by Lara Lacombe
“That’s nothing.”
“It is to me.” The words were quiet, but she heard the emotion behind them. She cupped his cheek with her free hand, stroking her thumb over the arch of his cheekbone.
“I can’t believe I let this happen,” he muttered.
“It’s not your fault,” she told him. The elevator doors opened down the hall, and she heard footsteps and the beeps of walkie-talkies. “Agent Kincannon?” a voice called loudly.
“In here,” she yelled. Seconds later, the apartment filled with police and paramedics. A pair of hands pulled her away from Thomas, leading her into the living room. She could see the EMTs swarm around him and nearly sagged with relief. He would be okay.
His gaze found hers through the crowd, and she tried to give him a reassuring smile. As the medics loaded him onto a stretcher, he reached out a hand. She grabbed it, squeezing hard.
“She comes with us.”
A chorus of voices responded to his declaration, everyone talking over one another in a bid to be heard.
“I don’t think so—”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Impossible—”
In what had to be an incredibly painful move, Thomas cleared his throat, then spoke loudly. “She is under my protection, and I will not allow her out of my sight. She comes with us.” In the strained silence that followed, he added, “She needs medical attention, too.”
One of the paramedics cursed under his breath. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”
Thomas kept a firm grip on her hand, practically dragging her along as the gurney made its way down the hall and into the elevator. Once on the ground floor, the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance with practiced ease. One of the paramedics boosted her up into the back, pushing her along the bench until she sat by Thomas’s head. He glanced over at her, a small smile curving his lips.
“Having fun yet?”
She huffed out a strangled laugh. “Loads,” she replied, appreciating his desire to lighten the mood. “If it’s all the same to you though, let’s not do it again.”
He reached for her hand as he closed his eyes. “Deal.”
Chapter 5
Claire winced as the nurse gently blotted her cheek with an alcohol pad.
“Sorry. I know that stings.” Her eyes were tired but kind, the dark smudges underneath were a testament to her fatigue. It must be getting close to shift change, Claire realized with a small shock. After everything that had happened today, she felt it should be much later.
She shrugged a shoulder, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes. “I’ll survive.”
The nurse applied a few more pats, then drew her hand back, eyeing the wound critically. “You’re lucky,” she proclaimed, reaching over to pluck a small tube off the stainless-steel tray next to the bed. “You won’t need stitches, and I doubt you’ll have a scar.” She twisted the cap off the tube, set it aside, then leaned in to apply the liquid across the cut. It burned a little, but the pain was nothing compared to how badly the alcohol had hurt.
“What is that?” Claire asked, trying not to move her face too much.
“Medical superglue,” the nurse responded, keeping her eyes on her task. “Seals it right up and helps keep the cut clean.” She dropped the used tube on the tray, reached for a bandage. She pressed it down with gentle strokes, covering the wound completely.
“You’re all set,” she said, leaning back and pulling off her gloves with a snap.
“Thank you,” Claire said. “Can I see Thomas now?”
The nurse nodded, gathering up the trash. “I think so. He’s just a few bays down. Should be all stitched up by now.” She stood, tossed the bandage wrappers and empty tube and drew back the curtain. “I’ll take you to him.”
Claire hopped off the bed, nearly tripping as she darted after the nurse. They had been separated after arriving at the E.R., him being taken off for immediate examination while she had been shunted into a curtained area and told to wait for the nurse. Not wanting to distract the doctors working on Thomas, she’d sat on the bed, biting off all her fingernails as she waited for news.
The nurse stopped in front of a closed door and knocked twice in announcement before pushing it open. “Feeling up for a visitor?” she asked. Thomas must have said yes, because she stepped aside to allow Claire to enter.
His color was coming back, she noticed as she stepped inside. His skin was no longer deathly pale, but the green hospital gown didn’t do him any favors. He sent her a tired smile, the expression doing nothing to distract from the dark circles under his eyes or the way his skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones. She walked over to stand by the side of the bed, staring down at him and the neat white square that marked his neck. She couldn’t take her eyes off that spot, compelled to look at it, as if keeping it in her sight would erase the image of him slumped on her kitchen floor, blood draining down his neck.
He was studying her, too. She could feel his eyes raking over her face, touching on one bruised cheek and then jumping to her own bandage.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” she asked, forcing her gaze up to meet his. She spoke without thinking, only registering that she’d used the word we after hearing it. When had she started thinking of herself as part of a we? When had Thomas become the other half of that equation?
Careful. She couldn’t let herself form a connection to this man. He’d work her case and move on, leaving her behind. That was simply the nature of his job. It wouldn’t do her any good to become attached. It would only lead to more heartache in the end.
Still, she couldn’t deny that the attack had shaken her, making her feel even more vulnerable than before. It was hard not to turn to Thomas for reassurance, and the fact that he’d been injured while trying to protect her only strengthened his appeal. While she’d never want anyone to be hurt on her account, she couldn’t deny that a small, primitively female part of her responded to his act of bravery on a deeply instinctive level. Her head might be listing the reasons she should keep her distance, but her body wasn’t listening.
