“Like hell you will. I’ll get the clothing. You stay put.” Reaper didn’t know where this sense of bravado had come from, but he didn’t like it one bit. Caroline was as experienced as a newborn colt walking on two legs. She’d stumble into the street, get snatched right away and be murdered.

Even if Reaper went after her with guns blazing, she’d be damaged beyond repair. The thought left a hollow ache in his chest. He ignored it. He needed her. That was it. Regardless, Caroline’s life meant more than his did.

A wave of dizziness crashed over him and he grabbed the windowsill. The tiny droplets of sweat arcing down his neck seemed almost cold. His shoulder had continued to bleed despite the Quickclot. If he could just find a place where he could cauterize the wound and recover . . .

“You can’t go out there,” Caroline gasped. “You are about to pass out.”

His ears filled with a roaring that built strength like a tidal wave. Reaper focused on his breathing and his heart rate—getting them under control right now was paramount.

His heartbeat continued in a thin yet steady thrumming and it was getting harder to draw in enough oxygen to function. He could feel the familiar brain fuzz that accompanied too much blood loss cupping around his brain like sticky gloved hands.

Reaper clenched his teeth. “I’m going.”

Even in his weakened state he was a better choice than her. If a soldier or a local spotted her, she was as good as gone. A girl like her, beautiful, blonde and blue-eyed—the three Bs of Grade A human trafficking—would disappear in an instant.

That, or the soldiers hired by Gen. Rainier would find her first. Security at the compound would be beefed up, and the possibility of extracting her from their grasp a second time was about as likely as a snowstorm in Africa.

Reaper blinked through his blurred vision. Caroline wasn’t twisting her hands on her hips or crossing her arms over her chest—her tells that she was aggravated. She had her face pressed against that tiny cleared spot on the filthy window. “No one has walked past the opening in the street yet. I already see the items of clothing we need. Sit down. If you pass out, you’ll be no good to either one of us.”

Why were her silly words starting to make sense? He knew it was a major risk, leaving the building to steal clothing. If he kept moving around, he really might pass out in the middle of the street.

As if sensing his weakening resolve, Caroline homed in for the kill. “Reaper, let me get the clothing. You catch your breath so that we can run to another spot without being caught. After that, I swear to God I won’t leave without your permission or without you at my side. Please, I don’t want you to die.”

Her fingers fluttered over his forearm in a butterfly-light caress, and he couldn’t help but stare down at her small hand, marveling at how soothing yet foreign her touch felt. “It’s not a good idea. What if you can’t?”

She offered him a crooked smile, her blue eyes large in her face. He got the insane urge to reach out and touch her cheek.

“Then you can knock out the window pane and kill them with your rifle. I’ll be within sight the entire time.”

She was still touching him. He’d noticed that about her too. She liked to touch him.

He liked it too.

It had to be the blood loss. He’d never thought about a woman this way before, especially a woman like her—pretty and high class and blue blooded.

And the fact that he was actually considering her ludicrous proposal was another testament to the obvious loss of blood and oxygen to his brain. Another wave of dizziness crashed over him, leaving his hands and feet tingling. He dug his fingers into the windowsill to keep from falling down.

If only he could sit down for a minute . . . She was right: he could put a bullet in any bastard who dared to come close to her. He could. But could she defend herself from the soldiers?

Breathing hard, Reaper pulled his Beretta from his side holster, thumbed the safety off and handed it to her. “If you so much as see someone turn down the alley, start shooting and don’t stop until you empty the clip. Do you understand me?”

She took his weapon without hesitation, the black metal too big for her tiny hands, but she turned it and held it like she knew how to use it. “Yes. I will.”

“You need to hug the side of the building, right up until you get to the clothes. Make sure you get something that will cover your head too. That blonde hair might as well be a flashing light.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. Look, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Caroline made to move away from him, but he grabbed her arm, worry twining around him. She was so inexperienced, so vulnerable. So very breakable. “Don’t look at your feet; don’t look at your gun. Keep your eyes moving, always looking for a threat. Keep your gun hidden in the folds of your gown. That way if anyone does come up, they won’t be expecting you to go on the attack. That might be your only hope.”

“I’ve got it, Reaper, let go. You can trust me.” She spoke in such a soft tone, like she was soothing a crying infant or something. He had no experience with infants, of course, and he’d grown up in a series of foster homes where no one, not one person, had spoken to him gently. This was how he imagined a mother would talk to her baby.

And it worked. He was able to let go of her arm and watch her walk away without chasing her and shackling her to his side. But he found his gaze drifting down to the part in her gown when she grabbed onto the windowsill and climbed back over. She was stronger than she looked.

And she had the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen.