Shadow of Doubt

by Linda Poitevin

  Kate nodded. "Of course."

  "My bag is in my car. I'll need it and some towels." Laura stripped off her dripping raincoat as she spoke. She draped it over the back of the chair at the desk their mother had used for sewing, then pulled open a drawer and took out a pair of scissors. "And blankets. Lots of them. We need to get him warmed up."

  Kate turned on her heel and went in search of the requested supplies. She returned a few minutes later to find that her sister had already stripped the man of his T-shirt and boots, and was peeling back the jeans she'd sliced open. Kate stopped dead in her tracks.

  Holy hell, this guy was built. He had it all: heavily muscled shoulders, broad chest, six...no, eight-pack, powerful thighs—his was one of the most impressive physiques she'd ever encountered. Which made the cop in her sound all kinds of alarms.

  Someone in his physical condition, roaming the backcountry roads in the dark and in a storm, with a gunshot wound...

  Her gaze settled on the spider web tattoo on the side of his neck, just below his right ear. A prison tat? The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

  Laura cleared her throat. "When you're quite through drooling, I could use a hand over here."

  Kate opened her mouth to object, but snapped it shut again. Better Laura drew that conclusion rather than know Kate's real line of thought.

  "Sorry," she said, moving forward to set Laura's medical bag and a stack of towels on the night table her sister had cleared off. She dropped the blankets at the foot of the single bed and went around to the other side. A quick glance at their patient's slack features assured her he was unconscious again.

  Laura nodded at the oozing hole Kate had seen earlier. "You were right. He's been shot. Twice."

  Kate’s gaze followed her sister’s pointing finger to a second wound in the man's left thigh—this one bleeding more profusely, staining the bedspread beneath him a deep crimson.

  "How bad?"

  "Both bullets went clean through, thank God." Laura took a pressure dressing from her kit and placed it over the leg. "Hold that."

  Kate did as directed, applying a firm pressure to the dressing. She turned her gaze away while Laura removed the man's underwear and spread a towel discreetly over his groin, focusing her attention instead on the man's hand nearest her. She turned it over to see the back.

  Nothing. She let the hand drop and reached across to his other.

  "If you're looking for gunshot residue, there is none." Laura snapped the second glove into place. "At least, none that survived the rain."

  It wasn't what Kate had been looking for, but she nodded anyway, even as she stared at the five tattooed dots on the soft flesh of the man's hand between thumb and forefinger.

  The spider web hadn't been conclusive evidence, but this...this was unmistakable. Four dots forming a square to represent prison walls, a fifth in the center representing an inmate.

  This man had done time.

  Cold trickled down Kate's spine. Bloody hell. Just who—and what—had she brought into the house with her sister?

  Chapter 3

  Kate's mind raced through an entire gamut of scenarios as Laura tilted the bedside lamp to shine its light on the bullet hole in the man's torso.

  What was he involved in? Drugs? Weapons? Human trafficking? Endless possibilities, none of them good. All of them requiring her to get in touch with the local police sooner rather than later.

  And to be hyper-alert until she reached them.

  She thought of the handgun she'd brought with her from Ottawa. Was it serendipity that she'd driven straight down after work on Monday and hadn't stopped to secure it in her apartment? Perhaps. Though it wouldn't do her much good locked in its box at the back of her childhood bedroom closet upstairs. She'd have to figure out a way to retrieve it without alerting Laura.

  "He's lucky," Laura said. "The shot was far enough over to have missed any organs. It just needs cleaning and dressing."

  "And the leg?"

  "Clean. Missed the bone. Good thing he's still out, though. Even with the local I gave him, this is going to hurt like mad."

  Kate studied the man on the bed as her sister flushed the torso wound with saline solution. Thick, dark lashes lay unmoving against high cheekbones, and black hair fell in damp waves over a forehead smeared with mud and blood. Prominent nose, stubborn chin; his was a strong face, nothing delicate about it. It went well with his powerful body...

  Kate blinked, startled at the direction in which her thoughts had veered. Giving herself a mental shake, she lifted the edge of the pressure bandage and peered at the hole beneath it. Good. The bleeding had almost stopped.

