Free Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) by Rachel Grant Page A

silent. What if the culprit hadn’t been the phone? Whoever killed Roddy could have easily bugged the car.
    They had a host of other problems. Right now, he was shirtless and she was coated in blood. They had no phone, no jet, little cash, and the trial started in, fuck , twelve hours.
    She tapped his shoulder and pointed to the upcoming exit. The parts of her face not coated in blood were pasty white.
    He changed lanes to reach the exit and followed her hand signals, hoping against hope she was leading them to a doctor, a fueled jet, a phone, a clean car, or a safe place to hang out until they could procure any of those items.
    Unfortunately, she led them to a park. A crowded, Waikiki beach park.
    What the hell?
    He glanced sideways at her, and realized the blood had been flowing from her wound unchecked since she pried out the battery. He’d been following driving directions from someone who could very well be light-headed.
    With hand signals, she told him to park the car. Lacking a better option, he complied, but the moment the vehicle stopped, she flung open her door and bolted for the water.
    Shit!
    Curt had no choice but to follow her.
    She zigzagged across the park, weaving between tourists in an almost drunken manner. But still, for a woman who was probably woozy from a head wound, she was fast . She was swimming for the breakwater before he reached the waterline. Did she think she could swim to the mainland? Had she lost her mind along with all that blood?
    Curt had no choice but to kick off his shoes and dive after her. With several swift strokes he caught up to her in deep water, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her against him. “What the hell are you doing?”
    They were being hunted—probably by mercenaries—and she’d had him pull over so she could take a swim ?
    She draped her arms around his neck and flashed a blissful smile. “Isn’t the water wonderful? I didn’t think I’d live to see Hawai’i again, let alone get to swim in the ocean.” Her voice held a worrisome dreamy quality.
    “Mara, I think you’ve lost too much blood.” Hell. She was underweight, probably hadn’t slept, and had barely eaten. Add blood loss to that and it was surprising she was even conscious.
    She threaded her fingers in the wet hair at his nape. “But salt water is good for the cut, and the blood’s been washed away. Plus, if either of us is bugged, the bug has been destroyed by the water, right?”
    Relief spread through him. Okay, she might not be firing on all cylinders, but she wasn’t completely irrational either. “Some bugs are waterproof, but your thinking was sound.”
    She glanced down at the neckline of her tight-fitting top. “Is it crazy to think my clothes might have been bugged when Roddy’s killer was in my house?”
    “Yes, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be careful. I think it was my phone, but the only way to be certain is if no one tries to kill you in the next hour.”
    She frowned. “I don’t like your method of testing hypotheses.”
    He laughed. “I don’t either, sweetheart.”
    They bobbed on the surface of the turquoise sea. The water was calm, almost flat due to the lack of trade winds, and the sun beat down on his bare shoulders as he treaded water with her in his arms.
    Her wound, her predicament, this entire situation was his fault. If they’d just refueled in San Francisco, they’d be crossing the mainland by now. But he was determined to get something solid on Raptor, and now she was in danger. “I’m sorry, Mara. I seriously screwed up.”
    Her expression turned dreamy, and one hand stopped playing with his hair in favor of tracing his pecs. “You’re really ripped. But you probably know that. I didn’t think lawyers could be ripped. My uncle’s lawyers were always slimy weasels…”
    “Okay. Time to stop the blood flow. You probably need to eat or drink something too.”
    “I feel fine.” Her hand slipped below the water and continued exploring his