by Lara Lacombe
He’d been working with Tony, making contacts with mid-level drug dealers. The 3 Star Killers were an up-and-coming producer and distributor of meth, and the more dealers they supplied, the bigger their territory and power grew. Alex had gone into a stairwell to talk to Billy, leaving Tony outside to watch his back. He’d just gotten Billy to agree to use the gang as his source of meth when the sound of angry voices drifted into the concrete alcove, followed by the telltale pop of a gunshot.
“What the hell, man?” Billy had said, pulling out a switchblade and taking a step back.
Alex had put his hands up and tried to look non-threatening. He never carried a gun to these meetings, not wanting the dealers to get the wrong idea. It generally wasn’t an issue, because most dealers were unarmed themselves. It would be bad enough to get busted on a drug charge; carrying a weapon only made things worse.
“Alex?” Tony stuck his head in, squinting in the darkness of the stairwell. “Where you at?”
“I’m here,” he said, keeping an eye on Billy. Evidently deciding he wanted no part of this, Billy turned and ran up the stairs. Alex heard the echo of a door slam from somewhere above and put his hands down. “What the hell is going on?” he said, turning to Tony.
“Guy out here in the alley got a little aggressive. Had to put him down.”
Alex felt his stomach drop. “Did you really have to shoot him?” He’d had to do a lot of distasteful things for the gang, but he’d never had to kill anyone, and he hated the fact that Tony had shot someone while with him. It would be tough for him to explain this to his case handler—Jim understood that Alex sometimes found himself in a sticky situation, but he tended to frown on murder.
Tony thrust out his chin and jerked up a shoulder, moves Alex had seen him make a hundred times before when the shorter, younger man was trying to look tough. “Boy tried to get physical with me. I can’t have people disrespecting me like that.”
“Boy?” Oh God, please not a child... Surely not even Tony would stoop so low?
Alex stepped around him, emerging from the dark stairwell into the brightness of the alley. Since it was the middle of the afternoon, there was little relief from the sun, and it felt like an oven in the narrow corridor. The stench nearly knocked him over—rotting garbage from the Dumpster at the end of the alley, stale vomit and urine mixing to create a singularly terrible miasma. And over it all, he detected the heavy, metallic scent of fresh blood.
He saw the feet first. A pair of stained tennis shoes sticking out into the alley, attached to feet that were splayed apart. Alex moved quickly, holding his breath as he approached.
The victim wasn’t a child, but he wasn’t that old, either—no more than twenty-three or so, unless he missed his guess. Alex knelt beside the thin body and pressed his fingers to the kid’s neck, checking for a pulse he knew wouldn’t be there. There was too much blood on the ground, and the light had already gone out of his eyes, replaced by the dull, vacant stare of death. “Dammit, Tony,” he muttered.
He could imagine the scene even before Tony started making his excuses. The kid was plainly a user, and he’d come to get his fix from Billy. Tony had tried to stop him, and had gotten angry when the kid hadn’t left. One thing had led to another and now the young man was dead.
“Why you wasting time, man? We need to go. Someone will have heard the shot.”
Alex cut him a glare before returning his attention to the body. “We need to make sure there isn’t any identifying information on this guy. We don’t want anything that could lead back to us.” That wasn’t really his concern, but it was a decent excuse to explain his interest in the nameless victim. In truth, Alex was hoping to find some ID so he could pass the info along to Jim. It broke his heart to picture a mother forever left to wonder about the fate of her missing son. “Besides,” he said, staring at the kid’s face to commit it to memory, “no one around here is going to call the police.”
Tony scoffed. “You think I don’t know that? Cops don’t scare me. But we’re close to MS-13 territory.”
He was right. MS-13 was a brutal street gang who controlled part of DC. While he and Tony technically weren’t in their territory, the gang wouldn’t take kindly to the presence of the 3 Star Killers so close to their turf. And since it was just the two of them, and only Tony was armed, Alex didn’t want to wait around for a welcoming committee.
“Then I guess you’d better help me. It’s your mess, after all.”
Grumbling under his breath, Tony knelt and patted the man down, checking one side while Alex did the same on the other. He was careful to keep his hands out of the guy’s pockets—no telling what his drug of choice had been, and Alex had no intention of getting stuck by a dirty needle.
The kid was clean, a fact that was disappointing, but not surprising. Alex stood and took one last look at the latest casualty in his life. Time to go, though he hated himself for leaving.
“Alex?”
It took him a split second to realize it was Jillian talking and not Tony. Shaking off the memory, he ran a hand over his face and looked up to meet her concerned gaze.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “I’m fine. Sorry I spaced out. I was just thinking.”
Jillian leaned back, apparently satisfied with his answer. “Do you know what we’re going to do next?”
No, but he was certain of one thing. “There is no ‘we,’” he said, setting the napkin next to his bowl. “You’ve done more than enough already, and I can’t ask you to keep putting yourself in danger for me.”
