by Diana Palmer
nerve or muscle. I was lucky." "Extremely lucky," he agreed. "But I'm...sorry," he ground out the word, "that I wouldn't listen to you." She drew in a few quick, shallow breaths to avoid the pain of deep ones. "You
thought...I was chasing you. It's okay."
His eyes closed hard. "I don't trust people."
"I know that. Neither do I, much."
He looked at her with cold memory in his eyes. "They say bullets are dangerous.
But the most dangerous thing on earth is love. It guts you, if you let it."
She put a hand to her ribs and groaned when she couldn't get her breath.
He got up from the chair. "Here." He took her spare pillow and put it gently on her chest. "When you have to cough, hold the pillow close. It makes it easier." She tried, and it did. "How did you know that?" 'Two broken ribs. One punctured my lung," he said simply. "It took weeks to get
back on my feet. I had pneumonia as a consequence."
Her eyes opened wider. "That's what the doctor was worried about, with me. He says when you breathe...shallowly...the stagnant air doesn't get forced out of your lungs and it can lead to infection."
"Exactly. That's why they're giving you antibiotics and making you drink so many fluids."
She managed a smile. "You know a lot."
"I've broken most of the major bones in my body at one time or another," he said simply. "If I hadn't been in such good physical condition, I could have died at least twice."
Her pale eyes searched his dark ones. "Rory thinks you're the greatest."
He moved restlessly. "I like him, too."
"You really don't like people getting close, do you?"
He shook his head. "I'm not comfortable sharing things." His eyes narrowed as he studied her. "It was too soon, what happened."
"Yes. Much too soon, and my fault," she added.
"It takes two, Tippy," he said quietly. "We both jumped in without looking."
Her eyes searched over his face like loving hands. "I bought baby clothes," she said with a painful laugh. "Stupid."
"Rory told me."
She closed her eyes. "Everything happened at once. The job became unbearable with the new second AD," she said, remembering the arrogant little second assistant director and what he'd cost her. "My mother made threats. I lost my baby." She ground her teeth together and a tear she couldn't stop rolled eloquently down her pale cheek. "I started drinking."
She felt his hand grip hers, hard, and hold on.
"Rory told me that, too. He's worried about you. Listen, I know about drinking. I've done my share of it. You can't keep it up. You think it will stop the pain, but it only worsens the impact when you sober up."
"I found that out."
"It doesn't even numb the pain, after a while. I ended up in rehab," he added matter-of-factly.
"After.. .your wife left?" she probed gently.
He nodded curtly, averting his eyes.
"You loved her."
He glanced at her and frowned. "I thought I did," he said involuntarily. "Maybe it
was my pride, more than love."
She smiled gently and closed her eyes. His big, warm hand felt so comforting. Her
long fingers curled into it trustingly as the medicine finally began to work again,
numbing the pain, driving away the fear...
She was asleep. He watched her with turbulent eyes. His emotions, once so easily
controlled, were beginning to get the best of him. He'd let her get right next to his
heart, right under his skin. But he still didn't quite trust her enough. He'd hurt her
badly. He'd chased her out of his life, and then had to come back to save her. She felt
gratitude certainly. But she'd been traumatized by her recent experience, and he
couldn't be sure of anything she said or did at the moment.
The doctor said it would be four to six weeks before she was well enough to work
again. Her stitches were easier, they'd be out within five days. But it would also take
longer for her emotions to stabilize. Meanwhile, he would take care of her, protect
her, spoil her. Then, when she was whole again, they'd take stock of their situation.
That was what his mind said. But his body was tormented as it recalled the sweetness of her body against his in bed, the hunger of her kisses, the aching pleasure she'd given him in the darkness. He'd never touched skin so warm and perfect, he'd never wanted a woman so much. That one night had haunted him. It would haunt him forever. If he lost her...
He let go of her hand and sat back in his chair, worrying. He'd faced that problem already. He'd gone back to his job and tried to put her out of his mind. But he'd never succeeded. He'd felt like half a man ever since.
Now she was hurt and she needed him. Rory needed him. He'd never had to take care of anyone, not like this. He'd cared for wounded comrades in battle. He'd cared for buddies under the gun in covert raids. He'd saved civilians from peril in the course of his duties. But he'd never been needed on such an intimate level in his life, except by his mother, when he was very young. He hadn't been able to protect her from death. But he'd saved Tippy.
He studied her sleeping face hungrily. Didn't they say that a saved life belonged to the rescuer? He thought about having her in his house, providing for her, taking care of her. He thought of Rory living with him, looking up to him, coming to him for comfort, for reassurance, for affection. Rory had only had Tippy. There hadn't been a man in his life, except at military school.
