Cold Pursuit

by Susan Sleeman

  Whitney’s hands were shaking as she tipped the overhead lamp and studied Alex’s gunshot wound. Tomio had come to their rescue, and Alex lay on the sofa in yet another suite, his arm draped over an end table that she’d cleaned with disinfectant wipes. She probed the three-inch-long wound, and he didn’t even flinch. Just looked up at her as if bored. He’d been grazed, as he said, but also as she suspected, he’d downplayed an injury that went deeper than he let on.

  “How bad is it, Doc?” he joked.

  Ah, the joker he’d told her about was here, not the Alex she’d come to know. Meant he was stressed, but not letting on. Or maybe that was his way to let off the residual adrenaline from their near-death experience.

  They hadn’t talked about the fire, but she was smart enough to know that it was started to get her out of the room so someone could fire a shot at her. She had to believe Percy was here. But she was still so shaken that she wasn’t up to having a rational discussion about him. Better to treat Alex and then take time to think about her—their—next move.

  She separated the damaged flesh and knew this could only be sutured if the wound was excised, and even then, she shouldn’t do it. “I’ll clean it thoroughly with the iodine and then rinse with saline.”

  “So it’s going to hurt.”

  “Yeah. I’m not going to lie to you. Thankfully you have lidocaine in the first aid kit, but it’s still going to hurt.” She watched his face for a reaction and had the urge to swipe away smudges of sooty ash but resisted.

  She forced her attention to the job at hand. “Speaking of the lidocaine, it’s prescription-only to be administered by a doctor. I could lose my license if anyone found out I injected you.”

  “Then you shouldn’t use it.”

  “I’m not going to let you suffer if I can prevent it.”

  “And I’m not going to let you lose your license.”

  “No one will find out if you don’t say anything.”

  “I won’t, but I don’t want to ask you to compromise your code of conduct. So please, just skip it.”

  “Have you ever been injected with lidocaine before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any adverse side effects?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Good. I mean, you could still have a reaction, but the odds are low, and I’m comfortable with using it.” She frowned. “With it being prescription-only, how on earth did you get it for a first aid kit?”

  “You’d have to ask Gage that,” he said, but his tone told her that he’d rather she didn’t. “Will you stitch me up, or is that something nurses don’t do?”

  “As a rule we don’t do sutures, but nurse practitioners and clinical nurse specialists do. I don’t have that advanced training so I haven’t done them.” She eyed the wound. “But it may not matter because unless I can ensure there are no foreign materials in the wound, I wouldn’t close it anyway. The risk of infection is too high.”

  “You mean like fragments of cloth from my shirt or gunpowder from the slug?”

  “And dirt, too, because it’s been exposed now for a few hours.”

  “Sorry, Mom, if I got my boo-boo dirty.” He grinned. “I was kinda busy.”

  She did sound like a scolding mother, and she couldn’t help but respond to the adorable smile that displayed a dimple in his cheek. Their gazes locked, and right there over his bloody arm, recognition of their attraction flowed between them, and she was suddenly aware of touching him even through the gloves.

  She reached for the lidocaine. “I’ll go ahead and get started.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? Your ethics and all.” His face blanched.

  She uncapped the syringe. He took one look, gritted his teeth, and looked away.

  “You don’t like needles.”

  “Hate them.”

  Interesting. This guy had been shot without a single complaint, and he couldn’t handle looking at the tiny little lidocaine syringe. This chink in what she’d seen as an impenetrable armor of solidness left her even more interested in him. It made him more human. More real. More interesting.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be gentle.”

  “Just do it. Fast. Get it over with.” He glanced up at her, the smile and dimple long gone.

  His hair was in disarray from the fire, his face smudged, and she wanted to lay down the syringe and brush away a lock of hair on his forehead like she might a distressed child in the ED. Instead, she smiled at him. “I’m sure we can find a lollipop for you if you lay extra still.”

  He gaped at her for a moment then laid his head back and laughed hard. While he was distracted she made several injections around the wound and then got his attention. “I’m done.”

  He blinked a few times. Looked like he wanted to let out a sigh but gave a clipped nod instead.

  “Now comes the hard part.” As she thought of hurting him, she frowned. “Sorry, but it has to be done.”

  “Not the first time this has happened to me. So I know what to expect.”

  “Then let’s get to it.” She worked hard to put on her professional nurse persona—caring, yet emotionally detached—and poured the cleaning solution into the wound.

  A quick rise of Alex’s chest was his only response. More of a reaction than she’d thought, so she knew it was still very painful. She worked quickly and turned back to the first aid kit that was professional enough in its supplies to be carried on an ambulance.

  “Gage must really care about you all to provide such a kit.”

  “Sure. Yeah, he does. We all carry one when we’re in the field, but it’s not just for us. We’re all first aid trained so we can use it in the event one of our protectees gets injured.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, that could happen.” A protectee like her or the kids.

  She looked at the kit, and her gaze landed on a hemostatic device called an XSTAT. A large plunger-type syringe, it was filled with pill-sized medical-grade sponges that were coated with a hemostatic agent that stopped bleeding. This would be reserved for a large wound and the plunger placed into the wound to release the sponges deep inside. They expanded and stemmed bleeding. No need for direct pressure.

