Finding The Edge

There’s a target on her back.

And only he can save her.

How can his latest assignment not be personal? Bodyguard Todd Christian has been hired to protect ER nurse Eva Bowman. Not only has she been marked for death by a dangerous gang, but also she’s the woman Todd has never been able to forget. He chose to walk away from her—and the heat between them—once. That’s not a mistake Todd is making again.

DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including those in reader-favorite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and the Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.

Also by Debra Webb

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Finding the Edge

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07886-3

FINDING THE EDGE

© 2018 Debra Webb

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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This book is dedicated to the outstanding men and women of the Chicago Police Department. Thanks for all you do!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Extract

Chapter One

The Edge, Chicago Friday, May 4, 9:50 p.m.

“We’re going to need more gurneys!” Dr. Marissa Frasier shouted.

Someone amid the fray yelled that more gurneys were coming. They had nine new victims besides the dozen already in the ER. All bleeding, some worse than others. All had been shot and all were armed. And every damned one sported white T-shirts with an odd circle inside a circle in the center and wore black beanie caps. Their shouted threats echoed like thunder, inciting fear. Thank God most of the other patients had been checked in and were either already triaged and stable or had nonlife-threatening emergencies.

Eva Bowman might have considered it just another crazy Friday night looming toward a code black if not for the three cars that had screeched into the ER entrance with those new victims. Several armed men had barged in, waving automatic guns and demanding help for their friends. The three apparently in charge had forced everyone in the waiting room onto the floor and sent the entire ER staff, including the receptionist and the two registration specialists, outside to help their friends.

In all the commotion, Eva hoped someone had been able to alert the police. One of the security guards had been shot. He and the other guard had been restrained and left on the floor in the waiting room, blood pooling around the injured man. One of the gunmen stood over the small crowd, his scowl shifting from one to the other as if daring someone to give him a reason to start shooting. Eva wished she was more knowledgeable about the tattoos and colors worn by the different gangs in the Chicago area, though she couldn’t readily see how knowing would help at the moment. For now, she did what she was told and prayed help would arrive soon.

Eva pushed an occupied gurney through the double doors, leaving the lobby behind. All the treatment rooms were full so she found a spot in the corridor and parked. She ripped open the shirt of her patient. Male. Mid to late twenties. Hispanic. He was sweaty and breathing hard. He’d lost some blood from the bullet wound on his left side. Lucky for him the bullet appeared to have exited without much fanfare. Still, he was no doubt in serious pain. Whatever his pain level, he clutched his weapon and continued to bellow arrogantly at his friends as if a shot to the gut was an everyday occurrence. From what little she recalled of high school Spanish, he seemed to be claiming victory over whatever battle had occurred. If the group of wounded men who had been scattered on the asphalt in front of the ER doors were the winners, she hated to think what condition the losers were in. Didn’t take much of a stretch to imagine they were in all probability dead.

An experienced registered nurse, Eva performed a quick assessment of her patient’s vitals. Respiration and pulse were rapid. Though his skin was warm and moist, his color remained good. From all indications he was not critical, but there could be underlying issues she could not assess. He would need an ultrasound to ensure no organs were damaged, and the wound would need to be cleaned and sutured.

“Sir, can you tell me your name?”

The man stared at her as if she’d asked him to hand over his weapon. She decided to move on to her next question. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst you’ve ever suffered, can you tell me how much pain you’re in?”

“Cero.”

She sincerely doubted that was the case but if he wanted to play the tough guy, that was fine by her.

Over the next few minutes her patient as well as the others were sorted according to their needs and ushered on to the next level of care. Some were taken straight to operating rooms while others went on to imaging for additional assessment. One nurse and a doctor had been allowed to treat the patients in the lobby. Eva remained in the ER helping to attend to those who had arrived and were triaged and assigned treatment rooms before the gunmen arrived and took over. The armed patients who didn’t require further care were mostly loitering around the corridor waiting for the return of their friends who’d been sent off to imaging or to the OR. What they didn’t seem to realize was that those friends wouldn’t be coming back to join them tonight.

One of the other nurses had whispered to Eva that Dr. Frasier had initiated the emergency assistance protocol. The police had been made aware that the ER was under siege or under duress of some sort and required law enforcement intervention.

