There was just so much a man could endure before cracking .

“Maybe you’d better go and change,” he told her.

Marja raised her eyes to his. “Why?”

Because I’m going to jump you in ten seconds if you don’t. “Because I can only be a gentleman for so long.” His eyes raked over her body.

“And Doc, you’re pushing the envelope.”

Her breath caught in her throat as excitement and anticipation rushed through her. “What makes you think I don’t want that envelope delivered?”

“Careful what you wish for.”

As he said the words, Kane could feel the last barrier of restraint shredding.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author has written more than one hundred and fifty books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Check out her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

Dear Reader,

Well, here we are at the end of another miniseries, saying goodbye (worst word in the English language). Marja is the youngest of the Pulaski sisters and she is confident that the happiness her sisters have found is going to elude her, which is all right with her since she loves her family, her career and her lifestyle. Besides, a good man is hard to find – unless, of course, you happen to hit him with your car, which is exactly what happens to Marja. Horrified, she insists on taking care of the man herself, not knowing her life is about to change – drastically. However, not before she learns that things are never exactly what they seem and even the sexiest of men have secrets.

I’ve had a wonderful time with this series, revisiting the place and, in part, the people I grew up with. And, as for this being the end of the line, well, you never know, there might be a cousin hiding in the wings somewhere, waiting to scrub up.

As ever, I thank you for reading, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you love.

Love,

Marie Ferrarella

Secret Agent Affair

MARIE FERRARELLA

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To

Misiu and Marek,

and

growing up in New York City

Love,

Marysia

Chapter 1

She knew better.

Of all people, Dr. Marja Pulaski knew to be alert when she was sitting behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.

It really didn’t matter that the vehicle in question, a car she shared with her sister, Tania, was going at a pace that, in comparison, would have made the tortoise of “the Tortoise and the Hare” fame change his name to Lightning. A car was a dangerous weapon, an accident waiting to happen unless it was parked in a garage.

Hadn’t she seen more than her share of auto accident victims in the E.R.? Marja was well versed in the kind of damage just the barest distraction could render.

Her excuse, that she’d just come off a grueling double shift at Patience Memorial Hospital, wouldn’t have held water with her if someone else had offered it. And everyone knew that the cheerful, outgoing Dr. Marja Pulaski, the youngest of the five Pulaski physicians, was harder on herself than she was on anyone else.

Other than being somewhat vulnerable and all too human, there was no real reason for Marja to have glanced over at the radio just as one of her favorite songs came on. Looking at the radio hadn’t made the volume louder, or crisper. And it certainly wouldn’t restart the song. It was just an automatic reflex on her part.

The song had been hers and Jack’s. Before Jack had decided that he was just too young to settle down, especially with a woman who’d let him know that, although she loved him, she wasn’t going to make him the center of her universe.

Trouble was, for a while, Jack had been the center of her universe—until she’d forced herself to take stock of the situation and pull back. Pull back and refocus. Being a doctor was not something she knew she could take lightly, especially not after all the effort that had been put forth to get her to that point.

Her parents were naturalized citizens. Both had risked their lives to come to the United States from their native country of Poland. At the time, it was still bowed beneath communist domination. They’d come so that their future children could grow up free to be whatever they wanted to be.

Once those children began coming—five girls in all—the goal of having them all become doctors had somehow materialized. Her father, Josef, and her mother, Magda, worked hard to put their firstborn through medical school. Once Sasha graduated, any money she could spare went toward helping Natalya become a doctor. Natalya, in turn, helped Kady, who then helped Tania. And it all culminated in everyone working together so that she, Marja, could follow in the firm footsteps that her sisters had laid down before her.

She didn’t do it because this was the way things were, she did it because, like her sisters before her, she really wanted to become a physician. Looking back, Marja couldn’t remember a day when she hadn’t wanted to be a doctor.

But there were moments, like tonight, that got the better of her. She’d spent her time trying to put together the broken pieces of two young souls, barely into their permanent teeth, who’d decided to wipe one another out because one had stepped onto the other one’s territory.

So when the song came on, reminding her of more carefree times, she let the memories take over and momentarily distract her.

Just long enough to glance away.

Just long enough to hit whoever she hit.

The weary smile on her lips vanished instantly as the realization of what had just happened broke through. The sickening thud resounded in the August night, causing the pit of her stomach to tighten into a huge, unmanageable knot and making her soul recoil in horror. Perspiration popped out all over her brow, all but pasting her golden-brown hair against her forehead—not because the night air was so damp and clammy with humidity but because the flash of fear had made her sweat.

Her vow, to first do no harm, exploded in her head, mocking her even before Marja brought the vehicle to a jarring stop, threw open her door and sprang out of her car.

She worked in the city that boasted never to sleep, but at two o’clock in the morning, the number of Manhattan residents milling about on any given block had considerably diminished. When she’d turned down the side street, determined to make better time getting back to the apartment she shared with Tania, her last remaining unmarried sister, there hadn’t been a soul in view. Just a few trash cans pockmarking the darkened area and one lone Dumpster in the middle of the block.

You are knowing better than to go down streets like that.

Marja could all but hear her father’s heavily Polish-encrusted voice gently reprimanding her. He’d been on the police force over twenty-eight years when he finally retired, much to her mother’s relief. Now he was the head of a security company that had once belonged to his best friend and was no less vigilant when it came to the female members of his family.

He was especially so with her because she was the last of his daughters—through no fault of her own, she often pointed out. He always ignored the comment, saying that the fact remained that she was the youngest and as such, in need of guidance. Stubborn mules had nothing on her father.

Marja’s legs felt as if they were made out of rubber and her heart pounded harder than a marching band as she rounded her vehicle. She hoped against hope that her ears were playing tricks on her. That the thud she’d both heard and—she swore—felt along every inch of her body was all just a trick being played by her overtired imagination.

But the moment she approached the front of her car, she knew it wasn’t her imagination. Her imagination didn’t use the kind of words she heard emerging from just before the front of the grille.

And then the next second, she saw him.

He was lying on the ground. A blond, lean, wiry man wearing a work shirt rolled up at the sleeves and exposing forearms that could have been carved out of granite they looked so hard. The work shirt was unbuttoned. Beneath it was a black T-shirt, adhering to more muscles.

Had the man’s shirt and pants been as dark as his T-shirt, she might have missed it. But they weren’t. They were both light-colored. Which was how she was able to see the blood.

What had she done?

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Marja cried, horrified as she crouched down to the man’s level to take a closer look. “I didn’t see you.” The words sounded so lame to her ears.

