by Kylie Brant
“What’s the matter?”
The concern in Jack’s voice had her deliberately smoothing her brow. “Nothing. Just a headache.” That was true enough. Even with the pain relievers there was a constant dull throb in her temples. She knew she was lucky it wasn’t far worse. A couple inches to the left and Mitch’s bullet would have been embedded in her skull instead of just grazing it.
She gave a quick shudder. And all these years she’d been on the run from Niko’s gun. The irony was inescapable.
“Have you told the nurse?” Jack dropped the stethoscope on the bedside table and strode to the door, still speaking. “When’s the last time someone checked on you, anyway? That’s the way these places are. Won’t leave you alone when you’re trying to sleep, but come daylight you can throw a fastball down the hallway without hitting anyone.”
“Settle,” Jolie advised, shooting him an odd look. “Lindsay’s fine. And the only nurse she needs is the one who’s bringing the papers to spring her. What are you doing here, anyway? Seems like every time I visit her I’m tripping over you.”
The words shocked Lindsay enough to have her attention arrowing on Jack, too. She’d thought she’d dreamed of him, his face floating above hers, tight with concern. His voice, filled with an unfamiliar softness. But she’d convinced herself it was just the product of a drug-induced haze, an embarrassing one at that. With everything she’d been through, why would this man be at the center of her subconscious?
Jack hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. “Just dropped by a few times on my way to or from work. To get an update.”
His obvious embarrassment ignited her own. Or maybe it was the speculation in Jolie’s gaze. Whatever, Lindsay was grateful when her friend was distracted by the short bursts of sound coming from her cell.
Jolie took out her phone, looked at the screen and frowned. “It’s Trixie. I have to take this.”
“Of course.” Although Jolie was closemouthed about her biological mother, Lindsay knew the woman was dying of cancer. Despite the strain between them, Jolie was taking care of her in the last months of her life.
The other woman stepped out into the hall, her cell already pressed to her ear, braving the wrath of any medical personnel who might happen to see her. Cell phones weren’t allowed on the floor.
Lindsay caught Jack’s eye, and her throat abruptly dried. The intensity in his gaze was searing. “You did good in there.” She had no difficulty following his train of thought back to the events in the restaurant. “Most people would have panicked, but you kept your head.” His mouth crooked. “Even threw in some heroics for good measure. Pretty damn impressive.”
There was that glow again, spreading through her chest at his words, even as the accompanying memory brought a shiver. “You obviously couldn’t hear my knees knocking from outside. I was petrified the entire time.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded and one booted foot crossed over the other. “All the hostages have been interviewed and the mothers of those kids are pretty grateful. You provided us our best intel with those texts of yours.”
Lindsay rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “I understood what set Mitch off, but I couldn’t change his mind about what he was going to do. No one could have. And that was the scariest part of the whole thing.” Mitch Engels seemingly had nothing in common with Niko Rassi. Until she’d seen his implacable will, heard the unswerving determination in his voice. In the end, he’d been as intent on death as Rassi. And she was still trying to come to terms with that.
Jack’s look grew quizzical. “You took a helluva risk. Kinda surprising for someone who claims to like playing things safe.”
She could almost hear the sound of a trap clanging shut at his words. Because he was right. For all the care she’d taken with her current identity, that had been Grace Feller in the restaurant, not Lindsay Bradford. It was Grace who reacted without completely thinking through the consequences, to herself or to others. The recognition brought a quick little knife twist of pain. She’d become masterful at disguise. But she was beginning to doubt her ability to ever change her nature.
A nature that had brought her to Niko Rassi’s attention all those years ago.
Because she was still the focus of that searing regard, she forced a light tone. “I surprise myself sometimes.” That, at least, had never been untrue.
Jolie stepped back inside, her expression troubled. “No sign of those release papers yet?”
“What’s the matter?” Because it was clear something was.
She ran a hand through her short tousled hair. “It’s Trixie. She’s being admitted. I’m sorry, Lindsay, I know I promised to give you a lift home, but I really have to get downstairs.” Her smile seemed forced. “She can be a handful.” Her words were rife with understatement.
“Of course you have to go.” Lindsay waved her away. “Don’t worry about me. I can grab a bus.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jolie was slipping her phone in her purse before she hitched the strap over her shoulder. “Jack may as well make himself useful. You’ll get her home safely, won’t you, Jack?”
Lindsay’s stomach muscles jumped, then tightened at the expression in his dark eyes.
“Absolutely.”
“This really isn’t necessary.”
“Hold still.” Jack applied the ointment from the hospital with all the care of an artist applying finishing touches to his masterpiece. “You had to know that the dressing wasn’t going to stay on in the shower. Are you sure you were supposed to get it wet?”
“I had to wash my hair,” Lindsay said with a note of finality. The nurses had seemed curiously deaf to that logic, but there was no way she was going to spend another couple days with dried blood clumped in it.
