Chapter 62

"Mari." The stranger - Remy - looked down at her and put one big warm hand on her cheek. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"Huh?" Her brain was still frantically plotting escape routes, but the moment Remy had touched her, all her nerve endings sprang back to life. Gods, he was tall, and radiating heat. She resisted the urge to rub her cheek against his calloused hand.
"Okay, cherie. Time to take this inside, I think."
Remy debated whether to take the terrified little selkie home to wherever she lived, or back to his motel room. He could see the wheels turning in her brain. She was thinking that she had to flee, run somewhere and change her name so that she wouldn't end up as a government experiment, locked in a lab somewhere. He knew the feeling. He was perfectly willing to convince her otherwise, but not out here on the beach, in the open. Her teeth were chattering again, and his motel room was just across the street.
"Mari, we're going inside. We'll put on some warm clothing and talk about this, all right?" He started moving as he spoke, steering her up the beach toward the world-famous boardwalk. "Everything is going to be fine. I promise."
Famous last words. The shooting started the minute they tried to cross the street.
Mari heard the sound, but she didn't recognize it as gunfire. Not at first. She assumed it was a car backfiring. It didn't occur to her to duck until Remy grabbed her and dragged her down behind a mailbox.
"What - " Then it dawned on her and she curled into a ball between Remy's broad body and the steel mailbox. She heard tires screech and voices yelling as someone on their side of the street returned fire.
"Stay down."
No kidding. He didn't have to tell her twice.
"This happen often?" His breath was warm against the side of her forehead.
"Never in the six years I've lived here. Not to me, I mean. You hear about drive-by shootings and gang warfare once in a while. It's been in the paper and on the news."
"Just our luck to end up in the middle of it, eh?"
"Seems to be the way my luck is running tonight," she agreed.
In the distance she heard the sounds of sirens approaching. More shots, more swearing, then tires squealed. The shooting stopped and the sirens grew closer.
"Okay, sweetness, it's time to move. I'd really prefer not to encounter your police tonight if you don't mind."
Was he a criminal then? In the country illegally? He'd risked himself to save her butt twice tonight, so she decided she really didn't care. "Let's go."
"My motel is right over there." He stood and took his arm away. "Could I beg a favor? I'd greatly appreciate it if you could carry my boots and jacket."
The neon lights from the casinos and motels were bright enough for her to see what was going on. He'd wadded up his wet T-shirt and pressed it against the back of his left shoulder. "You've been shot!" Other people were starting to emerge from the shadows, but all of them were studiously avoiding eye contact with one another as they scurried off in different directions. Apparently no one wanted to be a potential witness when the cops showed up.
"Shhh." He nodded and tipped his head at the pile of leathers by his feet. "Please?"
"But - you should go to the hospital..." Still, she picked up his cowboy boots and bomber jacket along with her own work heels and underwear which she realized she was still clutching.
"No. You're not the only one with secrets, Mari. I'll be fine, but I need to get to that motel room."
"Let's go, then." She clutched the bundle of coat, boots and shoes to her chest and started moving. He was steady, she noted with relief. His walk was still strong and sure as he led her across the street and over half a block to one of the old, small motels with just one floor of rooms in a half-circle around a dinky pool. Neon flamingos danced on the sign and the front wall.
"Room 18," he told her. By the time they reached that unit, which was on the far end from the office, she could tell that his movements were slowing. He leaned against the wood-shingled wall beside the door and squeezed his eyes shut. "Key's in my back pocket. Would you mind?"
"Fine." She'd get him inside, and then she was calling an ambulance, whether he liked it or not. Better arrested than dead. She dumped her bundle on a plastic lawn chair and fished in the rear pocket of his jeans. They were so snug over the taut muscles of his ass that she could barely slide two fingers in to snag the big plastic key tag. This would be a lot more fun under different circumstances.
She got the door open and watched as Remy staggered inside. He bypassed the bed and the chair in the main room and headed straight to the bathroom. Mari tossed the boots, shoes and jacket onto the floor, kicked the door shut behind her and followed.
"Let me see it." She flicked the light on to see Remy sitting on the toilet lid trying to twist his neck around so he could get a look at the wound.
"You can leave now," he told her. His skin was ashy, almost gray, his lips were drawn thin and his voice was little more than a husky whisper. "I'll be fine."
"Yeah, sure." She moved up so she could get a closer look, then pushed his hand away and took the bloody shirt. "Let. Me. See."
He turned sideways and leaned his good shoulder against the wall. His left arm hung limply, and he used his right to lift the left hand up into his lap. The wound was on the back of his shoulder, up high enough to have thankfully missed any vital organs. She used a hotel towel to wipe away more of the blood, and was relieved to find that the bleeding had slowed to a gradual seep. The puncture itself was a small, black-rimmed tear. It looked so innocuous it was almost obscene. How could an injury that looked so minor on the outside be so potentially lethal? As there was no corresponding wound in the front, Mari was pretty sure the bullet was still inside.
"Need to get it out."
"No kidding. I'll go call an ambulance." She stepped away.
"No!" The hand that snaked out and grabbed her wrist was still surprisingly strong.
"Remy, you need - "
"Not. Human. Either."