The man responded with an unintelligible growl and at first she thought he was speaking to her in another language. New York City was every bit as much of a melting pot now as it had been a century ago. The only difference was that now there were different countries sending over their tired, their poor, their huddled masses yearning to be free.

But the next moment she realized that the man spoke English, just growled the words at a lowered decibel. Maybe he was trying to mask the real words out of politeness.

No, she decided in the next moment, he didn’t look like the type to tiptoe around that way.

“Are you hurt?”

It was a rhetorical question, but she was flustered. Her parents thought of her as the flighty one, but that description only applied to her social life—post-Jack. Professionally, Marja was completely serious, completely dedicated. She needed one to balance out the other.

“Of course you’re hurt,” she chided herself for the thoughtless question. “Can you stand?” she asked. Marja held her breath as she waited hopefully for a positive answer.

Rather than reply, the bleeding stranger continued glaring at her. She could almost feel the steely, angry green gaze, as if it were physical.

It wasn’t bad enough that he’d just been shot, Kane Donnelly thought. Now they were trying to finish him off with a car.

At least, that was what he’d thought when his body had felt the initial impact of the vehicle’s grille against his torso, knocking him down. But now, one look at the woman’s face and the sound of her breathless voice told him that she wasn’t part of the little scenario that had sent him sprinting down dark alleys, holding on to his wounded side with one hand, his gun with the other.

Damn it, he was supposed to be more on top of his game than this.

Kane swore roundly again. He was a veteran, for God’s sake, of the air force as well as the Company. He wasn’t supposed to let some barely-shaving punk kid, who hadn’t a thing to do with his undercover assignment, get a piece of him as he fired drunkenly into the night.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, Kane began to struggle to his feet, praying fervently to a deity that, until a few minutes ago, he’d firmly believed had left a Gone Fishing sign on His heavenly gate. The prayer encompassed the hope that nothing had been broken in this little-man-versus-machine encounter that had just occurred.

And then, interrupted, he stopped praying.

Kane was surprised that the diminutive woman with the lethal car had begun to prop her shoulder beneath his. Her hands tightened around his torso as she joined him in the effort to make him vertical again.

What the hell was she up to? “Hey,” Kane protested angrily.

She didn’t let his tone stop her. She was used to being yelled at. It amazed her what people in pain were capable of saying that they’d never even utter under different circumstances.

“Just trying to get you upright,” she said in a voice that kindergarten teachers used on their slower students.

Where did she get off, copping an attitude? It annoyed the hell out of him. He needed to be out of here. Needed to see to the bullet wound.

The next minute, as Kane planted his feet on the asphalt a little less firmly than he was happy about, he felt her soft, capable hands traveling up and down the length of his legs.

What the hell was she, a hooker trying to arouse him? Or was she just trying to roll him for money? In either case, he was on his guard. He tried to grab her hands, but she eluded him, continuing to feel up his body.

“Hey,” Kane demanded, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She would have assumed that would have been obvious, Marja thought. But apparently not to the likes of him. It reminded her just how sheltered, in some ways, she still was.

“Just checking for broken bones. There don’t seem to be any,” she concluded.

At least, she added silently, no major ones. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a cracked rib or two. He had blood on his shirt and it had to have come from somewhere. Was it someone else’s? The best way to find out just what was going on would be for her to get this man to the hospital.

Straightening, she suddenly saw the reason for the blood. There was a hole in his shirt just beneath the third rib. A hole whose outline was surrounded with blood.

She raised her eyes to his. That was why he’d stumbled in front of her car when he had. Why hadn’t he said anything?

“You’ve been shot.”

Kane blew out a breath. “No kidding, Sherlock.” He bit off the retort. Damn, but the bullet wound hurt like hell. He was pretty sure the bullet was still in there somewhere. This working undercover without benefit of a vest was the pits.

He certainly wasn’t in the running for a Mr. Congeniality award, she thought, frowning at him. Marja nodded at the bullet wound. “You need to have that taken care of.”

He glanced over his shoulder. No one was coming. He’d managed to lose the little son of a bitch. Kane looked back at the woman, wondering if he could commandeer her car. “You always state the obvious?”

Definitely not Mr. Congeniality. More in the running for Oscar the Grouch. “Only when I’m talking to a Neanderthal.”

She’d give him too much of a hard time if he tried to take her car, he decided, and he was in no condition to take her on. He felt as weak as a wet kitten someone had done their best to drown.

He had to get going before his strength deserted him altogether.

“Well, let’s remedy that right now.” Kane stepped back, away from the annoying woman, and then turned around on very shaky legs. Right now, he needed to get back to the run-down hotel room his handler had secured for him while he played out this half-assed charade. If he didn’t get this bullet out soon, he had the uneasy feeling he was going to pass out.

To his surprise and great annoyance, the woman he was trying to get away from shifted, moving faster than he did. She got in front of him. More than that, she got in his face.

Pointing to his wound, she said, “I can take care of that for you.”

Against his will, he winced, the result of taking in a shallow breath. His side felt as if it was on fire. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m not the one who shot you,” she pointed out. Somewhere in the back of her head, she could envision her father, his frown so deep it imprinted itself into the furrows of his deep jowls, demanding to know what she was possibly thinking, standing and arguing with a man with a gunshot wound. But she couldn’t just leave him here. That wasn’t why she’d become a doctor.

“Lady, get out of my way,” the stranger growled menacingly.

Marja stood her ground on knees that didn’t quite feel solid. “I’m a doctor,” she told him. “I can take you to the hospital and treat you.”

There was disdain on the handsome face. He looked dangerous, she thought, wondering if she was making a fatal mistake.

“Business that slow?”

Rounding the hood, she got over to the passenger side and threw open the door. “Get in,” she ordered in the most authoritative voice she could manage. She was channeling her mother, who no one disobeyed.

Obviously her future was not in channeling. The stranger didn’t move. If anything, his expression grew darker. “No, thanks.”

He was about to go. Again, she moved so that she was in front of him, blocking his way out of the side street. He was breathing harder, she noted. It was getting more difficult for him to stand, she guessed.

Marja did her best to brazen him out. “That wasn’t an offer you were supposed to refuse.”

“I can’t go to the hospital.” He couldn’t afford for his cover to be blown, not when things were beginning to come together, however slowly.

“Why?” Marja demanded.

Even as she asked, she had a feeling she knew. Anyone who came into the hospital with a gunshot wound had to be reported to the police. The man she’d hit with her car was undoubtedly standing on the wrong side of the law and couldn’t risk it. Ordinarily she’d be tempted to back off. But part of this was her fault. She’d hit him with her car and that made her at least partially responsible for this man. Who knew what kind of damage he’d sustained from the impact, however slowly she’d been going?