  So yeah, they were prepared alright with the latest technology. Prepared for life-threatening injuries. She closed her eyes for just a moment and prayed that none of them would ever, ever have to use the XSTAT.

  Alex was embarrassed. What kind of a guy was afraid of a stinkin’ needle? He was a marine, for Pete’s sake. He’d faced bombs. Bullets. Grenades. RPG’s. But a tiny needle. Just the sight of one left him woozy.

  Worse, he had to go all girly-boy in front of Whitney. He shouldn’t care about that, but man, he did. Way too much. He opened his eyes and looked at her as she packed and dressed his wound. She would leave it open to drain and prevent infection from setting in.

  She clinically appraised his arm, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The tip of her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth, and she looked so adorable. He started to lift his hand to touch her face and caught himself before doing so.

  She met his gaze, that concerned nursing expression back on her face, and he had to admit he found it very enticing.

  “There,” she said, her brow furrowing. “All finished. On a scale of one to ten, how’s your pain level?”

  She had a heart of pure gold. That was obvious, and he knew she was one of those extraordinary nurses who made their patients feel like they were the only person she cared for. And that she cared. Deeply. It wasn’t an act. She was the real deal, and he liked everything he’d seen in the last thirty minutes. Liked it too much. Well, not the needle.

  “Pain level,” she asked again.

  “Not even worth mentioning.” He struggled to get up, and the not-worth-mentioning pain radiated through the wound in all directions sending out pain signals like a sonar ping. He tried not to respond but had to take a quick breath.

  “Ah, so ‘not worth mentioning’ is what? A five or more.”

>   He didn’t answer.

  “I’ll grab you a couple of Tylenols.” She turned back to the first aid kit.

  He let out a long silent breath. He wasn’t a martyr by any means, but she already felt bad about him getting shot while protecting her, and he didn’t want to add to that guilt because none of this was her fault. She was the victim as much as he was.

  She handed him two tablets. “I’ll grab some water.”

  “No. Please. I got it.” He swung his feet to the floor, and his head swam for a moment. He paused to let it pass and thought to take a deep breath, but his lungs were still tight. He suspected he would cough, and it would raise Whitney’s alarm, so he took a shallower breath. It still made him hack once.

  “I heard that,” she said.

  “Nothing gets by Nurse Whitney does it?”

  “Nope. Nothing, and you might as well accept that and stop trying to hide your symptoms.” She eyed him. “How’s your breathing?”

  “Lungs are still a bit tight, but I honestly think it will be fine.”

  “Promise me you’ll let me know if you feel anything odd. You could still have a reaction to the lidocaine.”

  “The phone—evidence,” Sam cried out and jumped up from the table across the room. “It’s in the room. We left it. I have to go get it.”

  She charged for the door.

  “Sam!” Alex yelled to stop her, causing that coughing fit he’d tried to avoid and making his arm scream in pain.

  She paused, turned, and stared at him.

  “We need the evidence, sure,” he said. “But take a beat and be careful.”

  A sheepish expression crossed her face. “Right. Thanks.”

  “Any hint of danger—leave it. And make sure you don’t lead anyone back here.” He kept his warning gaze on her.

  She gave a quick nod and exited the room.

  Whitney closed the first aid kit, which was more like a large tackle box than a small kit. He knew Gage procured items that he shouldn’t have, but in more than one instance they’d come in handy. Alex could’ve handled the cleaning of his wound without the lidocaine, but he was sure glad she had it available, and he was also glad Whitney knew how to use it.

  Shaking her head, she came to sit next to him. “You know, I realized from the beginning that you all were in an elite class, but with every minute I spend with you and Sam, I discover skills that I couldn’t even imagine were necessary to know.”

  “Yeah. I wish what we did wasn’t necessary, but if it needs doing, I’m your guy.” He tried to smile, but she was sitting so close, her soft gaze open and inviting, that he only wanted to kiss her.

  “Seriously. I have nothing but respect for you.” She sighed.

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Yes…no.” Another long sigh. “I don’t want to like you, all right?”

  He hated hearing that, but he got it. They weren’t in a place where liking was the right thing for either of them. He gently touched the side of her face, her skin creamy and soft. “I don’t want to like you either.”

  Those full lips dipped in frown.

  “But I do,” he said, hoping to erase it.

  She flashed him a surprised look, and when he thought she might pull away, she leaned into his fingers for just a moment. Time stopped. No sound. No motion.

  Just the two of them locked in each other’s hold.

  The wind slammed something against the window, breaking the spell. They both looked over, alert. When there was no sign of danger, she got up to clean up the packaging.

  He struggled to his feet, and on his way to the kitchen he looked around their new digs. The two-bedroom suite was the mirror opposite of their last room, and he felt as if he knew the space but it was backward. They’d chosen the location because it was at the end of a hallway where they could have one of the police officers stand guard twenty-four seven and the only way to the access the room was to get through him and his weapon. Alex didn’t like that there wasn’t a more secure location, but they only had so many options. He’d almost thought about moving back to Whitney’s apartment, as the killer might not think to look there again, but Alex didn’t want to take them outside and expose them to additional gunfire.

