He tried to keep his hold on her, tried to bite back the cry that tore from his throat as she slammed her elbow back into his side again. “Delilah, stop.” Adam Brand stumbled backward, struggling to keep his feet as his body instinctively sought relief from her lethal limbs. A second later, he was staring down the barrel of her Sig Sauer P229 backlit by the beam of a flashlight. “Son of a bitch!” Delilah hit the last word hard and dropped the weapon and flashlight to her side, bending nearly double as if she’d been the one to take the blow to the gut. “You scared the hell out of me, Brand.” “I think you reopened my wound,” Brand shot back, his voice hoarse with pain. He pressed his hand to his side and found that the wound, which had finally started to clot, was weeping blood again. “Your wound?” Delilah straightened quickly, swinging the beam of her flashlight over him, searching for his injury.