She couldn’t let him just disappear into the night without trying to help. That wasn’t the way she had been raised, that wasn’t what her Hippocratic oath meant to her.

For one long moment Kane seriously debated just pushing this woman out of his way and making good his getaway.

But despite the fact that there’d been no one to teach him manners, no one to drill the difference between right and wrong into his head, not even when he’d been very, very young, it was second nature to him to rein in the explosive temper that dwelled inside of him. Women were the softer sex and should be treated with a measure of respect—even when they ran you down with their cars.

So rather than become physical, Kane decided to resort to his voice, a voice that had been known to make his handler, a fifteen-year veteran with the Company, cringe and look decidedly uncomfortable. He figured at the very least, that would make the woman back off and leave him alone.

“What the hell do you think you are, lady? My conscience?”

His manner was malevolent, but there was something in his eyes, something that told her she didn’t have anything to fear. He wasn’t going to hurt her, not for trying to help him at any rate.

“Why?” she asked, her voice mild, curious. “Do you need one?”

His eyebrows narrowed, his eyes looked like thunder. “Get out of my way, lady.”

Marja stood her ground and tried again. “I’m a doctor—”

Kane sucked in his breath, struggling to keep the pain at bay. It was distressingly close. “Okay, get out of my way, Doctor.”

Marja made a quick decision, not one her parents or her brothers-in-law, all three of whom were in some branch of law enforcement, would have praised, but one she knew she could live with. Hopefully. “If you don’t want to go to the hospital, I can still treat you.”

She saw suspicion rise into his eyes to replace the darkness.

“And just why would you do that?” Each word was carefully measured out.

“Because I hit you with my car and I owe you one.”

Kane found himself leaning against the hood, his knees growing watery. “If you ‘owe me one,’ get out of my way and we’ll call it even.”

The infuriating woman moved her head slowly from side to side. A hot breeze moved her hair independently about her face. “Can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.” Getting air into his lungs was becoming difficult. “There’s your car.” He tried to wave toward it and stopped. The effort to stand grew increasingly difficult. “Get in it, drive away and go hit someone else.”

She ignored his protest. “I don’t live far from here. I’ve got everything I need to treat you at my apartment. Please,” she pressed, taking a step toward him.

The air turned sweeter. Fruit? Perfume? His brain was scrambled.

“That could get infected.”

She was talking about his wound, he thought, his brain oddly feverish. Maybe she had hit him harder than he thought. “And that’s your concern how?”

“I’m a doctor,” the woman repeated for the third time. She was really getting on his nerves.

“You keep saying that,” he accused angrily.

To his surprise, he saw her smile. Or was that just a hallucination? “And I’ll keep repeating it until you let me treat you.”

He knew better, he really did. But he felt dangerously light-headed. Losing all that blood and then getting hit by a car, even if it wasn’t going all that fast, had conspired to wreck havoc on his stamina. He began to doubt he could make it back to the hotel room.

And there were cops out. It would be just his luck to attract the attention of one of them. Right now, he wasn’t at liberty to explain to one of New York’s finest why he was weaving through the streets like a drunken sailor with a gunshot wound.

Like it or not—and he didn’t—he was going to have to take a chance on this woman.

“Okay,” he growled in his most threatening voice. “But just so you know, I’m armed and dangerous.”

Her father had taught her that when she had her back up against a wall, she needed to tough it out and put on the bravest face she could, even if her insides were rapidly turning to jelly.

“Never thought anything else,” Marja replied matter-of-factly as she helped the wounded stranger into her car.

He passed out the moment she shut the door.

Chapter 2

Marja drove quickly, squeaking through amber lights about to turn red. She hoped all the police squad cars were in another part of the city. She’d deliberately left the radio off so that she could hear her passenger in case he suddenly came to and said something.

He didn’t.

The stranger was still out cold a few minutes later when she pulled into the underground parking garage located directly beneath her apartment building.

Zipping into the assigned parking space, she turned off the engine and eyed the man slumped over beside her.

“Okay, we’re here,” she announced. There was absolutely no indication that he’d heard her. Nudging him, first gently, then with feeling, accomplished nothing. Marja placed her fingertips to his throat and felt for his pulse. He was still alive. “Wake up,” she ordered loudly.

His eyes remained closed.

Okay, now what? she wondered.

Maybe he’d lost more blood than she’d thought. Marja chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. She needed to get him upstairs. No way could she get him out of the car and into the elevator by herself.

Marja looked at the stranger’s face. For a moment she entertained the idea of turning around and driving back to the hospital. Plenty of people could help her there.

But she’d told him that she wouldn’t and for some reason she couldn’t quite put into words, she felt that it was important that she not lie to the man.

With a sigh, she took out her cell phone. She pressed the keypad for Tania, the only one of her sisters who still lived in the apartment that had originally housed Sasha, Natalya and Kady before all three of them had gotten married. Pretty soon, she knew it would be only her living there. But right now, she shared the three-bedroom apartment with Tania—when her sister wasn’t staying over at her fiancé Jesse’s place.

The phone on the other end of the line stopped ringing.

“Where the hell are you?” Tania demanded with exasperation the moment she came on. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I need the car. They called me in to cover for Michaelson. If I don’t get to the hospital in fifteen minutes, I’m going to be late for my shift.”

Marja picked her words carefully. She didn’t want to say any more over the phone than she absolutely had to. “I need you to come down, Tania.” She glanced toward the slumped figure to her right. “I’ve, um, got a slight problem.”

For a moment there was silence, then anger. “There better be nothing wrong with the car or you’re going to be facing more than just a ‘slight’ problem,” Tania warned her.

The next moment the connection was abruptly terminated.

Marja closed her cell phone, pocketing it along with her car keys. Squaring her shoulders, she braced herself for a lecture when Tania arrived. The car was really Tania’s, although they did share it. Her sister had bought it from Sasha after their oldest sister had purchased a new one, an SUV to accommodate her family increasing by one. In its time, the vehicle had ferried all five of the Pulaski women to and from the hospital, as well as the house in Queens where they all grew up and where their parents still resided.

Deciding to give it one more try, Marja shook her unconscious passenger’s shoulder again and wound up with the same results.

“If you know what’s good for you,” she murmured to the unconscious stranger, “you’ll come to—fast.”

The elevator leading up to the other floors was located on the far side of the garage. Marja watched as the doors opened. Her sister had arrived faster than she’d anticipated.

