21
Someone was cursing at him. A long vivid stream of invective in several languages. Or maybe just cursing at the world in general.
He wanted to curse back, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the wind. His side hurt so much from running at his flat-out limit that he couldn’t even move. He’d already been moving at a fast jog for a while when he’d been attacked.
He’d sprinted from there.
Then he recognized the voice even though she’d wandered off into Viet or maybe Thai.
“Gloucester,” he managed to gasp out. Thank God.
She could curse him all she wanted as long as he’d finally found her.
Patty grabbed his arm and he yelped. He couldn’t help himself.
“What the hell, Quinn?”
“Wolf. Bit my arm.” He tried to lean down to see if she smelled as wonderful as he’d remembered.
But she spun aw