He held out a hand. She stared at it for the space of a heartbeat, then took his hand in her own. The feel of his palm sliding against her skin sent an electric tingle up her arm, an unexpected rush of pleasure that took root in her chest and sent tendrils of sensation spreading lazily through her limbs.
His touch was warm and reassuring. She felt the tension leave her muscles as her body relaxed, secure in the knowledge that they were safe, that Thomas wasn’t going to die on her kitchen floor. Thomas apparently needed the contact, too, as he tugged gently to bring her closer to the bed. She pulled up a chair and sat by his head, and he folded their fingers together, laying their joined hands across his chest. He reached out with his other hand to lightly touch the marks on her face with his fingertips. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, just as quietly.
His mouth tightened, but his touch remained gentle. “Yes, it is. I suspected something was wrong. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. If I’d been there...” He broke off, shaking his head.
“No,” she said, leaning forward. “I shouldn’t have opened the door. You told me not to, but when I saw the badge I assumed it was all right. I shouldn’t have been so gullible.”
“I should have called you the minute I saw what he’d done to the night guard. If I had warned you, you would have never opened the door.”
She studied him for a beat, saw the regret and self-disgust in his eyes. “You’re determined to blame yourself, aren’t you?”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s the truth.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
He shook his head in response, dropping his gaze to their folded hands.
“I don’t bla
me you,” she offered, hoping the assurance would lighten his burden of guilt. If he saw that she didn’t hold him responsible, perhaps he would cut himself some slack.
“You should.” He sounded almost sullen, as if he was disappointed in her for not seeing things his way.
“Are you trying to tell me what to do?” she teased. Maybe humor would help draw him out of his mood.
“You could have been killed!” She jerked back at the sudden shout, surprised by his vehemence. “Don’t you see? You almost died tonight, and it’s my fault. I let you down, I failed in my job, I—”
Not knowing what else to try, she leaned in and pressed her fingers to his lips. Shocked into silence, he stared up at her, his eyes gone wide and round in an expression that was almost comical. Feeling sheepish, Claire pulled her hand away, fingertips burning with the impression of his mouth. She made a fist on the bed, unsure of whether she was trying to erase or preserve the feeling.
Thomas watched her as she drew back, his eyes never leaving hers. The intensity of his stare made her uncomfortable, and she fought the urge to squirm like a scolded child. Then, in the space between heartbeats, his gaze turned, surprised amusement giving way to heat. His tongue darted out to flick across his lips, right at the spot where her fingers had touched him seconds before. Claire couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth, watching in rapt fascination as his lips curled up in a dangerously sexy grin that was filled with promise.
It was more than her fragile self-control could handle. Her body responded to the invitation before she had a chance to think, and she leaned down to press her lips against his. Thomas hesitated at the contact, his mouth frozen, lips stiff and unyielding. She angled her mouth slightly, but his lack of response was unambiguous. A hot wave of embarrassment washed over her, along with a mortifying realization. He doesn’t want this—he doesn’t want me.
Just as she began to pull away, he let out a harsh moan and kissed her back, his lips softening and molding to hers. He reached up to cup the back of her head, anchoring her in place as he nipped and caressed her mouth. The quick change stunned her, and she sucked in a breath, her knees threatening to give out in the wake of the sensations flooding her system. She reached up, plunging her hands into the red-gold strands of his hair as she moved to press her breasts against his chest, half-lying across him in a bid to get closer.
With the barest flicker of movement, he licked teasingly, questioningly at the seam of her lips. She opened to him, darting her tongue out to meet his halfway. The warm, slippery slide of his tongue against hers had heat pooling low in her belly, and made the muscles of her thighs and stomach tighten in delicious anticipation of his touch.
Thomas drew back, running the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, then moved to feather kisses lightly across her cheeks. She shuddered at the contact, overwhelmed by both the feel of his mouth on her skin and the tenderness of his ministrations as he caressed her injury. Needing to regain control of herself, she angled her head to take charge of their embrace and pressed her lips to his eyes, his nose, his chin. As she bent to nuzzle his neck he stiffened, his hand gripping her arm tightly.
Torn out of the moment, she pulled back, blinking away the fog of arousal. Did I hurt him? He didn’t seem to be in pain, though. She glanced at his bandage, still a pristine white. “What—” she began, but he quickly shushed her.
Had he heard something? Was something wrong? A flock of butterflies took up residence in her stomach as he turned his head to stare at the door, the corners of his mouth turned down. She tried to lean back, but his grip on her arm kept her from going far. He glanced back at her, and she was surprised to see his expression was not one of alarm but one of resignation, the surrender of a man about to face the gallows.
“Brace yourself,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead as he released his grip on her arm.