Tania, casually dressed in jeans and a blue pullover sweater, a giant purse slung over her shoulder, quickly cut the distance between the elevator and the parked vehicle to nothing.

It wasn’t until she was only about two feet away from her car that she saw Marja wasn’t alone in it. And it wasn’t until she’d reached the car that she noticed the passenger’s condition.

Marja was already out. Rounding the hood, she opened the passenger door. “I need your help to get him upstairs.”

Tania stared at her sister, stunned. She was accustomed to Marja bringing men home, but they were usually in a far better state than this one—and conscious. She looked back at the slumped passenger.

“Bringing home hospital overflow, Marysia?” she quipped.

This wasn’t the time to get into a discussion. She needed to take care of the stranger’s wound before it became infected.

“Just help me get him upstairs, Tania,” Marja said wearily. “It’s been a long night, not to mention a long day.”

Tania made no move to help. Instead she leaned over the passenger side and peered at the man.

“Scruffy, but definitely not bad-looking,” she pronounced. Straightening, she glanced at her sister, an incredulous expression on her face. “You were the one who always brought home strays,” she recalled. The habit had driven their mother crazy, despite the fact that Magda Pulaski found a way to house each and every wounded animal. “But this—” Tania gestured toward the stranger “—is over the top, even for you.”

Marja started to struggle with the man, trying to move him into position so that they could pull him out of the vehicle. If they both took hold of an arm, they could get him into the elevator.

“I hit him with the car, Tania.” It wasn’t something she’d wanted to admit, at least not yet. Not until Tania was at least a grandmother. But it was obvious that her sister needed to be coerced.

If she was shocked, Tania didn’t show it. Instead she placed her hands on Marja’s shoulders and moved her out of the way so that she could get a closer look at the man. After a quick assessment, she raised her eyes to Marja’s. “Since when does the car shoot bullets?” she asked. “Sasha never mentioned it could do that little trick.”

Annoyed, Marja shifted her out of the way and resumed trying to pull the stranger farther out of the vehicle. “Don’t get sarcastic, Tania.”

“Don’t get stupid, Marja,” Tania countered, her arms crossed before her chest. “We’re not bringing him upstairs.”

“Fine,” Marja snapped. She’d finally managed to get him to face out. It was like pushing a rock into position. “I’ll do it myself.”

Tania watched her continue to struggle for exactly five seconds, muttered a sharp oath and then grabbed the unconscious stranger by the other arm. Marja looked at her in surprise.

“You are the most stubborn woman on the face of the earth,” Tania declared angrily. Between the two of them, they hoisted the all but dead weight up to his feet.

“Blame Mama. I got it from her,” Marja gasped, struggling beneath the unconscious man’s weight and doing her best not to pitch forward or to fall backward as they slowly made their way to the elevator.

Tania held on to the man’s wrist, his arm slung across her shoulders as she took unsteady steps toward the elevator. “You know this is crazy, don’t you?”

Marja kept her eyes on the prize, silently counting off steps until they finally reached the steel doors. “We’re doctors,” she pointed out haltingly.

Leaning her forehead against the wall to help brace herself, Marja pressed for the elevator. When the doors opened almost immediately, she had to keep from falling forward. Breathing a huge sigh of relief—they were halfway there—she punched the button for their floor.

“We’re supposed to heal people,” she concluded, drawing in a lungful of air as she braced herself for the second half of the journey—getting the man to their apartment once they reached the fifth floor.

Tania craned her neck around the man they held up between them. “That doesn’t mean going out and trolling the streets for patients.”

“I wasn’t trolling. I told you, I hit him with the car.”

“How—?”

She’d braced herself for that same question. “One second he wasn’t there,” Marja answered. “Then he was. And I hit him.”

“But you didn’t shoot him,” Tania insisted. The elevator came to a stop and Tania shifted, getting what she hoped was a better hold on the man. “Why didn’t you just take him to P.M. or call the paramedics?”

Holding tightly on to his other hand, lodging her shoulders beneath his arm, Marja began to walk. “Because he wouldn’t let me.” Why hadn’t she ever noticed before how far away their apartment was from the elevator?

Tania glanced at the unconscious face. “Doesn’t seem to be putting up much resistance at the moment. The man could be a criminal, you realize that, right?”

Almost there, Marja thought. Almost there. “He’s… not.”

Tania all but threw herself against the door, then waited as Marja fished out her key. “And you know this how?” she gasped.

Marja didn’t answer until she’d managed to unlock the door and resumed her forced march, this time through the doorway. “He doesn’t have criminal eyes.”

“Right. You’re crazy, you know that?”

Marja was getting a second wind. From where, she had no idea. “Whatever you say, Tania. Let’s get him… to the sofa,” she instructed.

Together, they deposited the man on the sofa. It was hard not to drop him, but they managed. Because of her position, Marja went down with him, then immediately scrambled to her feet.

“I can take it from here,” she told Tania, dragging in gulps of air. “You just get to the hospital.”

Tania took a step back. She glanced down at her clothes, checking herself over to see if any of the blood had gotten on her. Miraculously, it hadn’t.

Losing no time, Marja made her way to the kitchen for some clean towels and a basin of water. “I said you can go,” she called. “You don’t want to be late,” she added.

Tania glanced at her watch. “I’m already late,” she answered, seeming hesitant to leave. Tania shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Look, I really do have to go. I told them I’d fill in for Michaelson,” she said. “But let me call Jesse.” She began to take out her cell phone. “He can be here in ten minutes and he’ll stay with you until you finish being the Good Samaritan.”

“No,” Marja protested from the kitchen. In less than a second she was back in the room. Water sloshed out of the basin as she came. “No, let Jesse sleep,” she insisted, putting the basin down on the coffee table.

The cell phone remained in Tania’s hand. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “All right, I’ll call Byron, then.”

That was equally unacceptable. She wasn’t about to put anyone out on her account. Besides, she could take care of herself. The fact that she was petite and young had nothing to do with her ability to defend herself if need be. “No.”

“Mike. Tony.” Tania offered up the names of their other two brothers-in-law, both of whom were detectives associated with the N.Y.P.D. Marja firmly shook her head at the mention of each. Tania frowned. “All right. Dad, then.”

Marja’s eyes grew huge. “No! Especially not Dad. You call Dad about this and you’re a dead woman.” There wasn’t a trace of humor in Marja’s voice.

“Better me than you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Marja insisted, depositing the towels beside the basin. Placing both of her hands to her sister’s back, she steered and then pushed Tania toward the front door. “Really.”