Once before she had found herself in a similar situation. Time was necessary for the police to arrive and assess the situation, then they would send in SWAT to contain the problem. She hoped no one else was hurt during the neutralization and containment of the gunmen. So far she had hidden three weapons. Two from patients who’d been rushed to the OR and one from the guy not a dozen feet away who claimed he was in zero pain. His pain had apparently been so nonexistent that he hadn’t realized his fingers had loosened on the 9 mm he’d been waving around when he first arrived.

Dr. Frasier noticed what Eva was up to and gave her a look of appreciation. No matter that she had removed and hidden three weapons—there were still six armed victims as well as the three armed and uninjured men who had taken over the ER. Thankfully, the thug who appeared to be the boss had allowed the injured guard to be treated for the bullet he’d taken. The guard’s injury was not life threatening. He and his partner for the night were now both locked in the supply room.

Eva glanced at her watch. Approximately ten seemingly endless minutes had elapsed since the police were notified of their situation via the emergency protocol. SWAT would be rolling in soon. She didn’t have to look outside to know that cops would have already taken crucial positions in the parking area.

All handheld radios and cell phones had been confiscated and tossed into a trash can—except for Eva’s. The only reason the pat down conducted by the shortest of the three jerks who’d taken over the ER hadn’t revealed her cell phone was because she didn’t carry it in her pocket or in an armband. Eva kept hers in an ankle band made just for cell phones. Her last boyfriend had been an undercover cop and he’d shown her all sorts of ways to hide weapons and phones. If she’d been smart she would have carried a stun gun strapped to her other ankle the way he suggested.

They might still be together if he had been able to separate his work from his personal life. It was one thing to pretend to be someone else to catch the bad guys but entirely another to take on a separate persona for the purposes of cheating on your girlfriend.

Apparently the guys playing king of the ER weren’t savvy enough to be aware that, like gun manufacturers, cell phone manufacturers thought of everything when it came to keeping phones close to users. Whatever the case, Eva was grateful her phone was still right where it was supposed to be. All she needed was an opportunity to use it. Knowing the situation inside would be incredibly useful for the police, particularly in determining how they made their grand entrance.

Her cell phone had vibrated about twenty times. Probably her sister, Lena. An investigative journalist at a local television station, Lena had no doubt heard about the trouble at the Edge. The best journalists had good contacts within Chicago PD and the Edge always had news. A Level I Trauma test unit challenging the approach to emergency medicine, the Edge was the only one of its kind in the nation.

Eva glanced toward the rear of the emergency department and the door that led into the main corridor that flowed into imaging and the surgery suite, winging off to the Behavioral Unit on the left and Administration to the right. Then she surveyed the ongoing activity between her and the double doors that opened into the lobby area. The man in charge and his cohorts were in deep conversation with the three other patients who hadn’t been moved on to another level of care. Dr. Frasier was suturing the wound of one while Dr. Reagan was doing the same with another. Kim Levy, a nurse and Eva’s friend, was bandaging the third patient’s closed wound.

Eva eased back a step and then another. Four more steps and she would be through the door and into the corridor beyond the emergency department. Slow, deep breaths. No sudden moves. Another step, then another, and she was out the door.

Eva whirled away from the softly closing door and ran to the ladies’ room. She couldn’t lock the door since it didn’t have one—no one wanted a patient to lock him or herself in the bathroom. Inside there were, however, two stalls with slide locks.

She slipped into the second one and snapped the stall latch into place, then sat on the closed toilet lid and pulled her knees to her chest so no one coming in would see her feet. She tugged her cell phone from its holster at her ankle and saw four missed calls and six text messages from her sister. She didn’t dare make a voice call so she sent a text to her sister and asked her to update the police on the situation inside the ER. Three uninjured gunmen. Four injured with guns, five others currently unarmed and in imaging or an OR. One injured guard. Both guards incapacitated.

A few seconds later, Lena told her to stay calm and to keep a low profile. Help was already on-site. Daring to relax the tiniest bit, Eva slid the phone back into its holster.

All she had to do was stay calm. Easy enough. She stepped off the seat.

