Missed.
Shrapnel bit into his arms. The scrapes burned like a son of a bitch. But not half as bad as the razor-sharp teeth of the alligator would if the scaly bastard got hold of him.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God, Liam, I’m so sorry.”
“Shoot again, damn it. Shoot, Rachel!” He looked at her for what he hoped wasn’t the last time.
God, she was incredible, standing down an alligator without question. Not backing off. Not even shaking. He couldn’t have asked for better from anyone on his team.
She lined up the shot. Hands steady. Pulled the trigger.
The alligator went limp.
Rachel dropped to her knees on the dock.
The shrapnel scratches on his arm hurt, but he kept holding on anyway. “Rachel, hon, you did great. Now, I need you to pass me the tape out of the duffel so I can seal this guy’s mouth closed. I’m not taking any chances that he’s playing possum.”
She bolted into action, leaping into the boat and racing back before he finished catching his breath. She passed the roll of industrial duct tape with hands shaking so hard she almost dropped it in the water. He wrapped it around and around the alligator’s mouth until finally… he gave himself permission to haul himself up onto the planked dock with Rachel. She locked her arms around him and he realized she was sobbing, hard. From shock, no doubt.
He looped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “You did good, Rachel, damn good.”
“I missed,” she gasped.
“And then you didn’t miss.”
She was every bit as incredible as the first day he’d seen her. She was so much more woman than she even realized.
The world expanded, his vision widening beyond just Rachel and himself. His team and the other women stood on the porch and along the shore. Guns out. Dogs restrained.
Liam scanned them all, his ragtag team, with Rachel an unofficial but fully contributing member. The enormity of everything he would be losing soon kicked him in the gut as hard as any swipe from a gator tail. “I got us some fresh meat for breakfast.”
***
Rachel had never felt less like eating in her life. Her stomach was stuck somewhere in her throat while she waited for Sylvia Cramer’s call. Or for some other “divine blessing” from the string of computers set up on the rough-hewn table. Periodically, one pinged with a new message, which turned out not to be Sylvia as they’d hoped.
Nerves ragged, Rachel leaned against the counter with the others, chowing down chunks of cooked alligator tail. The same gator that had tried to eat Liam. The same reptile she’d shot. After missing once and sending shrapnel all over him.
Her stomach climbed up into her throat again. Her full plate stayed in front of her while everyone else replayed the whole event as if it were a particularly fun episode of Swamp People, for God’s sake.
Cuervo repacked his first-aid kit, his dish of gator chunks waiting beside him. “Hey, McCabe, where did you learn to do that?”
“Do what?” Liam’s shirtsleeves had been cut off, his shrapnel wounds cleaned and bandaged by his teammate.
“You’re joking again, right?” Cuervo threw away empty packets of antiseptic ointment. “Where did you learn to wrestle gators?”
“Training.” Liam speared the tip of his knife into a chunk of pan-fried meat. “Were you sick that day? That’s too bad.”
Cuervo threw a half-empty roll of gauze at his patient. Liam snagged it in midair without so much as a wince, as if both his arms weren’t covered in bandages. Thank heavens there had been medical help on-site.
She forgot sometimes that the PJs were trained medics, so multifaceted… ready to do more than rescue anywhere, anytime, but provide medical aid when needed, fight back enemy forces, even. Do whatever was necessary to bring home the person in their care.
Her heart lurched up there into her throat with her stomach.
Catriona scrunched her nose. “Who trains to fight off alligators?”
Brandon stood beside her, shoulders touching in subtle intimacy. “People who do rescues in the Everglades.”
Catriona forked up another bite. “Did the class include how to cut it up and prepare it, too?”