Especially after what happened to your brother.
Bad enough the gang had claimed one member of her family. He wasn’t going to let her fall victim to them, as well.
“Alex—” she began. He raised his hand to cut her off.
“No. I mean it. I don’t want you to get any more involved in this than you already are.”
“I can’t just let you walk into danger by yourself!”
“Why not?” Her concern was puzzling—he was a stranger to her, and one who had abducted her at that. Why would she care about his well-being?
Now it was her turn to look away. “You’re my patient,” she said, shrugging slightly. “I have to make sure you don’t relapse or ruin my handiwork.”
It was a poor excuse, but he decided not to press her for a real answer. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t see her again anyway.
“I think you can trust that my shoulder will be fine.” He stood and picked up his empty bowl, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain that followed his movements. He took the few steps into the kitchen and placed the bowl in the sink. “Thank you for dinner. I should be going.”
“Oh, no.” Jillian shot to her feet and raced to block the door. “You are not going anywhere.”
“Doc—” he began. She clapped her hand over his mouth, stunning him into silence. She smelled strongly of soup and hospital disinfectant, but underneath was the faint vanilla musk he’d come to associate with her skin. He focused hard on her words, pushing aside the arousal stirred by her touch.
“You can’t go back out there. Not in your condition.”
Alex took her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from his mouth. “You stitched me up,” he pointed out. “I’m not bleeding anymore.”
She shook her head. “You were, and you need to give your body time to recover. Plus, you’re exhausted. You need rest—at least a day’s worth of sleep, but since I know you won’t do that, a few hours will have to suffice. And,” she said, arching her brow when he opened his mouth to respond, “you don’t have a coat.” This final pronouncement was made in the smug tone of a gambler holding a winning hand of cards, as if the fact that he lacked winter wear was enough to win the argument once and for all.
Alex bit his lip to keep from smiling. The good d
octor was feisty, he’d give her that. And she had made some solid points. He was tired. The idea of sleep was almost too tempting to pass up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept peacefully—in the back of his mind, he was always expecting an attack, always wondering if the gang had figured out who he really was. It was hard to fully surrender to sleep when the threat of discovery and death hung over his head every night.
No one knows I’m here, he thought, considering. How could they? He’d been careful not to call Jillian by her name in front of Tony, and no one had followed them from the motel. He truly was off the grid. It would be stupid of him not to take advantage of that fact.
Plus, if he slept here, it would give him a little more time with Jillian. He absently stroked his thumb over her wrist, catching his breath when her eyes flared in response. Even though he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping with her, he couldn’t deny that he was reluctant to leave her company. She was a remarkable woman, and he wished he could get to know her better.
“Okay,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d love to crash on your couch.”
Jillian smiled at him then, the expression making her seem younger and heightening her resemblance to her brother in the photo. Guilt and remorse twisted his gut into a sickening knot, but he forced himself to smile back.
“Great,” she said, her voice ringing with relief. “Sit back down and I’ll grab some sheets to make up the bed.”
“Hold on,” he said, reaching out to stop her. “I’m not taking your bed.”
She patted his hand. “The couch is a pull-out. It’s not the most comfortable spot, but it’s not the worst, either. At least, my brother never complained.”
His skin prickled, followed by a wave of nausea so strong it made his legs rubbery. It was one thing to suspect the kid was her brother, but to have it confirmed... He staggered over to the recliner and sank down, grateful Jillian was rummaging in the closet and hadn’t seen his reaction. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to put the memory of her brother’s dead face back in the box where it belonged. He couldn’t do anything to help him now, and while it was wrong of him to use his sister, he needed to get some rest so he could figure out his next move.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I will make sure your killer pays for what he did.” He paused, gathering his resolve and determination.
“And I will keep your sister safe.”
Chapter 7
Am I going crazy?
Jillian searched the closet for a spare set of sheets, her thoughts still with Alex in the other room. He was a stranger. A sexy stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. It was a bit unnerving—she didn’t go for one-night stands, so she wasn’t used to having a man she’d just met in her apartment. And she certainly hadn’t ever made up a bed for an erstwhile kidnapper.
There was just something about him, she mused, shoving a pile of sweaters to the side. Even though he was in a fix, he was still determined to make things right. Faced with such dire circumstances, most people would just give up. But in the short time she’d been around him, Jillian had seen that Alex had a core of steel. He would fight until the end, and she wanted to make sure he was prepared for it, at least physically. A few hours of sleep would be a good start.
She just hoped she’d be able to sleep as well. Seeing Alex wearing Jason’s clothes had thrown her. After her initial arousal, she’d seen past his body to the shirt and pants. Memories of Jason had hit her then, dredging up emotions she’d buried long ago.
She wasn’t a fool. While her heart would always hope to see her brother again, her head realized that two years with no contact—not a call, a note or a visit—meant he was probably gone for good. On her darker days, she figured he was dead. What else would keep him from getting in touch?