Tania looked far from convinced.

But defeated, she surrendered. Temporarily. “I’m going to call you every fifteen minutes,” Tania declared, stepping out into the hallway. “And you’d better answer.”

Marja nodded, already retreating into the living room. “I promise.” And then she stopped for a second. “And, Tania—”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I hurt the car.” There was a dent in the front bumper. It was minor, but there, and she knew how Tania was about her possessions.

Tania waved her hand, dismissing the words. “Yeah, whatever.” She looked back into the apartment, at the body on the sofa. “Just be careful.”

Marja grinned. “Always.”

“Ha!” It was the last word Tania said before she closed the door behind her.

Marja turned her attention back to the unconscious, wounded man on the sofa. Moving quickly, she made her way through two of the bathrooms. Between the two, she collected all the things she was going to need to remove the bullet from his side and then sew up his wound.

As a graduation present, her parents had given each one of them an old-fashioned doctor’s black bag. It was there that she kept the kinds of instruments for digging a bullet out of the man’s side. She grabbed hers out of her room.

After depositing everything on the coffee table, Marja pulled on a pair of gloves and got down to business.

They’d dropped him face-down on the sofa. She rolled him over, then pushed open his shirt. Very carefully, she peeled back the T-shirt beneath it. A solid wall of abdominal muscles met her gaze. She hadn’t expected that. He looked a little small for a body builder, but perfect enough to be among their number.

“Who are you?” she murmured under her breath. Curiosity had her glancing at his left hand. No ring. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wife somewhere, beside herself with worry.

“He’s a patient, not a man,” she reminded herself. But a torso like that was difficult to ignore.

Taking several cotton swabs, she soaked them in alcohol, then started to clean the area around his wound. The moment she touched the swab to his skin, she saw his muscles contract. The next second he grabbed her wrist. Hard.

It took Marja a full minute to push her pounding heart back out of her throat. Her eyes shifted to his face. He was most definitely awake. And scowling like dark storm clouds over the prairie.

“Welcome back.” Marja did her best to sound flippant.

Taking a breath, trying to get his bearings, Kane released the woman’s wrist. His eyes moved quickly around the area. It wasn’t familiar in the slightest. Where the hell was he?

His eyes shifted back to the woman sitting on the edge of the sofa. There was something white and wet in her hand. “What happened?”

Setting the swab aside, Marja looked at him. She almost wished he was still unconscious. This next part was going to be a lot more painful for him awake. “You fainted.”

Kane sneered at the mere suggestion. “Men don’t faint.”

Oh God, he was one of those. Macho with an extra doze of testosterone. She should have known the second she caught a glimpse of his abdominal muscles. “You passed out,” she rephrased, then waited. “Better?”

He shrugged. The movement caused him more than a small amount of discomfort. He felt as if he’d gotten hit by a truck. No, wait, a Mustang. Her Mustang.

“Better,” he rasped. And then he saw the array of things on the table. He honed in on the scalpel. “You planning on using those on me?”

“Unless I can get you to change your mind about going to the hospital, yes.” Maybe if she was lucky, he’d pass out again.

Kane shook his head. The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. “No hospital.”

She didn’t think so. Though she knew nothing about him, she had a feeling he was as stubborn as hell. But then, most men thought they knew best—even when they usually didn’t.

Going over to the liquor cabinet, she found a partially empty bottle of whiskey. Tony had brought it over the other week to celebrate something. At the moment, she couldn’t recall what. Crossing back to the sofa, she offered the bottle to him. “This is going to hurt,” she said simply.

But Kane declined the drink. As far as he was concerned, he was still on duty, still needed a clear head. Alcohol made people stupid. It had certainly evaporated his uncle’s brain.

“Go ahead,” he ordered.

Well, he wasn’t a coward, she thought. Faced with having a bullet dug out sans anesthetic, most men would have grabbed the whiskey with both hands.

Picking up the scalpel, Marja inserted it into the wound. She kept one eye on her patient as she began to slowly probe the wound, listening for the sound of metal on metal. His face reddened. She looked for something to distract him.

Coming up empty, she finally asked, “Why don’t you want me to take you to a hospital?”

Kane took in slow, small breaths, struggling not to tense up. Trying to focus on her question, he gave her an excuse he thought she’d believe.

“I’m between jobs. How easy do you think it’ll be—” sweat was oozing down his brow as she probed deeper “—to get one if they look into my background and see that I was shot? I—” he took a deeper breath, as if that could somehow stand between him and the fiery pain “—don’t want to have to deal with a lot of suspicious, annoying questions.”

She raised her eyes to his for a second, pausing. “Like why were you shot?”

“Yes, like that.”

And then she heard it. That slight noise that told her she’d found her quarry. Metal against metal. Very carefully she went deeper, digging beneath the bullet until she managed to draw it out of the hole it had made. The stranger hadn’t made a single sound. What the hell was he made of?

She realized she was holding her breath and let it go as she deposited the bullet onto the cotton swab on the table. “Why were you shot?”

Pain undulated through him like a marauding snake. Kane took in a deep, shaky breath before answering her.

“Unsuccessful mugging,” he finally managed to say. “I didn’t have anything to mug. Guy got mad. I pushed him and ran. And he shot me. I kept on running. Until you stopped me with your car.” It had gone down differently, all except the last part. But for his purpose and her curiosity, he felt it would do. He looked at the bullet on the table. The bullet she’d removed. He raised his eyes to hers. “I’d say we’re even.”

Chapter 3

His eyes met hers, held her captive, so that she couldn’t look away.

Before Marja could respond to his comment, strains of a popular song came out of nowhere, filling the air.

Her cell phone was ringing.

An alert expression instantly came into the stranger’s eyes. But he didn’t tell her not to answer, or try to stop her when she took the phone out of her pocket and flipped it open.

Marja had a feeling she knew who was calling even before she glanced at the L.E.D. screen to read the number.

Tania. True to her word, it was approximately fifteen minutes since she’d left. Marja placed the phone to her ear.

“This is Marja,” she announced. And then she smiled patiently. She glanced toward the other occupant in the room. “Yes, I’m still alive. And yes, he’s still here.” She paused, listening and then nodded even though Tania wasn’t there to see. “Fine, you do that. Bye.”

With one finger against the lid, Marja snapped the phone closed again, aware that the stranger had been watching her closely the entire time. His gaze seemed to delve beneath her skin, as if taking inventory of all her veins and capillaries. It made her feel as if she owed him some sort of explanation, even though she knew she didn’t.