The sound of the door opening sent fear exploding in her veins. She flushed the toilet, took a breath and exited the stall.

The man she thought to be in charge waited for her. He leaned against the door, the weapon in his hand lying flat against his chest. She decided that all the intruders were under thirty. This one looked to be early twenties. Though he appeared younger than the others, he was clearly the boss.

Eva steadied herself. “This is the ladies’ room.” She stared at him. “Baño femenino.”

He laughed. “Si.”

Oh crap. She squared her shoulders and took a step toward the door...toward him. “I need to be back out there helping your friends.”

He shook his head. “There is plenty help already.”

Eva swallowed back the scream mushrooming in her throat. There was no one to hear. This jerk was slightly taller than her five-seven. He was heavier and more muscled than her for sure, and a hell of a lot meaner. But she might be able to take him...if not for the gun.

As if he’d read her mind, he smiled and pointed the muzzle at her head. “On your knees, bitch.”

The shaking started so deep inside her that she wondered how she remained standing, yet somehow she did. “The police are coming.” The words shook, too, but she couldn’t keep her voice steady if her life depended on it. Right now the ability to continue breathing might very well depend on her next word or move. “If you’re smart, you’ll tell your friends and you’ll run. Now, while you still can.”

He nodded, that nasty grin still stretched across his lips. “Yes,” he agreed, the word sounding more like des with his thick accent.

Since he made no move to rush to his friends and warn them, her advice had clearly fallen on deaf ears. “So you don’t care if you get caught?” She shrugged. “You want to go to prison? Then you can be somebody’s bitch.”

He charged toward her, pinned her to the counter of the row of sinks behind her. Of their own volition, her hands shot up in surrender. “Just trying to help you out. You...you don’t want the police to show up and find you distracted. If you go now, they won’t catch you.”

She hoped like hell the guy had enough self-preservation instinct to realize she had a valid point.

“You talk a lot for a dead girl,” he growled as he jammed the muzzle against her temple now. “You give me some of that—” he slid his free hand down her belly, forcing it between her thighs “—with no trouble and I’ll be gone so fast you’ll still be begging for more.”

Trapped between him and the counter with his damned gun pointed at her brain, she couldn’t move, didn’t dare scream. Her heart flailed against her sternum. Stay calm. Your fear makes him stronger.

“Okay, okay.” This close she smelled the whiskey on his breath, could fully comprehend just how inebriated he was. Bleary eyes. Slurred speech. No wonder he wasn’t worried about the police. She drew in a shaky breath. Play along until you come up with a better plan. “What do you want?”

He laughed. “Suck me.”

She nodded as she slowly lowered her hands. The muzzle bored into her skull a little harder as she reached for his fly. He was fully erect, bulging against his jeans. Bile rose in her throat as she unfastened the button, then lowered the zipper. She told herself over and over she had no choice as she reached into his open fly. He didn’t have on any underwear so he was right there. She closed the fingers of her right hand around him while somehow managing to restrain the shudder of revulsion.

In hopes of putting off what he really wanted, her hand started to move. He made a satisfied sound, his eyes partially closing. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good start.”

She worked her hand back and forth faster and faster, felt his body tense. Watched his eyes drift completely shut.

Now or never.

Eva ducked her head, jammed her left shoulder into his gut and pushed with every ounce of her body weight. At the same time, she released his penis and grabbed his testicles and twisted as hard as she could.

He screamed.

The weapon discharged.

The mirror over the sinks shattered.

He grabbed at her; she twisted her upper body out of reach, spinning them both around. The muzzle stabbed at her chest; she leaned away from the gun and rammed into him even harder. Another shot exploded into the air as they both went down. His head hit the counter, making a solid thump as his neck twisted sharply. They crashed to the cold tile floor. The air grunted out of her lungs. Eva was still squeezing his balls when she realized he was no longer moving.

Disentangling herself from him, she scooted a few feet away. His eyes blinked, once, twice...he mumbled something she couldn’t comprehend.

Eva scrambled to her feet and backed toward the door. She should reach for his weapon...she should grab it and run...

The door burst inward, almost knocking her on top of the man on the floor.

Another of the gunmen stared first at her and then at the man on the floor whose fly was flared open with his erect penis poked out.

