"One got away."
"The one who shot you," Dane said flatly. "And they don't have enough on the one they caught to hold him for long. They'll charge him, but he'll probably make bail as soon as he's arraigned, and you're the gal who can send him up for dealing."
"His cohort shot me," she pointed out. "But the one they arrested was there. Can't he be arrested as an accessory?"
"Maybe, maybe not. You don't know how these people think," he said enigmatically, and he looked worried. Really worried.
"I'll bet you do," she murmured sleepily. "All those years, locking people up..."
"I know the criminal mind inside out," he agreed. "But it's different when things hit home." His dark eyes narrowed on her wan face. "It's very different."
She must be half-asleep, she decided, because he actually sounded as if he minded that she'd been shot. That was ridiculous. He resented her, disliked her even if he had felt sorry enough for her to give her a job when her father had died. He was her worst enemy, so why would it matter to him if something happened to her?
Dane stretched wearily, his white shirt pulled taut over a broad chest. "How do you feel this morning?"
She touched the bandage. "Not as bad as I did last night. What did the doctors do to me?"
"Took the bullet out." He pulled it from his shirt pocket and displayed it for her. "A thirty-eight caliber," he explained. "A souvenir. I thought you might like it mounted and framed."
She grimaced. "Suppose we frame and mount the man who shot me instead?"
His black eyebrow jerked up. “I’ll pass that thought along to the police," he said dryly.
“Can I go home?"
"When you're a little stronger. You lost a lot of blood and they had to put you under to get the bullet out."
"Helen will be furious when she finds out," she murmured with a smile. "She's the private eye, and I got shot."
"Oh, I'm sure she'll be livid with jealousy," he agreed. He paused beside the bed, his dark eyes narrow and intent on her face in its frame of soft, wavy blond hair. He looked at her for a long time.
"I'm all right, if it matters," she said sleepily. She closed her eyes. "I don't know why it should. You hate me."
Her voice trailed off as she gave in to the need for rest. He didn't answer her. But his eyes were stormy and his mind had already registered how much it would have mattered if her life had seeped out on that cold concrete.
He got up and went to the window, stretching again. He was tired. He hadn't slept since they'd brought her in. All through the operation, he'd paced and waited for news. It had been the longest night he'd ever spent.
A soft sound from the bed caught his attention. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The unbecoming hospital gown did nothing for her. She was too thin. He scowled as he looked at her, his mind on the coldness he'd shown her over the years, the unrelenting hostility that had, eventually, turned a shy, loving girl into a quiet, insecure woman. Tess had wanted to love him, and he'd slapped her down, hard. It hadn't been cruelty so much as a raging desire that he'd started to satisfy in the only way he knew to satisfy it—roughly, savagely. But Tess had been a virgin, and he hadn't known. She'd run from him, in tears, barely in time to save her honor. Afterwards, she'd never come near him again. His pride hadn't allowed him to go after her, to explain that tenderness wasn't something he was used to showing women. Her frantic departure in tears had shattered him. She didn't know that.
He'd been antagonistic to hide the hurt the experience had dealt him, so it wasn't surprising that she thought he hated her. He'd even tried to convince himself he didn't mind the fact that Tess avoided him like the plague. To save his pride, he'd even made it appear as if his actions had been premeditated, to make her leave him alone.
He thought back to those dark days after he'd been shot. Everyone had deserted him. His mother had always hated him, despite her pretense for the sake of appearances. Even Jane, his wife, had walked out on him and filed for divorce, after being blatantly unfaithful to him. But Tess had been with him every step of the way, making him live, making him fight. Tess had been the light that brought him out of the darkness. And he'd repaid her loving kindness with cruelty. It hurt him to remember that. It hurt him more to realize that she could have died last night.
A faint tap on the door announced the nurse's entrance. She smiled at Dane and proceeded to check Tess's vital signs.
"Lucky, wasn't she?" the woman asked absently, as she waited for the thermometer to register. "Just a few inches to the side and she'd be dead."