  "How long to clean him up?" she asked her sister.

  "Another few minutes. Why?"

  "I want to try the phone again. I need to report this to the OPP and get someone out—" Strong fingers closed over her wrist, cutting her off. Her gaze darted up to the man's angular face. Across the bed, Laura gave a sharp inhale, and her hands stilled.

  Blue, Kate thought as a tingle ran up her arm. His eyes are blue.

  The brightest, clearest, most startling blue she'd ever seen. And above them, sweat beaded on his forehead. So. He hadn't been unconscious after all.

  "No cops," he grated. His gaze held hers, intense and obstinate. She made herself remain relaxed under his grip.

  Calm. Casual. Don't let him know you know. Not until Laura's safe. Not until you have your gun.

  "You've been shot," she said. "You need to tell the police."

  "No," he muttered. "Just get me patched up and I'll be on my way. No questions. No trouble."

  "I can't do that." Kate shook her head, and his gaze turned belligerent.

  "You don't understand," he grated. "I need to leave. Now."

  "I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Laura's voice intruded, "but you won't be going anywhere for a while. Both bullets passed through you, but you've lost a lot of blood. You'll need at least a couple days of rest before you're mobile."

  Beneath Kate's fingers, thigh muscles clenched. Anticipating his attempt to rise, she put her free hand on the mud-spattered forehead, holding him in place.

  "Don't," she said. "You'll start the bleeding again."

  He stared at her, defeat shadowing his expression. His eyelids drifted shut. Somehow, against the crisp white of the pillow against which he lay, he looked more vulnerable than defiant, and Kate found herself warding off an unnerving surge of compassion.

  "Kate?"

  Laura's voice drew her attention, and Kate looked over. Her sister's gaze flicked toward their patient and then back again, flashing a warning.

  "I'm going to have to mix more saline," she said, her voice studiedly casual. "The distilled water you found under the bathroom sink yesterday..."

  "Still there."

  Her sister nodded. "Good. While I'm doing that, you should get out of those wet clothes. The last thing we need right now is you catching a chill."

  Sibling-speak for meet me in the hallway, we need to talk.

  Kate cast a last glance at the man on the bed and the pain etched into the lines around his mouth and closed eyes. She withdrew her wrist from his grasp. His hand tightened briefly, convulsively, and then dropped to his side. Laura shook out a blanket and spread it over him, then touched his shoulder with the gentleness that made her such a beloved nurse in the region.

  "We'll be back in a few minutes," she said. "And then I'll give you something for the pain."

  Tight-lipped, Kate followed her sister from the room.

  ***

  Jonas Burke waited until the door clicked shut, then slammed a fisted hand against the mattress. Pain clawed through his side. He seized on it, needing it to feed the fury. The fear. Needing it to spur him to action when all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole somewhere and die.

  Pain twisted again at his torso wound. Christ almighty, how the hell was he going to get out of this one? Of all the binds he'd been in over the years, this had to be the all-time winne
r. Shot and dumped out in the middle of nowhere, a wounded animal just waiting to be found...

  The blond woman was probably on the phone with the cops right now. Depending on how remote this place was, he'd give himself less than a half hour before they got here. Cops tended to move fast for a gunshot wound. Assuming his ID had been cleaned out, it would take them a day to identify him, plus another for Ramirez and Lewis to drive up to get him and finish what they'd started. Unless...

  He flexed his leg experimentally, hissing as white-hot agony washed over him, stealing his breath and churning through his belly. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached.

  Slowly, the pain receded to more manageable, dull excruciation. Jonas's fists unclenched, and he stared up at the ceiling from an unfamiliar place of defeat. He'd lived life on the edge for so long, he hadn't bothered worrying about what it might be like to stare death in the face. He’d always figured the end would come so fast, he wouldn't have time to reflect on it.

  He would have preferred it that way.

