Page 42 of Shadowed Agenda
“What can I do?” Finlay immediately asked.
“I got the guy,” Pavlo said. “One of my partners, Drake Reeves, is in the alley with the guy waiting for the police. We’re trying to keep the incident under wraps. You can get an exclusive if you’re willing to sit on the story.”
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Finlay asked Regan again.
“I need this to be documented,” Regan said, knowing Pavlo was right but also knowing it could help Finlay’s career. Her friend didn’t know how much it meant that Finlay would have put her before a scoop on a story. Regan rarely came first in anyone’s life. Even in her childhood, Mackenzie’s needs had always come before hers.
“The story will be ready to roll whenever you say the word,” Finlay said, pulling out her cell phone from her back pocket. She held up the cell and shot a few pictures of Regan.
“Hey,” Regan said and blocked her face with her arm. “I look horrible.”
“That’s the idea,” Finlay said. “You’re dealing with Senator Aster. You’ll need to prove every word you utter against the man. I’ll drop off my laptop and head downstairs.”
“Drake is going to kill me,” Pavlo said as Finlay entered her suite a few doors down.
Regan raised an eyebrow, demanding more information than the measly amount he had given her.
“It’s a long story. Let’s leave it with Drake’s not fond of reporters,” Pavlo said. They’d reached his suite. He opened the door, and Regan entered and followed him to the bathroom.
“My first aid kit is in my suitcase,” he said, disappearing.
Regan turned to face the mirror and staggered back in shock. Finlay had been right. She was a mess. Her updo now looked like a rat’s nest. She’d smeared blood across her face and neck as she’d pressed down on the wound to stop the bleeding. Worse, the beautiful silk blouse she’d bought to match the pencil skirt was also ruined. Blood stained the front and streaked one sleeve. She didn’t think it would come out. Maybe a tailor could repair the rip in the skirt, but it looked hopeless as well.
Well, she could at least attempt to fix her hair. She pulled out the clip that had held the bun in place and quickly twisted the tangled mess of hair. The bun was less than impressive, but it would do.
Pavlo entered the bathroom, and she gave him a long look. He hadn’t fared any better. The knee on one pant leg was ripped, and the seam of one armhole on his suit jacket had split. He was covered in grime from the junk strewn across the alley.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “This is all my fault.”
“I’d say this is all Isla’s fault.” Pavlo opened the first aid kit.
“I should have agreed to the Senator’s request immediately,” Regan said, shaking her head. “If I’d thought it through instead of reacting, I would have factored in his crazy followers and agreed to the book signing to avoid the mess I’m in right now.”
“Isla should have cleared it with you before promising you’d do the gig. Everything is on her,” he stated as he washed his hands and wet one of the hotel’s washcloths. He motioned for her to come closer to him. “The light’s better over here.”
Pavlo set the face cloth on the bathroom counter. Regan squealed as he placed his hands around her waist, lifted her onto the bathroom counter, and slid her pencil skirt up to her thighs. Before she could protest, he’d spread her legs apart and stood between them. An unwelcome wave of heat swept through her and pooled in her stomach.
Before she could push him away, Pavlo said, “That’s better. I need to be closer to get a good look at that cut. Let me know if I hurt you.”
Regan nodded, unable to speak, as he wiped the blood off her neck.
Pavlo rinsed the washcloth and set it on the counter beside her. He reached into the first aid kit and grabbed an antiseptic swab. He tipped her head to one side with his hand, inspecting the wound.
“It’s deeper than I thought and could use a stitch…”
“No, no hospital,” Regan said and then sucked in her breath at the sharp sting of the antiseptic swab. “It’ll draw attention.”
“So would the stitch I’d put in.” Pavlo let out a heavy breath. “Drake isn’t much better at stitching someone up. We get the job done, but…” He lifted his shoulders.
“You guys stitch each other up?” Regan stared at him and then shook her head. “Of course you do. It’s easy to forget you have a side gig when I watch you charm the ladies as you sign their books.”
“They buy my books. The least I can do is to be friendly.” Pavlo smiled as she tilted her head up and to the side. “Don’t move. I’ll put a butterfly stitch on it.”
“Your back-alley moves were impressive.”
“You’re easily impressed,” Pavlo said as he pulled out a box of butterfly strips from the first aid kit.
“So, your work is likeTheExpendables?”