Page 31 of Huck Frasier
But I still wanted to throw her over my shoulder and lock her in a damn vault.
“I’m calling in med evac,” I muttered, reaching for my sat phone.
“No,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Fras… I have proof. It’s on the phone. I got it.”
Her voice trembled, but her eyes burned. “They were going to take me. I got away. But they know someone’s watching now. If we wait, they’ll move the kids. We can’t let that happen.”
I didn’t want to listen. Not while she was hurting. But she’d risked everything for this—because she couldn’tnotfight.
I clenched my jaw. “Alright. But first, I’m patching you up.”
She leaned into me then, finally letting her head fall to my shoulder. Her breath hitched.
“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you could,” I said. “But you don’t have to. Not anymore.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt. “I’m scared.”
“You’re allowed to be.”
“I didn’t want to need you this much.”
“Too late,” I whispered. “I need you more.”
I scooped her into my arms, careful not to jar her ribs. She hissed in pain but didn’t fight me.
As I carried her to the truck, she whispered, “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“But you’re still gonna help me finish it?”
I glanced down at her—messy, bloodied, brilliant—and kissed the top of her head.
“I already started.”
22
Marley
Motel– Early Morning
The world was quiet when we got back.
No phones ringing.
No missions calling.
Just the hush of dawn pressing against the windows, and Frasier carrying me inside like I weighed nothing at all.
He didn’t speak as he laid me on the bed—just grabbed the med kit he stopped and bought, and knelt beside me, jaw clenched tight.
I watched him move, precise and steady. His hands were strong, sure—but when he peeled back my shirt to check my ribs, they trembled.
“Frasier,” I whispered. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” he said hoarsely. “You’re bruised. Bleeding. You called me because you thought you might not make it.”