She tried to peer past him into the small sack the nurse had sent along. “What else is in there for supplies?” Since she didn’t intend to stick around long enough for the scheduled follow-up visit, she’d need to change the dressing herself, at least until the wound was healed enough to go without one.
One of his hands tipped her chin back into position, held it there. “You don’t follow directions well.”
He didn’t know the half of it. But Lindsay sat meekly while he finished, until he withdrew a large gauze dressing from the sack. “Uh-uh, way too big. I just need something big enough to cover the injury.”
“Bossy, too.” His tone was amused, but he obeyed, snipping the dressing in two before applying it and finally getting it secured to his satisfaction.
She cut short his admiration of his handiwork by pulling away and gingerly raking her hand through her hair to cover as much of the bandage as possible. She might have to hold off for a time before changing her hair color. The chemicals would be harsh against a barely healed wound. Maybe she’d invest in a wig instead.
Dropping her hand, she swiveled on her perch on the stool to face him. “Is the bandage showing?”
“A little.” He reached out to bring a strand of her hair forward, his fingers lingering. “You won’t be able to hide it altogether. It makes you look…sort of tragic.”
As if embarrassed by the observation, and his action, he dropped his hand and busied himself putting the supplies neatly back in the bag.
She stared at him, stunned. “I’m not.” The denial was automatic. It couldn’t be termed tragedy, could it, when everything that had befallen her in the last three years was of her own doing? When every blessed consequence could be laid at her door, a dark divine justice for blithely doing just as she pleased six years ago?
Mitch Engels had been the first event in all that time that couldn’t be blamed on her. The regret she’d carry from that incident at least wouldn’t be tinged with guilt.
Jack scooped up the bits of wrapping and the soggy bandage he’d replaced and crossed to toss them in the trash. She watched him, admitting silently that he was going to be one more regret from her stay in Metro City, and how the heck had that happened? Jolie and Dace, yes. The f
riendship there had bloomed so slowly, formed so solidly, she’d had little defense against it.
But Jack…She’d had defenses raised from the moment she’d first set eyes on him, for all the good they’d done her. For the first time in longer than she could recall she wanted a man. Not because she was lonely, or scared, but because of everything he was.
It was getting harder and harder to squelch that sly inner voice reminding her that she was leaving anyway. It would hurt no one if she indulged her desire just this once. And it was that kind of thinking, Lindsay told herself shakily, that made the man so dangerous.
Jack checked his watch. “Almost time for you to take a pill.” Their trip back to her place had taken longer than it should have because he’d insisted on stopping at the pharmacy first, despite Lindsay’s protests. She was too self-reliant for her own good, but without a car there was no easy way for her to fetch the medication later.
“That reminds me.” She stood abruptly, steadied herself with a discreet hand to the counter when she swayed, just a little. “I owe you for the hospital bill. And the medication.”
“You don’t have to worry right now….” He was speaking to her back. She’d gone to the cupboard, where she withdrew one of those false soup cans that any thief worth his salt would recognize, and gave it a twist.
He eyed the bills folded inside it bemusedly. It had come as no surprise that Lindsay didn’t have health insurance. Hell, millions of Americans were without it, and he’d already noted the sparseness of her belongings.
But when he realized she didn’t have a checkbook, a debit or a credit card with which to pay, his interest had been piqued even further.
Because it would do him no good to do otherwise, he accepted the cash she thrust at him. “Don’t trust banks?”
She busied herself connecting the two halves of the false can and replacing it in the cupboard. “They’re never open when you need them, are they?”
He weighed her words. There were people who didn’t like banks. He’d run across a few.
He’d also come across people who needed to travel light and fast. Having to get money from a bank account would slow them down. He couldn’t help wondering if Lindsay was one of them.
Since it would do no good to ask, he took his time placing the bills in his wallet. And wondered at the nerves shimmering off her.
She’d been calm as they’d dealt with the idiot at the Blue Lagoon. Shaky but determined as she risked her life in the kitchen at Piper’s. But now that she was safely home in her apartment, she looked as jumpy as a turkey at Thanksgiving time.
Natural enough, maybe. He jammed his wallet into his back pocket. Anyone who’d recently had a bullet crease their skull was entitled to feel a little tense afterward. Most women he knew would be in hysterics by now.
Trouble was, Lindsay wasn’t most women. It would be easier all around if she were.
She shut the cupboard door, then leaned against the counter, facing him. Other than the bandage he’d changed, which no amount of fussing was ever going to completely hide, she didn’t look much the worse for wear. If she still had a headache, she was hiding it. Jack figured she had plenty of practice hiding all kinds of things. And it must be his occupation that made him want to strip her of all her secrets.
Okay. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Stripped might be a poor choice of words. And an impossible one to shake free of his mind, joined with that brief flash he’d gotten of her changing a few nights back. That memory had proven difficult to dislodge. Although there was nothing remotely sexy in the baggy flannel pants and loose T-shirt she’d donned after her recent shower, it was all too easy to recall what lay beneath them.