The impact of the idle remark was as sharp as a tack. He blinked, his dark gaze steady on Tess's closed eyes. If she died, he'd be alone. He'd have no one.
The enormity of the thought drove him out of the room with a murmured excuse. He walked down the long corridor without seeing it, his mind humming all the way to the black Mercedes he'd had Helen drive to the parking lot for him while Tess was in surgery. He still had to call the office and tell them how she was. He checked his watch; it was time they were at work. He'd stop by on the way to his apartment to shower and change his clothes.
He unlocked the car, but he didn't get in, his hand on the door handle as he stared up at the hospital. Tess wasn't a relative in any sense at all. Their parents had never married. But they were both only children and their parents were dead.
With a rough sigh, he opened the car door and got in. He didn't start it immediately. He stared at the blood on his sleeve. Tess's blood. He'd watched it pulse out of her in the darkness as if it were his own. She could have died in his arms.
Once she'd been such a bright, happy girl, so eager to please him, so obviously in love with him. He closed his eyes. He'd killed that sweet feeling in her. He'd frightened it right out of her with his clumsy headlong rush at her that afternoon, when he'd given in finally to the need that had been tearing him apart. He'd never wanted anyone so much. But he knew nothing of tenderness, and he'd terrified her. It hadn't been deliberate, but maybe, subconsciously, he'd wanted her to back away, before she became his world. A failed marriage made a man gun-shy, Dane thought bitterly, looking back to the time three years ago when Tess and he had first met...
From the evening that Tess and Dane had first met—so long ago, at a restaurant where their parents had invited them to get acquainted—they saw very little of each other except on holidays. Dane and his wife, Jane, were not getting along. And even his mother, Nita, had mentioned cattily that Jane had been seen with another man. It was almost as if it pleased Nita to know that Dane's wife was being openly unfaithful to him....
Those days had not been good ones for Dane. Then, on the morning that Wyatt Meriwether and Nita Lassiter announced their engagement, Dane had walked into a shootout with some bank robbers and had wound up in the county emergency room fighting for his life.
Tess had rushed to the hospital as soon as she knew. Her father drove her, but when they discovered that Nita was still at home and that Jane couldn't be found, he'd left.
But Tess stayed, that night and the next day. Once she convinced a floor nurse that he was going to be her stepbrother, and that he had no one else, they allowed her to see him in intensive care. She held his hand, smoothed his brow and cringed at the damage the bullets had done, because she'd had a look at the torn flesh of his shoulder, spine and leg where the bullets had penetrated.
“Will I walk?" he managed in a pain-laced voice when he regained consciousness.
"Of course," Tess said with a gentle smile. She touched his lean face and pushed the hair away from his forehead with a possessive feeling.
His eyes closed and he groaned. "Where's my mother?" he asked harshly. "Where's Jane?"
She hesitated.
His black eyes opened again, fury in them. "She was sleeping with my partner," he said harshly. "He told me...."
She grimaced.
He laughed coldly and went back to sleep.
In the weeks that followed, Dane's life changed. Jane came to see him once, stiffly apologetic, only to inform him that she'd filed for divorce and was remarrying the minute the divorce was final. His mother peered in the door, remarked that he seemed prepared to live after all, and went sailing with Wyatt.
Tess, infuriated with the rest of the family, devoted herself to Dane's recovery.
God knew, he needed someone, she thought. What he'd found out about Jane had very likely distracted him enough to get him shot. Then Jane walked out on him. His own mother had deserted him. Not only that, but he even lost his job, because the surgeons agreed that he might never be fit enough for full-time work again because of the damage to his spine.
When they told him the bad news, he almost gave up, he was so depressed.
"This won't do," Tess said gently, recognizing instinctively the lack of life in his lean face. She knelt beside the chair where he was sitting up for a few minutes and took his hand in hers, holding tightly. "You can't give up, Dane," she told him. "They only said that you might not be able to work—not that you will. You can't let them do this to you."