“She’s just checking to see if you killed me yet,” she told him, and saw his eyebrows rise with a silent question. Marja realized that she was getting ahead of herself again. There were pieces missing out of her narrative. “My sister,” she explained. “Tania. She helped me bring you up here. You were out, so I couldn’t really manage—”

“Are you alone here?” he cut in gruffly, stemming the flow of more words.

She didn’t answer immediately, torn between lying to him in the interest of possible self-preservation or telling him the truth, which, if he was a homicidal maniac, could prove dangerous.

Marja decided to settle for something in between.

“At the moment, yes. But that’s subject to change.” Especially if Tania decided to send in the cavalry no matter what she’d said to the contrary. “Besides, you’re here, so technically—” she smiled up at him disarmingly “—I’m not alone.”

Her answer earned her a scowl.

The stranger sat up and then swung his long legs off the sofa without any warning. Marja had to jump to her feet to avoid getting knocked off.

He glared at her. “Don’t you have the sense you were born with?”

She drew herself up, squaring her shoulders with a touch of indignation. It was bad enough that her parents and sisters took turns lecturing her. She didn’t need this from a stranger, especially one she was trying to help.

“I believe that the appropriate thing for you to say here is ‘Thank you,’” she told him hotly, “not try to ascertain whether or not I’m a candidate for MENSA.”

“MENSA?” he echoed with a dismissive snort. “You’re more of a candidate for the morgue.” He looked at her as if she only had a tenth of her brain functioning. “Don’t you know better than to bring a man you don’t know anything about into your apartment?”

If she hadn’t, he might have bled to death on that side street before anyone found him. Where the hell did he get off, shouting at her? “Only the ones who’re bleeding when they faint—sorry, pass out—” she corrected sarcastically “—at my feet.”

He continued glaring at her. This was New York City, people who lived here were supposed to be cautious. Murders were currently down but the overall stats on that were still high. Young, attractive women were supposed to know better than to invite trouble into their homes. “I could have been a murderer.”

“Are you?” she asked in a deceptively mild voice that hid her jumping nerves. It was in response not to what he was saying, but to the way he was looking at her, almost through her. Making her feel as if she were completely naked and vulnerable.

Maybe, despite her gut feeling, bringing him here was a mistake.

He’d killed people, but only in self-defense. By definition, that wasn’t a murderer, so his conscience allowed him to answer. “No, I’m not.” His eyes narrowed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I could have been and you took a hell of a chance on bringing me into your home.” Still sitting on the sofa, he gingerly slipped his shirt back into place, pulling down his T-shirt over the dressing.

This was going to hurt like a son of a bitch by morning, he judged. It didn’t exactly feel like a blissful walk in the park now.

Finished, he glanced in her direction. “You said I passed out in the car.”

Slowly, she nodded her head. “You did.”

Kane still couldn’t fathom how someone who seemed to be reasonably intelligent could actually do something so foolhardy. “Then why didn’t you just take me to the hospital? If I was unconscious, I sure as hell wasn’t in any shape to give you any trouble.”

Marja lifted her chin defensively. “Because you asked me not to.”

“And that’s enough?” he asked incredulously.

Either this woman was very, very good, he thought, or she was just plain stupid. But she didn’t look stupid to him. Naive, maybe, but not stupid. And, his eyes slid over her, he had a feeling that if she was very, very good at something, sainthood had little to do with the matter. Even in his present state, Kane wasn’t so far gone as to not notice the woman was drop-dead gorgeous.

Marja nodded in response to his question. “I felt responsible for you,” she told him. “So, yes, that was enough for me.”

“How old are you?” He wanted to know.

She had no idea why he’d want to know, but she wasn’t about to blurt out a number like a suspect being interrogated.

“Older than I look,” she informed him.

She was a doctor, but she didn’t look as if she was even thirty. There was a freshness to her, despite the smart mouth. He would have hated to see something happen to her because of her generosity—or naïveté.

“You want to live, you’d better learn to be more suspicious,” he told her matter-of-factly.

“Fine, next time I hit somebody with a bullet wound in his side, I’ll call the police.”

“You do that.” Subtly drawing in a breath, Kane carefully rose to his feet. The floor beneath them shifted. He paused, waiting for his equilibrium to kick in. It proved to be in no hurry to do so.

The feisty doctor was at his side instantly, lending her support and holding on to him in case he was going to fall.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

Kane was aware of her small hands pressed against his body, aware of the scent of her hair—something herbal—shampoo. Aware of her presence, which was too damn close to him. He didn’t like it weaving into his system.

“I’m okay,” he stormed.

Marja lifted her hands away from him, holding them up like a captured robber surrendering to the police to indicate that she was backing off. “Just don’t want you passing out again,” she told him.

“I won’t.” It sounded more like a vow to her than a statement. And then he looked at her.

“Marja.” He repeated the name he’d heard her say when she’d gotten on her cell phone. “What kind of a name is that?”

She continued watching him, worried that he might pass out again. “A good one.”

He laughed shortly. “I meant, what nationality is it?”

“I’m Polish.” Since they were exchanging information of a sort, it occurred to her that she didn’t even know his name or anything else for that matter. “You?”

“I’m not.”

She should have expected nothing less. “Not exactly talkative, are you?”

He took a tentative step, like a sailor getting back his land legs. “The less you say, the less can be held against you.”

She took a step with him so that she could remain in front. “Valid enough point,” she agreed, “but I’d like to know your name.”

She saw suspicion enter his eyes again. Rather than make her uneasy, it just made her wonder all the more about her unorthodox patient.

“Why?”

She shrugged carelessly. “I like knowing the names of people I take bullets out of.” He eyed her sharply. “I’m funny that way.”

Did he have something to worry about, after all? “So you can report this?”

If she’d wanted to report this, she would have driven him to the hospital. “I thought we’d gotten past that.”

Kane paused a moment. She had a point, he thought. And in a few minutes he was going to walk out the door and, most likely, he’d never see her again. He supposed there was no harm in giving her his first name. “Kane.”

The moment he shared that small piece of information with her, Marja’s eyes lit up. It made her more sensual, he noted. Damn, he’d been so wound up in laying the groundwork for this case, he’d neglected a very basic need. He’d been too long without a woman. The oversight had to be the reason he was reacting to her. Otherwise, he didn’t understand where this pull, this attraction, was coming from.

“As in Cain and Abel?” she asked. “Or as in candy?”

“Neither.” He saw that the woman was waiting for something more. “If you’re asking me how to spell it, it’s K-A-N-E.”

“Well, K-A-N-E, do you have a last name?”