Before Eva could speak the man grabbed her by the hair with his left hand and the gun in his right shoved into her face. “What did you do to him?”

Shaking so hard now she could hardly speak, she somehow managed to say, “He tried to rape me, so I pushed him away and he fell...he hit his head.”

The man shoved her to the floor. She landed on her knees. “Help him,” he snarled.

Eva moved closer to her attacker. His eyes were open but he didn’t look at her. When she touched his neck to measure his pulse he mumbled but his words were unintelligible. Pulse was rapid. His body abruptly tensed. Seizure. Damn.

“We need to get him into the ER now.” She pushed to her feet. “He may have a serious head injury.”

The man grabbed her by the hair once more and jerked her face to his. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

A new stab of terror sank deep into her chest. “He attacked me. I was trying—”

“If he dies,” he snarled, the muzzle boring into her cheek, “you die.”

Suddenly the gun went upward. His arm twisted violently. A pop echoed in the room. Not a gunshot...a bone...

The man howled in agony. His body was hurled toward the floor. He landed on the unforgiving tile next to his friend.

Eva wheeled around, readied to scream but swallowed back the sound as she recognized Dr. Devon Pierce, the Edge creator and administrator.

“Check the corridor,” he ordered. “If it’s clear, go to my office and hide. I’ve got this.” The man on the floor scrambled to get up and Pierce kicked him hard in the gut.

When Eva hesitated, he snarled, “Go!”

She eased the bathroom door open and checked the corridor. Clear. She slipped out of the room, the door closed behind her, cutting of the grunts and awful keening inside. Her first instinct was to return to the ER to see if her help was needed there, but Dr. Pierce had told her to hide in his office. She didn’t know what he was doing here but she assumed he was aware somehow of all that had happened. Perhaps the emergency protocol automatically notified him or maybe he had been in his office working late. Bottom line, he was the boss.

She hurried along the corridor, took a right into another side hall past the storeroom and the file rooms. Fear pounded in her veins as she moved into the atrium. Pierce’s office was beyond the main lobby. She held her breath as she hurried through an open area. When she reached his secretary’s office and the small, private lobby she dared to breathe, then she closed herself in his office. The desk lamp was on. Apparently Pierce had been in his office working. She reached for her cell.

Before she could put through a call to her sister, she heard rustling outside the door. The roar of her own blood deafening in her ears, Eva glanced quickly around the room. She had to hide. Fast!

With no other option she ducked under his desk, squeezed as far beneath it as she could, folding her knees up to her chin and holding herself tight and small.

A soft swoosh of air warned the door of the administrator’s office had opened.

She held her breath.

The intruder—maybe Pierce, maybe a cop—moved around the room. She had no intention of coming out of hiding until she knew for certain. The sound of books sliding across shelves and frames banging against the wall clarified that the intruder was neither Pierce nor a cop. Footfalls moved closer to her position. She needed to breathe. She pressed her face to her knees and dared to draw in a small breath. Black leather shoes and gray trousers appeared behind the desk. Her eyes widened with the dread spreading inside her.

Definitely male.

The man dropped into the leather executive chair and reached for the middle drawer of the desk. His rifling through the drawer contents gave her the opportunity to breathe again. He moved on to the next drawer, the one on his right. More of that rummaging. Then he reached lower, for the final drawer on that side. She prayed he wouldn’t bend down any lower because he would certainly see her.

She held her breath again. He shifted to access the drawers on the other side, and his foot came within mere centimeters of her hip. He searched through the three remaining drawers. Then he stood. Sharp movement across the blotter pad told her he was writing something. Finally, he moved away from the desk.

The door opened and then closed.

Eva counted to thirty before she dared to move. She scooted from under the desk and scanned the room. She was alone. Thank God. The books and framed awards and photos on the once neatly arranged shelves lay scattered about. Her gaze instinctively dropped to the desk.

I know what you did.

The words were scrawled on the clean expanse of white blotter paper. For ten or more seconds she couldn’t move. She should go...get out of this office. Whatever that—she stared at the note—was about, she didn’t want to get dragged into it. The men who had stormed the ER had all been wearing jeans or cargo pants, not dress trousers and certainly not leather loafers. Just go!