“I just hope you’re safe,” she whispered, pulling the sheets free from the bottom shelf. “Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay.”
It didn’t take as long to find a spare pillow, and a few moments later she returned to the den. Alex was sitting in the recliner, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and regular. She moved quickly to unfold the couch and put the sheets on, then stood, eyeing him thoughtfully. While she was glad he was getting some rest, in the long run, he would probably sleep better stretched out on the bed.
“Alex,” she said softly, not wanting to scare him. When he didn’t respond, she reached out and placed her hand on his uninjured shoulder. She repeated his name, a little louder this time.
His eyes flew open and he jerked away from her, half falling off the chair as he moved to put space between them. His hand fumbled at the waistband of his pants, searching for a weapon that wasn’t there.
Jillian took a step back, holding up her hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “It’s me,” she said, trying to keep the alarm from her voice. I should have known better, she thought, kicking herself for startling him. He was an undercover FBI agent, on the run from a deadly gang. Of course he’d assume he was being attacked.
“I’m sorry, Alex.” I should have just let him sleep in the chair.
He blinked a few times, coming awake with a frown. “What happened?”
Jillian dropped her hands. “You fell asleep in the chair. I figured you’d be more comfortable in the bed, so I tried to wake you. I should have thought it through.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I forgot where I was and just reacted. It won’t happen again.” He raised his arm to run a hand through his hair and winced.
“Did you hurt your shoulder?”
He rotated it gingerly, testing. He didn’t grimace, but he pressed his lips together while he moved. The gesture told her more than any words just how badly it hurt. “I think it’s okay.”
“Let me check, just to be sure.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and submitted to a quick examination. The wound still looked good—he hadn’t pulled out any stitches as she’d feared. It would be hard for him to sleep while in pain, though.
“I’ll be right back.” She walked to the kitchen and fixed him a glass of water, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen on her way back to the den. She offered them both to him with a small smile. “It’s not very strong, but it’s all I’ve got. You can take four, and that will hopefully dull the pain enough for you to sleep.”
“Thanks.”
His fingers brushed hers as he accepted the glass and bottle, sending warm tingles up her arms. She cleared her throat, ignoring the effect he had on her. “Do you need anything else?”
He looked up at her, his eyes a deep, clear blue she could get lost in. “You’ve already done more than enough.”
“Promise me something?”
Alex stilled, wariness entering his eyes. “What?”
“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
He frowned slightly, but nodded. “All right,” he said slowly. “If that’s what you want.”
It was Jillian’s turn to nod. “It is. Sleep well.”
“Thanks.”
She turned her back on his questioning look and walked down the hall to her bedroom. How could she explain her feelings? Ever since Jason had left so suddenly, Jillian had become almost fanatical about saying goodbye to the people she cared about. She would never get that closure with her brother, but she made sure she had it with everyone else in her life.
And although she barely knew him, she was beginning to care about Alex. Now that the events of the evening were behind her, she could see he was a good man, forced to do desperate things. The more she thought about it, she had to admit that a large part of his appeal was his undercover work with the 3 Star Killers. Having seen the effects of drugs on her once-vibrant brother, Jillian was a big fan of anyone who tried to stop the flow of narcotics into the city. It was an uphill battle, but thanks t
o men like Alex, there were some small victories along the way.
There had to be a way for him to make contact with the FBI, she mused, slipping into her nightgown. He had said his case handler thought he was a traitor, but surely he had a friend, someone he knew and could trust? He was probably too overwhelmed and exhausted to think clearly. She’d talk to him about it in the morning, after they’d both had some rest. While she didn’t doubt his conviction that things were bad, she was a firm believer in the restorative powers of sleep. This whole mess would be easier to tackle in the morning. They could come up with a plan over breakfast, she decided, climbing into bed.
Because despite what Alex thought, she wasn’t leaving him to face his troubles alone.
* * *
Jillian sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide and searching for a threat that wasn’t there. For a few seconds she thought she was back in the motel room with Tony, and she turned automatically to look for the second bed and her patient. She blinked in confusion and then remembered where she was. She lay back down with a sigh, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. Three in the morning. She hadn’t been out for very long.
She toyed with the idea of checking on Alex, but didn’t want to risk waking him. Given his shoulder injury, he might not be sleeping well, and she didn’t want to interrupt what little rest he was getting. Better to just go back to sleep herself, if she could.
She was on the verge of drifting off when she heard a muffled noise in the other room. Pulled back into consciousness, she lay still for a moment, trying to determine if the sound was real or just a figment of her imagination. She was about to dismiss it as nothing when it came again, a little louder this time.
Okay, I’m not hearing things. Was Alex just tossing and turning on an uncomfortable bed or had something bad happened?
She sucked in her breath as a chilling thought struck her—had the gang found them?