He was a suspicious person by nature, having learned early on to volunteer nothing because you never knew when something could come back to bite you on the butt. And she was asking too many questions.

“Yes.”

Obviously nothing came easy with this man. It really did make her wonder exactly what his story was. And who had wounded him, not physically but emotionally. Because, assuming he wasn’t hiding a criminal past, he was far too reticent not to have a reason for his attitude.

“Is it a state secret?” she prodded.

“No.” The doctor with the all-intrusive bedside manner waited for the rest. He blew out a short breath and gave her the rest of it. “It’s Dolan.” At least, for the time being, he added silently.

Irish. Maybe that was where the green eyes had come from. Marja nodded. “Well, Kane Dolan, it’s nice to meet you.”

That was a hell of a strange thing to say, considering the way they’d met. With a grille and iron between them. “Why?”

Didn’t he accept anything at face value? She decided it had to be tiring, being Kane Dolan. “Is everything a challenge to you?”

“Pretty much,” Kane heard himself saying.

He’d meant it as a flippant retort, uttered to make her back off. But in reality, his answer was pretty dead-on. Since the day he’d come home from second grade to find that his heroin-addicted father had shot and killed his cocaine-inebriated mother and then turned the gun on himself, leaving their tiny, dirty kitchen hopelessly splattered with blood, everything about his life had turned into a challenge. He took nothing on faith, expected nothing to be what it seemed. Because it usually wasn’t.

Kane came to a stop by the front door. He needed to get going before she had someone show up and start asking awkward questions.

“Thanks for patching me up,” he muttered, reaching for the doorknob.

She felt as if she was releasing a wounded bird, not yet fully healed. “When was the last time you ate?” Marja asked suddenly.

He’d just expected her to say goodbye, to be relieved that he was on his way. The question, coming out of nowhere, caught him off guard and he turned to her. Maybe he hadn’t heard right.

“What?”

“When was the last time you ate?” Marja repeated, enunciating each word slowly, as if she was talking to someone who was submerged in a tank of water and had trouble hearing.

“Today,” was the best he could do. “I don’t look at my watch when I eat.” He tacked the latter on dismissively. Maybe that was uncalled for, he thought. She seemed to be an irrepressible do-gooder. The woman was in for some major disappointments in her life. He tried to set her straight, at least about the person he was supposed to be. “Look, I’m not homeless and I’m sure as hell not your personal crusade—”

She had her doubts about the first part. He wasn’t dirty and his face wasn’t leathery and worn from the elements, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t down on his luck. There was plenty of that going around these days, she thought.

“You said the mugger had nothing to mug,” she reminded him.

So that was it. She thought he had no money, no place to stay. No regular meals. “That’s because I left my wallet at home. I find that if you don’t carry it, they can’t steal it,” he told her very simply.

“You’ve been mugged before,” she guessed.

“Yeah.” In reality, there was no “before.” This was the first time. And it would be the last, he silently promised himself. No one was going to get the drop on him, ever.

Again, Kane reached for the doorknob and this time he actually managed to take hold of it and pull the door open before the doctor said anything else.

“What kind of work are you out of?”

More questions. But it was a small world and you never knew how things ultimately played out or whose path you were going to cross in the near future. So he sighed and faced her and her endless barrage of questions. He knew he could just walk out, but the bottom line was that she had helped him when she was under no obligation to do so. Maybe he owed her a little courtesy—as long as she didn’t push it.

Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he gave her a long, penetrating look. “You planning on writing a bio on me, Doc?”

If he thought he could intimidate her—and with that look she was sure that was what he was thinking—he’d failed.

“I just thought I might know someone who could give you a job.” She was thinking of her father’s security company. Kady’s husband, Byron, a former bodyguard and ex-cop, worked there along with a number of other people. Not to mention that Kane’s demeanor reminded her of Tony, Sasha’s husband. Tony was a homicide detective. On the job, they didn’t come grimmer than him.

Both men—Tony and Kane, had the same tight-lipped temperament, the same slow, probing nature. Maybe Kane could find a career in some aspect of security work. If she could get him to answer questions without putting up a fight.

“What is it that you do?” she asked.

He moved his shoulders in a vague shrug, stifling a wince as his left side issued a protest. “This and that,” he told her.

“Well, that sounds flexible enough.” Even if the man didn’t, she added silently. He seemed forbidding. And she had a feeling it wasn’t just a facade. “I could call—”

He cut her off. The last thing he wanted was for her to find him a job. That was being taken care of even as he stood here with her.

“I said we were even,” he insisted. “You don’t owe me anything.”

It wasn’t tit for tat in her book. She believed in free form. “I don’t work that way,” she told him, noticing a puzzled expression on his face. “With checks and balances. You need a job, I might know of somewhere to place you, that’s all I’m saying.”

He had to continue being blunt. She wasn’t the type to retreat if he took her feelings into account.

“I take care of myself,” he informed her in no uncertain terms.

Her eyes lowered to the wound she had just finished stitching and dressing. Maybe he could have done it on his own, but most people don’t like to sew their own flesh back into place.

“I’m sure you can.”

The tone wasn’t exactly sarcastic, but close, he thought. Turning the knob, Kane pulled the door open. Only then did he nod at her.

“See you around, Doc.”

He meant it as a parting, throwaway line. Which was a shame, he caught himself thinking. Because in another lifetime, she would be the kind of woman he should have pursued—if he were into the whole hearth-and-family type thing. He could tell, just by looking at her, that she was. Women like that were best left alone. Because he wasn’t into that. And nothing good ever followed in his wake.

She was at the door, less than a hair’s breadth behind him. “You’re going to have to change that dressing tomorrow,” she called after him.

He didn’t turn around, but he did nod. “I can do it.”

“And don’t get it wet,” Marja added, raising her voice.

“Dry as a bone,” he promised, raising his hand over his head to indicate that he’d heard her as he kept on walking.

“And—” She stopped abruptly as her cell phone rang again.

He allowed himself a dry laugh under his breath. “That’s probably your sister, checking to see if I’ve done away with you yet,” he guessed.

The next second he’d turned a corner and was out of view.

Turning back into the apartment, she closed the door behind her and glanced at the phone’s screen. He was right, it was Tania. Had it been a full fifteen minutes yet? She didn’t think so.

She knew that Tania meant well, but there were times when she felt so smothered by her sisters and her parents that she could scream.

“I’m still breathing, Tania,” she announced as she opened her cell phone.

“Good,” she heard Tania say, “then you won’t freak Jesse out when he gets there.”