  He swallowed the pills and took a second to compose himself before turning back to Whitney. “I don’t want to say this, but you realize this was a blatant attempt on your life, don’t you?”

  She looked up, her eyes clouded with unease. “I get it.”

  “Which means Percy is likely here, and he’s the shooter, not our gun runner.”

  “Yeah, I get that, too.” She wadded up a gauze bandage package and fired it into the trash can with enough force that it bounced back out.

  “Unless.” He crossed the room toward her, trying to come up with a way to ask this question.

  “Unless what?” She sounded so tired, and there was a raspy tone to her voice from the smoke. It was lower. Husky. Sexy. But thinking about what made it so deep—the smoke that could have taken any one of their lives—and he was chilled to the core.

  “Unless there’s someone else in your life who might want to kill you.”

  She snorted. Loud and very unladylike. She clamped a hand over her mouth and looked mortified. “Sorry, but come on. Until Percy killed Vanessa, I lived the most boring life on this planet. I worked long shifts, often pulling in overtime on a weekly basis. Going home and crashing to get up and go back to work. Family dinner once a week at my parents’ house was my only social outing. Who in that world would want to kill me?”

  “Maybe you were at odds with a doctor at the hospital.”

  “I’m pretty easygoing when there isn’t a killer after me.” A wry smile tugged on her lips. “I got along with everyone. Even the biggest egocentric ones of them all. No point in making a hard job even harder.”

  He was coming to believe that very thing about her. “How about a romantic relationship gone bad?”

  “You have to date for that to happen, and I haven’t been on a date in too long to remember.”

  Odd. He was sad for her, but more than that, it made him unreasonably happy that there wasn’t a man in her life. Something he wasn’t going to devote more thought to because what was the point with their current views on relationships?

  He got back on track. “Give it some thought, okay? Just in case you can come up with someone.”

  The door lock snicked, and his hand went to his weapon. Whitney’s eyes flew open, and she dropped the package.

  Sam stepped into the room, her gaze jubilant.

  “Got it.” She held up an evidence bag holding the phone. She’d tucked several of her equipment cases under the other arm. She set everything on the table and sat. “I’m going to check it out. Hopefully it’s dry.”

  She reopened the case and ran her phone’s light over the device. She grabbed a magnifying glass from her kit and studied it. “It’s looking drier, but I would feel better about waiting until the morning at a minimum to fire it up. What do you think? Can we afford to wait, or do you want me to risk frying it?”

  “We should wait,” Alex said. “We’re all exhausted after the scare. We need to sleep, and we can’t really do anything tonight anyway. Let’s get up early and check it out then.”

  “Agreed,” Whitney said. “I want to know who John Doe is, but if we don’t manage our health,” she paused and eyed Alex, “especially you since you’re injured, we won’t be able to keep up the investigation.”

  “That’s our plan. We all get some sleep, then check it again in the morning.” He heard the words coming from his mouth, but could they sleep?

  Not him. He wouldn’t be asleep on the job when danger came knocking at Whitney’s door again.

  17

  The morning broke with one piece of good news, and Alex would take it even if it didn’t provide significant help. The wind speeds had died down. Just a notch. Sure, they were still blizzard force, whipping the sides of their tarp enclosure that was attached to
the building as he heaped miniature shovelfuls of snow into a makeshift sifter. But maybe it was a sign that the storm was abating, and the team would be able to chopper Nate to the resort. Then Alex could get Whitney and the kids to the Blackwell compound for safety. Not happening today, though, so they had to focus on and develop the few viable leads that they’d uncovered.

  Like the phone. He thought they would’ve turned it on already. Sam thought differently after she slipped thin paper into a questionable spot, and when it came away damp, she pronounced starting it up was too risky. Give it a few hours while they looked for the bullet, she’d said. So here they sat instead. On small plastic stools in the freezing temps.

  He lifted his shoulders and stretched his back out from bending in the cold. His thoughts went to Whitney. Man, he’d hated to leave her in their new suite. His every instinct said to stand guard and watch over her and the kids, but Sam impressed upon him the importance of helping her locate the slug. Finding it could lead to the murder weapon, hopefully identifying the shooter. Alex was seriously leaning toward Percy now, but where was he?

  Alex sighed and instantly regretted it when Sam looked up at him from where she sat cross-legged on her stool. “You’re worried about them.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  She stopped sifting. “You have all three PPB officers standing watch in your stead. They’ll be fine.”

  He scrubbed his chin. “I know that, but still…”

  Her eyes speared him. “You can’t let it go. Maybe praying will help.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He scooped up another shovel of snow and dumped it onto the screen. He watched the powdery white flakes sift through, leaving nothing behind.

  He needed some sifting in his own life, too. Wouldn’t it be great if he could take the mountains blocking his way and sift them out like this? Sure, his issues were monstrously sized and no screen could hold them, but could God? He moved mountains, Alex knew. In other people’s lives. He’d seen it. Believed it possible. God had just never moved any major ones in Alex’s life.