke as he cleaned and bandaged one wrist and then the other. Scarlett didn't attempt to help him in any way, but she also didn't try to move away. Her winces were small, and although he could see her perfect white teeth biting into her pale bottom lip, she didn't make a single sound even though he knew he was hurting her.

Much as a part of him would like to say he was rough as he dealt with the traitor’s injuries, he wasn’t.

Couldn’t make himself be.

In fact, he flinched along with her as he made sure each open wound was clean before slathering it with antibiotic cream and wrapping them in bandages.

When her wrists and ankles were done, he skimmed his hands up over her hips, wishing her skin wasn’t every bit as soft as he remembered. Every bit as soft as he’d dreamed about. It was like silk, and his fingers glided over it. Not even the dark mottling of blacks, blues, and purples could diminish its beauty.

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