  He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, pausing when his fingers found instead the spot where the golden-haired woman's fingers had touched his forehead. Kate, the other woman had called her. He massaged his temple thoughtfully, a tiny hope flickering in his chest. He could have sworn he’d seen a flash of sympathy in her eyes. If the phone was still out, if she hadn't been able to call the cops yet, maybe he could talk to her. Convince her to hold off until he'd been stitched up and could get out of here. As long as he didn't move too fast—

  Reality gusted back, callously snuffing out the hope. And if he did get away? What then? He'd recognized the OPP Kate had mentioned as an abbreviation for the Ontario Provincial Police, which put him in Canada. Wounded, most likely without ID, and on the run. No matter how he played it, he was screwed six ways to Sunday.

  A sudden chill rattled through him, and his teeth chattered. Jonas raised his head from the pillow to gaze at the other blankets piled on the dresser across the room. So close, he thought, dropping back again as fatigue swamped him, and yet so very far. Kind of like his grasp on consciousness right now.

  Damn.

  ***

  Out in the hallway, Laura stripped off her latex gloves and glared up at Kate. "Spill," she ordered.

  "I don't know what you mean," Kate hedged, tucking a bedraggled lock of hair behind her ear.

  "You're worried about something."

  "Aside from having run over a gunshot victim?"

  "Aside from that, yes. You're my sister, Katie. I know when you're trying to hide something from me." Concerned gray eyes studied her. "What is it?"

  "It's noth—" Kate broke off in the face of her sister's scowl. She sighed. "He's served time."

  "The tattoos?"

  "How did you—"

  "I watch television like everyone else." Laura's gaze slid toward the bedroom they'd left. "Is he dangerous?"

  "Given the tats and the bullet holes, I'm going to assume yes. At the very least, he's mixed up with dangerous people."

  "Who may still be looking for him."

  "Maybe."

  "What do we do?"

  "Keep trying the OPP. Don't let him know we recognized the tats. Stay calm. I don't suppose you can knock him out with something, can you?"

  "Sorry." Laura shook her head. "The strongest thing I carry is codeine. It'll make him drowsy, but that's about it. For what it's worth, though, I really don't think he'll try anything—at least, not tonight. I wasn't kidding when I said he'd lost a lot of blood."

  "All right," Kate said, eyeing the closed door. What she wouldn't give for a pair of handcuffs right now. Or at least a headboard on the bed that she could tie him to. "You make the saline you need, and I'll try calling the OPP after I change." She indicated her soaked, bloodstained jeans with a grimace.

  She turned to head up the staircase to the second floor of the old farmhouse. Laura's voice stopped her on the third step.

  "Your shoulder. How bad is it?"

  Bad. But if Kate admitted as much, Laura would insist on codeine for her, too, and Kate had no intention of letting drugs cloud her capacity to act if she needed to. She flashed her sister a reassuring smile.

  "Surprisingly good," she lied, resuming her climb toward dry clothing and her service pistol.

  Chapter 4

  The sound of the bedroom door opening penetrated Jonas’s semi-conscious state. He forced open his eyes as the woman named Kate stepped into the room.

  "Well?" he mumbled. "Are the cops on their way?"

  Kate came to stand by the bedside, and her watchful eyes met his, their color somewhere between amber and golden. Much like a cat’s.

  He did a mental double-take at the fanciful thought. Damn. He had to be in worse shape than he’d thought, if he was waxing poetic.

  Kate shook her head. "Not yet. The phone line's still down."

  "No cell reception?"

  "We don't have it out here at the best of times, never mind in weather like this."

  "Where exactly is here?"

  He watched her weigh her response, calculating how much to tell him.

  "My parents' farmhouse," she said.

  "In Ontario."

  A nod.

  "Where—?"

  "My turn," she interrupted.

  Shit. He braced himself.

  "Most people who've been shot would want the cops involved. Why not you?"

  Double shit.

  He closed his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, but I'm not a criminal, and I haven't escaped custody."

  "I saw the prison tat on your hand."

  "It still isn't what you think."

  "I'm listening."

  "But I'm not telling." He glared at her. "So let it go."

  "Fine." She scowled back. "The OPP can handle it."

  Jonas ratcheted back his frustration, striving for calm. Reason. She'd shown sympathy before. He just had to find it in her again. He softened his voice.