“So.” He rocked back on his heels, trying to think of a blessed reason to stay. “You haven’t eaten. I can call out for Chinese. Or grab a bucket of chicken.”
Lindsay was already shaking her head. “I don’t have much appetite. I’ll get something later.”
His gaze went to the cupboard door she’d closed behind her. “Soup?” The contents of the shelf had been bare of much else. He hadn’t checked her refrigerator, but he was betting that would be sparsely stocked, as well.
“Probably. I eat—ate,” she corrected herself, “a lot of my meals at Piper’s. But I’m not really that hungry, anyway.”
Too bad he couldn’t say the same. Hunger, if that was the name for the heat firing through his veins, was about all he could think about right now. His reputation with women might be exaggerated on some counts, but not significantly so. Regardless, even he wasn’t the type to make a move on a woman only hours out of her hospital bed.
“You probably need to rest.” He meant to move toward the door. His legs just weren’t taking orders from his brain yet. “Don’t forget the information the nurse gave you. Keep up with the medication to stay ahead of the pain. Call the hospital if the headaches get worse or if the bleeding starts again and you can’t—”
Her lips quirked. “I was there, too, remember?”
“Yeah, you were.” Because he didn’t trust his hands if he took them out of his pockets, he kept them tucked away. It took a supreme effort, but he finally got his feet to move. Unfortunately, in the wrong direction.
He took two long strides toward her, leaned in the rest of the way to lightly brush his lips across her forehead. “So make sure you follow the doctor’s orders. You’re not as tough as you think. No one is. If you need anything, give me a call.”
It was just the right tone. Casual. Light. No sign of the knots coiling in his belly. Knots that tightened suddenly when her hands went to his waist. Lingered.
She tipped her face up to his, her green gaze steady. “You don’t have to leave.”
For a moment his mind blanked. It must have been his earlier sinful thoughts that had him painting her words with a deeper meaning. Could be it was just his nature to interpret things to suit himself. But a man could be forgiven for thinking that short quick glide of her palms up his waist a few inches, then back down, was more of a stroke. That the feminine fingers were curling, just slightly, into his flesh to convince him to stay.
Most of the time he’d have no difficulty testing just how accurate that impression was—and lingering to persuade even if his interpretation was flat-out wrong. But this wasn’t most times. Lindsay wasn’t most women.
It was a bitch to have to call on whatever better instincts he had, which he usually kept buried conveniently deep, to do the right thing. He should push her hands away. Remember she was hurt, shaken and probably not thinking clearly. Walk away while they both could look each other in the eye and head back to his place, alone.
He got as far as the first step. He covered her hands with his palms, but somehow forgot what he’d meant to do from there. Her next words managed to wipe his mind clean.
“I’m asking you not to go.”
Chapter 6
A little thrill zipped through Lindsay at the shock in his expression. It was more appealing than it should have been to have a man like Jack Langley—who looked like he capably caught every pass life threw at him—fumble a bit when she issued the invitation.
And it was curiously arousing to watch his shock morph to hunger, to have the intense heat of it directed at her.
He didn’t move but he loomed closer somehow. Didn’t touch her, but she was crowded back against the counter just the same. “You’re hours out of a hospital bed.” The bitter regret in his words warmed something inside her. “I’m going to do the best thing for both of us and head home.”
She would have been dismayed by his words if they were accompanied by action. But he remained motionless. Unless you counted the tension that seemed to radiate off him in waves.
She smiled, something easing inside her as she skated a palm up his chest. “You do that and your bad-boy reputation may never recover.”
He caught her hand, held it fast against one firm pec. She could feel the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat beneath. “My reputation is solid. It can
withstand the shock.”
Heat transferred from his hand to hers. It surged through her system and had her bones taking on the consistency of warm wax. Or maybe that sensation was caused by the frustration she sensed beneath his words. Who would have thought to find chivalry beneath Jack Langley’s tough, capable exterior?
“If this isn’t what you want, by all means, go.” Her hand curled, fingers entwining with his. “But don’t leave out of some misguided need to ‘protect’ me. I have to admit, I’ve never been big on decisions others made for me. It’s a weakness of mine.” One she’d apparently never outgrown, despite the drastic consequences.
The skin seemed taut over his cheekbones. His mouth looked hard as he stared down at her with eyes as dark as sin. “Maybe I’m afraid you’ll become a weakness of mine,” he muttered. But she was encouraged when his mouth went to her throat, where the pulse was beating madly beneath the skin. “You need to take it easy, the doctor said.”
Little flickers of desire spread through her muscles. She was helpless to stop it. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.” Doubt niggled through her then, even as his mouth cruised up her throat, before getting sidetracked to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Jack was the last man she ever would have expected complications from. But he had consistently surprised her since they’d met, with contradictory layers beneath that glib surface charm he wore like a mantle.
That alone should have had her inner alarm bells shrilling in warning. But they were muted by the thrill of his hands, sliding around her waist to pull her close. He widened his stance so that she was pressed against the V of his thighs. And the evidence of his interest was unmistakable.
