Del took a quick inventory—where had he been shot? He skimmed his left hand down over his abdomen before the man in front of him swayed and dropped to the ground, grin frozen, eyes open and glazed.
No pain. Del hadn’t been shot. Breath coming fast, he turned to see Liv at the edge of the jungle, the Beretta braced in her bloody hands. Her eyes, when they focused on him, were hard, hot with anger.
Then, as if changing masks, she lowered the gun and hurried forward, hopping over vines, roots, stumbling into him. He caught her against his chest. Her heart pounded under his hands.
“Jesus.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek, hot to the touch.
Leaning into him, she reached up. He flinched as her fingers brushed the tender skin of his temple.
“You’re hurt.”
He could taste her breath on his mouth, and wanted more. He watched her lips form words of concern, but adrenaline drained into another form of urgency. She’d saved his life.
The bushes rustled behind him. He whipped Liv around, pinning her to the tree, covering her body with his. Her breath came out in a grunt. He pressed so close he felt her heart beat. Together they raised their weapons in the direction of the sound.
Recognition hit a moment before his finger tapped the trigger.
MJ Fredrick 