He felt suddenly afraid of the responsibility, uncertain of his ability to shoulder it. He'd never had to consider the welfare of another person in his adult life. He hadn't been responsible or accountable to anyone except himself. That was going to change. Tippy was going to be dependent on him for weeks. So was Rory, while his sister was unable to take care of him.
Life was taking on a new form. He wasn't sure he was going to like the changes. But they would be interesting.
Only a few years ago, his life had been in flux. He'd wandered from job to job, never comfortable, never happy. He hadn't fit in with his co-workers. He hadn't found anything that made him secure.
Now, he had a job in a tiny little town that seemed hardly significant. But he was surprised to find how much it fulfilled him. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction he'd never had when working in the military or in big city police departments. He checked on elderly residents, to make sure they were all right and set up neighborhood watches. He spoke to grammar school classes about drug prevention. He assisted local and state authorities with drug raids. He reassured citizens who were robbed. He comforted people whose children attacked them in drug-crazed frenzies and helped them cope with the terror and emptiness of being both victim and parent. He stood beside frightened women who had to go to court to testify against brutal husbands. He instigated patrols in dangerous areas. He taught gun safety
and self-defense classes for local citizens. He badgered the acting mayor, Ben Brady,
to go before the city council and fight for better patrol cars and a bigger budget for
night surveillance on crime-ridden neighborhoods.
Brady wouldn't do it. He was more concerned with his uncle—state senator
Merrill—and his re-election campaign, than any city business. Cash was sorry their last
mayor had been forced to resign after a heart attack. Certainly, Brady was going to
have a hard time keeping the mayor's job, since a former well-loved mayor, Eddie Cane,
had entered the race and was Brady's only competition to keep the job. They were both
Democrats. It wasn't going to be much of a surprise at the primary in May. And the
man who won it would be virtually unopposed at the November general election.
Nobody much liked Brady. He was narrow-minded and he did anything Senator Merrill —or the senator's daughter, Julie—told him to do. Cash knew things about them tha
t most people didn't. Very soon, there was going to be a political scandal in Jacobsville that would raise the roof at city hall. But aside from that problem, the other councilmen and the city manager liked Cash and worked well with him on his projects, well, except for the two who were loyal to Brady—but Cash privately thought Brady intimidated them. His officers had warmed to him over the months. They were beginning to feel like family. Jacobsville felt more and more like home. He'd been an outsider his whole life until now.
His eyes returned to Tippy's sleeping face. This woman had gone from active enemy to intimate friend in a space of months. He'd become part of her life, and she'd become part of his. He didn't understand his own feelings anymore. He'd been crazy about Christabel Gaines. Her innocence, her kindness, her sense of humor, her independence and strength of will had attracted him. But Christabel had never known the sort of life he'd led. She would have been sympathetic to his nightmares and his horrific past, but she'd never have understood them. Tippy would. She hadn't been through wars, but the traumas of her youth had predisposed her to understand his.
Funny, he thought, how he'd been so positive that she was a sophisticated, sexually liberated sort of woman when he first met her; he'd been sure she was a man-eater. But her real personality was one of fragility, vulnerability, yet she was no shrinking violet. She was strong and fiercely protective of people she cared for. Her turbulent upbringing had been one of pain and terror.
He didn't know if he could ever share his past with her. It was far too brutal and cold. But if he could, he didn't think it would repel her. She had an empathy that he'd rarely encountered, and that annoying sixth sense that gave her an unwanted insight into his deepest feelings. He hated having her read his mind. She saw far too much.
He laughed softly to himself. He was getting fanciful. It was late, and he needed a
night in a real bed, not in a chair. But when his eyes slid softly over her body in the bed,
he knew he couldn't leave her. He didn't want to consider why he felt that way.
HE'D DRIFTED OFF WHEN the last nurse went off duty. When he was aware of his
surroundings again, the new nurse was shaking his shoulder gently.
"Sorry," she said when his eyes came open. "But we have to give Miss Danbury
her bath."
"Oh. Sure." He got up, stretched and yawned, and gave Tippy a quick glance. She
looked far worse this morning. Her bruises were breaking out like measles, and the cuts
were very red. She
looked less like a model than the star of a horror film. He hoped they wouldn't let her
see a mirror. "I'm going to find a hotel room and catch an hour or so of sleep, then I'll
be back. Okay?" he asked gently. She hesitated. "You don't have to come back..." "If
I don't, you'll check yourself out and go home," he murmured.
She flushed. "I would.. .not!" she exclaimed, wondering how he'd guessed her
thoughts.