"Can't? They already have," he said tersely, averting his eyes. "Why don't you get out, too?"
"You're my almost-big-brother," she said. "I want you to get well."
He glared at her. "I don't need a teenage sister."
"You'll get one, all the same, when our parents marry," she said pleasantly. "Come on, cheer up. You're tough. You were a ranger, after all."
His face closed up. "Was is right."
“So you won't be in prime condition for a while. So what? Listen, Dane, there are plenty of things you can do with your law-enforcement background. God doesn't close doors without opening windows. This can be an opportunity, if you'll just look at it in that light."
He didn't speak. But he listened. His dark eyes narrowed as they searched hers. "I don't like women," he began.
"I guess not. With all due respect, your life hasn't been blessed with nice ones."
"I married Jane to spite my mother. Not that I didn't want her at the time. She was all set to settle down and have children. That was all she wanted." He averted his face, as if the memory of her desertion was killing him. "Get out, Tess. Go play nurse somewhere else."
"Can't." She shrugged. "Who'll keep you from wallowing in self-pity?"
"Damn you!" he snapped, his eyes flashing warning signals as they met hers.
She grinned, refusing to be intimidated. That was the first spark of interest she'd seen since they'd told him he couldn't work. "That's better," she said. "How about a cup of coffee?"
He hesitated. But after a minute, he gave in to the irritating need to be fussed over. He nodded and she almost ran in her haste to get to the coffee machine down the hall. He stared after her with helpless need. He'd never been treated like this by a woman, by any woman. It was new and unsettling to have someone care about him, want to do things for him. With his mother, and especially Jane, it had been, "What can you do for me?" Tess was different. Too different. She was getting under his skin, and not just with her warm affection. He looked at her body and felt a kind of desire he hadn't experienced in years. She aroused him as Jane never had. That, he thought worriedly, could present some problems later on. She was only nineteen, even if she was probably experienced. Most girls were these days. He closed his eyes. Well, he'd cross that bridge later. Not now.
He began to think about what she'd said, about a new profession His lips pursed thoughtfully and all at once he began to smile as wheels turned in his mind.
As the weeks passed, Tess came with time-clock regularity, sitting with him, talking to him. He accepted her presence and finally began to let his guard down with her. They grew closer, even as he fought his headlong attraction to her.
The attraction slowly began to undermine his efforts to be kind to her. He was overly irritable one Monday morning when she came to his apartment and found him lying listlessly in bed.
“You again? What the hell do you want?" he'd asked coldly.
Used to his flashes of temper by now, she only smiled. "I want you to get well," she said simply.
He lay back and closed his eyes. "Go away. Aren't you late for school?"
"I graduated. It's summer."
"Then get a job."
"I'm going to secretarial school at night."
"And working during the day?"
"Sort of."
His head turned on the pillow. "Sort of?"
She smiled. "Dad thinks I'm doing enough of a job helping you get back on your feet." She didn't add that her father had only agreed absently with her own comment on that score. Nita had been to see her son just that once, and had stayed less than five minutes. But Tess adored him. She'd worked to lose weight, to improve her appearance, so that he might notice her during his long recovery. It hadn't worked, but she was hopeful that it might one day.
"Are you qualified to practice psychiatry and physical therapy?" he asked with biting sarcasm.
It bounced right off. She knew he was hurting, so she didn't mind being a target. She put her purse aside and stood up, her ponytail swinging as she leaned over him.
"My father is going to marry your mother. When that happens, you'll be my big brother. I need to practice looking out for you," she said.
He glared at her. "I don't need looking after."
"Yes, you do," she replied pleasantly. Her eyes went to the visible scars on his upper arm in its white T-shirt. There were worse ones on his back. She'd seen them, though he didn't know she had.“It must hurt terribly," she said, her voice as gentle as the look she gave him. "I'm sorry you got hurt, Richard."