  "I meant what I said earlier. I'm not looking for trouble. If you can just get me patched up enough—"

  "Not happening."

  His gaze flicked toward the open door. There was no sign of the other woman yet. He took a deep, careful breath around the knife-edge of pain below his ribs. One chance. That might be all he got.

  "I promise you I'm not dangerous," he said, injecting as much sincerity and reassurance into his voice as he could muster, "but the people who did this to me are. Right now, they think I'm dead. If they find out otherwise, they'll come after me."

  A blond eyebrow rose. "All the more reason to call the cops, don't you think?"

  His mouth twisted. "Actually, all the more reason not to." Footsteps sounded down the hallway. Desperation crawled through him, speeding up his words. He might have seen a hint of compassion in Kate, but he had no illusions about the other woman feeling the same way. "I know this doesn't make sense, but the people who are after me...they have connections. More connections than you can imagine. I can't trust the police, do you understand? Please. If you call the OPP, I'm as good as dead."

  Shock clouded her eyes. Suspicion and disbelief narrowed them. The footsteps drew closer. Jonas reached out to grasp her slender fingers.

  "Damn it, Kate, please."

  "Everything okay in here?" the other woman's voice asked.

  Kate's golden-hued gaze held his for the span of several heartbeats, and then she tugged free and turned to the newcomer in the doorway behind her.

  "Everything's fine, thanks, Laura," she said. "What can I do to help?"

  The woman named Laura paused, then took up her place on the other side of the bed again. Avoiding Jonas's eyes, she pushed back the blanket to expose his leg.

  "Hold his leg steady," she said. "The local's going to be wearing off, and I don't have more. This is going to hurt."

  A strong hand settled on his knee. A second hand closed around his fingers and lightly squeezed. I'm here, it seemed to say. Hang in there.

  Jonas flashed a glance upw
ard, looking for more. Hoping against hope for understanding, or even hesitation. But despite her gentleness, Kate was as unsmiling as her sister, and just as determined to avoid his eyes. His words hadn't convinced her. Hadn't even moved her. She would turn him in as soon as she could, and he couldn't blame her. Anyone in her shoes would do the same thing.

  Laura began flushing saline into the hole in his leg, and a massive wave of agony slammed into him. He met it head on, letting it carry him on its crest and then pitch him into the blackness that waited.

  ***

  Please. The word wouldn't leave Kate alone, whispering itself into her ear over and over again as she watched Laura work. She didn't think it was a word he used often, this powerful man laid low. That made its impact all the greater. All the more difficult to ignore. She sighed.

  "You doing okay?" Laura flashed her a quick look. "You're not going to pass out on me or anything, are you?"

  Kate snorted. "Not likely. I've seen way worse than this."

  Laura sent another wash of saline over the wound she treated. "You never talk about any of it. Your job, I mean. I don't think I know what it is you even do. Or how you got that." She jutted her chin toward Kate's shoulder.

  "Do you really want to know?" Kate asked dryly.

  Laura grimaced. "Maybe not about that. But other stuff. You know, when you've had a hard day, or something's gone wrong."

  How about when I have a gun tucked against my spine because I'm worried that I've put you in danger?

  Kate shifted to relieve the pressure at her back, rethinking having left her shoulder holster upstairs. Tucking the pistol into her jeans might have been more discreet, but it was damned uncomfortable.

  "You're a little too far away for me to be dropping in for coffee at the end of a shift," she pointed out.

  "I suppose. But still. You know you can call, right? If you need to. Anytime. Especially now that..."

  Laura trailed off, but the unspoken end to her sentence hung in the air between them just the same. The empty air, devoid of the presences that had always been a part of this house.

  Now that Mom and Dad are gone.

  Kate studied her sister's bent head, knowing Laura's words had little to do with a sudden interest in her career. Laura had always been closer to their parents than she had. Choosing a profession they considered suitable, marrying, bearing them two perfect grandchildren, staying close. She'd been everything to them that Kate had failed at, and the hole in Laura’s life left by their deaths would be so much greater.