"It works both ways, doesn't it?" he mused enigmatically, thinking privately that he
could read her mind a little, too. "Don't let her out," he told the nurse firmly. "I'll phone
the nursing desk on this floor as soon as I'm checked in and give you a number to call
if she puts a foot outside this room. Better yet, I'll give you my cell phone number." "Yes, sir," the nurse said with a grin. Tippy glared at him. "That's not fair. I can heal at home as well...as I can...heal here," she said, hating the spaced words, because it hurt to talk and breathe. "You wouldn't make it to the elevator with those lungs," he pointed out, "not to mention the aftereffects of that concussion."
"He's right," the nurse said, chuckling at her glare. "Now,
now, we're going to start giving you breathing treatments this
morning. We don't want pneumonia."
"No, we don't," Cash said firmly.
"You're enjoying this," Tippy accused. "I feel like the Prisoner of Zenda!" "That was Stewart Granger, who was much taller than you, and just as belligerent," he pointed out. "I am not belligerent!" she snapped. Cash and the nurse exchanged glances.
"You stop that!" Tippy grated. "This is not...fair. Two against...one!"
"She can't help it," he told the nurse. "She doesn't want you to see that she's crazy about me. What she really wants is to follow me home." "I do...not!" Tippy raged. "Yes, you do, and I'll let you, the minute the doctor says you can be checked out,"
he promised.
"I am not...a book!"
He chuckled. "Have a nice bath and do what they tell you to. If you're very good," he added, "I might bring you a present when I come back."
She tried to glare and didn't quite make it.
"I don't take bribes," she muttered.
"Rory said you like cats," he told her. "Stuffed cats with sweet faces."
"You'll never find a stuffed cat around here," she stated.
"Think so?" He glanced at the nurse, who was nodding enthusiastically and mouthing "gift shop." Tippy started to argue some more, but she really did like stuffed cats. He smiled at her. His dark eyes twinkled. She met his eyes and couldn't manage
another single protest. He affected her breathing as much as the badly bruised ribs. And he knew it, the beast. He gave her a wicked wink and walked out before she could come up with a response. "What a dishy man," the nurse said as she went into the bathroom to fill the plastic basin she'd brought with her. "Lucky you!"
Tippy didn't answer her. She wasn't sure how much luck was involved in her present situation, or how long Cash's conciliatory attitude would last. She was betting that it would give
out about the time her wounds healed and she was ready to work again. By then, his
conscience would be in better shape, too. She knew he was beating himself mentally for not listening when she'd phoned him after Rory was kidnapped. He was only doing penance. Once she was back at work, he'd forget her as easily as he'd forget a hangnail.
THAT EVENING JUST ABOUT supper time, Cash had gone to talk to someone he knew in law enforcement about the third kidnapper, who was still on the streets. He left a pretty marmalade stuffed cat with whimsical features by the bedside to keep her company. While he was gone, Tippy had an unexpected visitor.
A very large man, built like a wrestler, came in the door. An equally big man paused inside the door, mumbled something to the other man, and went outside to stand at the door.
The visitor approached the foot of the bed. He had thick wavy black hair and large brown eyes, in a broad face with an olive complexion. He was wearing a navy pin-striped suit that looked as if it might have cost as much as Tippy's apartment. His white shirt was spotless, crowned by a blue plaid tie that emphasized his olive complexion.
He gave Tippy a curious scrutiny and his heavy brows drew together angrily.
"Who are you?" she asked uneasily.
"Marcus Carrera," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. His brown eyes narrowed.
"You don't know me, huh?" he added, and a faint smile touched his wide, chiseled mouth. "Actually, I've heard of you through a dear friend of mine, Cullen Cannon," she added, and tried to smile back.
"Cullen was one of the most decent guys I ever knew." He slid his big hands into his pockets. "One of the rats who did that to you works for me. He did this on the side, of course, and I didn't know until this morning."
Tippy pushed the button that raised the head of her bed a few inches. "Do you know where he is?" she asked huskily. "I'd like to take a baseball bat and have a little talk with him." He laughed, surprised. "No, I don't," he replied. "But if I find him, I swear I'll have him delivered here in a net and I'll furnish the bat." Her smile grew. "Thanks." His dark eyes didn't miss a scratch or a bruise on the part of her that showed above the white sheet and tan blanket. "They've got the other two in the city lockup," he murmured. "I talked to a judge and the assistant district attorney who's handling the case," he added. "They'll have a better chance at getting sain
thood than they'll have at getting out on bond." 'Thanks," she sighed.
"I hate having anybody close to me messed up in something like this," he said with
pure disgust. "Even when I was on the wrong side of justice, I never would have approved of something like this." "Wrong side?" she asked.