"Dane," he corrected. "Nobody calls me Richard."
"Okay."
"And I don't need a schoolgirl for a nursemaid."
"Why doesn't your mother come to see you more often?" she asked curiously.
He averted his eyes. "Because she hated my father. I look like him."
"Oh." She moved a little closer, hesitant but determined. "Wouldn't you like to be part of a family?" she asked, sounding more plaintive than she realized. "I've only ever had my grandmother, really, and she only kept me because she had to. My mother died when I was just little. Dad..." She shrugged. "Dad was never much of a family person. So I've really got nobody. And...I'm sorry...but it seems as if now you haven't got anybody, either." She clasped her hands tightly at her waist. "We could be each other's family."
His face had gone hard, and his eyes glittered at her. "I don't want a family," he said deliberately. "Least of all, you!"
"I might grow on you," she said, and smiled to hide the hurt caused by his words. Of course he didn't want her. Nobody ever really had.
He hadn't said anything else. He'd tried ignoring her, but she wouldn't go away. She came every single day, bringing books for him to read, tapes for him to listen to. She cooked for him and sat with him and talked to him, argued with him and encouraged him, and despite his hostility and lack of encouragement, she very quietly fell in love with him.
She didn't realize that her love for him was so obvious. It was impossible not to notice how she felt, when her face was radiant with it. Neither had she known that Dane noticed her without want-ing to, his dark eyes growing more covetous by the day as his recovery brought her close and kept her there. He became used to her, enjoyed her, wanted her. She was so different from all the women he'd had in his life. Tess was loving and gentle, and there was an odd kind of vulnerability about her. He thrived on her attentions. He began to look forward to her company.
But even so, he eventually grew uneasy when he began to realize how attached he was becoming to her. He was afraid of involvement, terrified of it, after the disaster of his marriage. Even if he'd married Jane to spite his hard-hearted mother, who didn't approve of her, he'd been attracted to Jane at first, and she'd pretended to be in love with him. Then had come marriage and her distaste of intimacy with him. The crowning touch had been her reckless affair with hi
s old partner on the Houston police force. That had been revenge, he knew, and she'd left him more crippled than the shooting had. Tess was a woman. She could very easily be deceiving him, too, overcome with compassion and what was probably physical infatuation.
His doubts led to a return of his former moodiness, and then to open hostility. He pushed Tess away at every opportunity, but she was stubborn and refused to believe that he really didn't want her around.
He got back on his feet and grew strong much more quickly than anyone thought he would. With good health came a revived male vitality that responded suddenly, and with devastating results, to Tess's femininity....
With her blond hair around her shoulders and wearing a white peasant dress with a colorful belt, she danced into his apartment at lunchtime one day carrying a homemade cake. Dane was in jeans and barefoot, his white T-shirt over his muscular chest damp with sweat from the workout he'd been having in his improvised gym. He limped a little because of his wounds, but he could walk. Now he was intent on walking without the limp, getting fit. But Tess was making him vulnerable all over again, draining him of strength.
He wanted her desperately, even if it was totally against his will. He'd been without a woman for a long time, and he needed someone. Tess was tempting him beyond bearing. She looked at him with eyes that wanted him, and the need had smoldered so long that it got away from him.
She hadn't seen the calculating look he'd given her as she deposited the cake on the counter in the kitchen, or the warning glitter of his black eyes.
"What's this?" he asked in a sensual tone he'd never used with her before, moving close.
"Just a pound cake," she said breathlessly, her eyes shyly glancing off his as she registered the devastating impact of his nearness on her pulse rate. Her eyes adored him. “I thought you might have a sweet tooth. How do you feel? You look...much better." Her eyes had dropped, as if the sight of him delighted her, embarrassed her.
He hadn't thought about her love life, or lack of it, or it might have prevented what happened next. His only intent at the time had been to ease the ache devouring him, in the quickest possible way.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 97