Before she could sit down, the door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud thump and ricocheting back. A short nurse stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and expression panicked as her gaze swept the room. When she saw Thomas, her face visibly relaxed for an instant before her features smoothed out, a mask of professional detachment dropping back into place.
“Hi, Jenny,” Thomas said quietly. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Nice hat.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on Thomas, the woman reached up to tug off the white bouffant cap, revealing a fall of shiny blond hair that landed around her shoulders. She was quite pretty, Claire noticed, her large blue eyes and sharp cheekbones giving her the look of a pixie. She walked over to the bed, then reached out and grabbed Thomas’s chin, tugging his head to the side and peeling back his bandage so she could look closely at his neck.
Thomas glanced up at Claire, rolling his eyes at this examination. Who was this woman? She plainly knew Thomas, felt comfortable enough to manhandle him without preamble. Was she a friend? A girlfriend? Her stomach sank at the thought. Please, not a girlfriend. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would kiss another woman while in a relationship. But she had started it, and maybe he’d kissed her back because he’d felt sorry for her.
After a few seconds Thomas reached up to remove the woman’s hand from his face. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off delivering babies or something?” His question was teasing, but Claire could tell by the set of his mouth that whoever Jenny was, he wasn’t happy to see her.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I should.” She crushed the cap in her fist. “But when I got a phone call telling me you had gotten your throat cut and were in my E.R., I told the woman to cross her legs and raced down here.”
Thomas chuckled, triggering an even fiercer glare from Jenny.
“You think this is funny? What the hell happened, Tommy? You could have died!” Her voice rose as she spoke, and Claire realized she was struggling to maintain control.
Thomas seemed to realize it as well. He squeezed the woman’s hand, tugging her arm until she sat on the bed beside him. “There was no need for you to come running down here,” he said gently. “As you can see, I’m fine.”
“Not that bad? Have you seen it? A little bit to the right—” she held up her thumb and index finger impossibly close together “—or a little deeper, and you’d have bled out before you hit the floor. You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive right now.”
“I’ll admit, it was a bit close for comfort,” he allowed, reaching up to gingerly touch the bandage she had reapplied. “But I’m fine, so there’s no need to worry.”
“Did they catch the guy who did this?” She sniffed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
He looked down, shifting a bit in the bed as if trying to find a comfortable position. “Not exactly, but we have some good leads.”
Jenny’s expression darkened. “You can’t be safe. What if he comes back?”
“He’s not interested in me,” he assured her.
“Then who is he after?”
“Me,” Claire said quietly. Jenny whipped her head around, blinking in surprise as if just now noticing someone else was in the room. Claire moved to sit in the chair, not knowing what to do with Jenny’s attention now that she had it.
“Who are you?”
“Claire Fleming.” She held Jenny’s gaze while the woman considered her for the space of a few heartbeats, then dismissed her just as quickly, her eyes flicking back to Thomas.
“Get another assignment,” she ordered, a note of desperation entering her voice.
“Jenny,” he said, quietly but firmly. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”
“No job is worth getting killed!”
“I won’t,” he said softly.
“You don’t know that!” She pulled her hand free, jumped up from the bed and began to pace, gesturing as she spoke. “After all we’ve been though, you’re telling me you’re willing to r
isk your life for a stranger? For a damn case?”
“This isn’t about our family, and you know it.” For the first time, his voice held an edge. Jenny stopped pacing and turned to face him. Their gazes locked as they waged a silent battle, Thomas’s expression growing more resolved as Jenny’s became pleading.
So she was related to him somehow. Claire felt the tightness in her chest ease and realized with a small shock that she was absurdly pleased by the news that Jenny was not competition. She shook herself mentally, amazed at her own reaction. Since when had she ever been jealous, and over a man she wasn’t involved with, no less?
Since he kissed you senseless, she thought wryly.
Air. She needed fresh air to clear her head. Claire eased to her feet and began to make her way over to the door, trying desperately to be invisible. Thomas and Jenny clearly had things to discuss, and she shouldn’t be here while they did it. After all, Jenny was right; she was a stranger to him.
“Stop,” Thomas commanded. She paused, looking back. He broke the stare with Jenny to fix his gaze on her. “I don’t want you out of my sight until I’ve arranged for protection for you.”
“I’ll just be outside the door,” she said, inching forward again. “You two need to talk, and you shouldn’t have an audience.”
“Claire,” he bit out, flinging the blanket off his legs and pushing himself up.
“What the hell—”
“You need to stay in bed—”
“Am I interrupting something?” Everyone fell silent at the question, heads turning to identify the newcomer. James stood just inside the room, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark gray slacks as he leaned nonchalantly against the jamb. He glanced from Claire to Thomas to Jenny, then back to Claire. “There seems to be quite the party going on in here.”
Thomas leaned back, and Jenny moved quickly to tuck the blanket around his legs as if to secure him to the bed. “I was just explaining to Claire that she can’t go anywhere without protection.”
James nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” He looked at Claire. “Where are you wanting to go?”