Her back against the door, Marja slid down to the floor, closed her eyes and sighed. “You woke up Jesse.”

“No,” Tania was quick to correct her, “he was still up. Working on some blueprints for a new building by Lincoln Center.” She didn’t bother to keep the pride out of her voice. Jesse was an up-and-coming architect and someday people were going to point out his buildings to one another.

“Call him and tell him not to come,” she ordered her sister. “Kane’s gone.”

“Kane?” Tania echoed. “Who’s Kane?”

“Mr. Bullet Wound Guy.”

Tania didn’t bother to stifle her sigh of relief. “Thank God. Now put the chain on.”

Marja rose to her feet again. Odd, but she could still feel Kane’s presence on the apartment, still all but feel his hand on her wrist when he’d first come to. “I will, now call Jesse off. Let the poor man get some rest.”

“Will do.”

The line went dead.

Marja’s insides didn’t.

Chapter 4

Sometimes Kane couldn’t help wondering if some master plan existed out in the universe, or if things just happened in a haphazard, random pattern.

By all rights, someone with his background should have been dead by now, or pretty damn well close to it. Both of his parents had succumbed to addiction while still in their early teens and the uncle, his father’s brother, Gideon, he’d been sent to live with after their untimely murder-suicide demise, had been long on alcoholism, short on patience. He’d barely survived the beatings.

Social services had stepped in after that, when one of his teachers had reported the frequent bruises he’d tried in vain to hide.

Being passed around from foster home to foster home had been no picnic, either. He’d literally closed up inside. After that, he’d taken to periodically running away. Being on his own was preferable to being under someone else’s thumb.

Kane had learned from a very early age how to take care of himself. It came about out of necessity because he’d known that there was no one else around to do it, or to even care if he lived or died. His parents hadn’t. His uncle certainly hadn’t and neither had any of the families he’d been shipped to like a piece of tattered, hand-me-down clothing. No one had.

He supposed the only reason he hadn’t turned to a life of crime was that the thought of being confined in a cage made his chest tighten and the air stop dead in his lungs. Unlike so many who took to that way of life, he knew the odds against him and he was pessimistic enough to believe that no matter how clever he might be, prison would be his ultimate destination.

Permanently tossed out of the system and on his own at eighteen, he’d done the only thing someone with no money and an ability to survive the most adverse conditions could do. He’d joined a branch of the military. Specifically, he’d taken to the air force. It was there that he’d wound up being tapped for Special Forces, which further developed his unique survival abilities.

Somewhere along the line, bit by bit, he’d earned a degree in criminology. So by the time he’d returned to civilian life, joining an organization that could make use of his special skills—one of which was being able to terminate a man’s existence using only his thumbs—seemed like a very logical choice.

And that was how he and the CIA came to a meeting of the minds.

Fully grounded, Kane had no illusions about what he did. It wasn’t glamorous, but he felt it was damn necessary. And it got his adrenaline pumping, giving him a reason to get up every morning. Not having anyone to worry about or to come home to at the end of the day freed him to do other things.

At times he had to admit, if only to himself, that he wondered what it would be like to have a wife and 2.5 kids. Especially the .5 part. But in truth, all that was utterly foreign to him. He had no reference base, no happy childhood or adolescence to draw on. His had been the kind of childhood that easily bred serial killers.

Or loners.

Which was what he was. A loner.

He supposed he’d always be one, which was all right because he never made any long-term plans. The kind of life he led, working for the Company, did not inspire people to set up IRA accounts for their old age. Few ever attained that status and those who did, usually died of boredom, leaving their funds untouched for the most part.

He liked what he did for a living as much as he could like anything. And making a difference, however minor, mattered to him, again, as much as anything in his life could matter to him.

While he had few rules, there were two he followed. Don’t get attached and don’t screw up. Simple. And demanding.

Kane supposed he’d been born jaded, which was as good a way as any if you had to be born at all. Being born jaded saved time, because eventually, everyone was stripped of their hopes and illusions. The end result was jadedness. He firmly believed this was inevitable. He’d just gotten a head start.

“Well, everything looks to be in order,” the shapely blonde reviewing his forms said. She carefully placed the three sheets on her spotless desk and flashed a broad smile at him.

He wondered what she’d say if she knew the only reason the position he was applying for had opened up was that certain people had persuaded James Dulles, an orderly in excellent standing with the hospital, to take an extended vacation in another part of the country. That was because he needed this position, needed an excuse to be on the hospital premises in a capacity where he could slip in and out without actually being noticed.

No one really noticed orderlies in a hospital unless there was a mess to mop up. Otherwise, they could move around like shadows, having the run of the place. Since they had the grunt work, no one questioned their presence no matter where they were found—other than perhaps the ladies’ restroom.

The Company intended to place two or three more of their operatives, men he’d worked with before, at Patience Memorial Hospital. Placing them as the “vacancies” that would suddenly come up in the next couple of days. But he was the center of this. It was his operation to pull off or screw up. So far, his track record was perfect and he intended to keep it that way.

The woman who headed Patience Memorial’s Human Resources Department smiled at him. He smiled back. It would be interesting to find out her reaction to the fact that he knew more about Carole Reed than she knew about him. He knew she was divorced, currently between boyfriends and didn’t like being unattached. The way she gazed at him told him she was considering him as a possible candidate, someone to dally with as a bridge between the significant others.

Carole looked down at the form. “Says here you worked in two different hospitals in L.A.” She raised her eyes to his face. “Tell me, why’d you decide to settle in New York?”

He knew she was a California girl herself. Knew why she’d picked New York. “I like the change of seasons,” he told her. “And having everything I could need within walking distance.”

Her eyes brightened and she nodded. She came very close to saying, “Me, too.” But instead said, “Good enough. Well, your references are impeccable and you sound like you’ll be a good addition to our little family.” Little was a whimsical term, seeing as how the teaching hospital was one of the larger ones in the city. Carole reached out across her desk, her hand extended. “Welcome to Patience Memorial.”

Rising slightly in his seat, Kane took the offered hand and held it a beat longer after he shook it. His smile was warm, charming. Inviting. As befitted the persona he’d assumed.

As always when he was on a job, he was performing. He found that he preferred it that way. When he was someone else, he could do whatever was needed of him without a second thought.

The baggage he carried around only materialized when he was being himself.

“Thank you,” he replied heartily, releasing her hand with just a trace of reluctance he knew the woman would appreciate.

Carole tossed her head. Long, straight blond hair floated over her shoulder. “You start tomorrow, bright and early at seven.”

It had taken him every shred of time, morning and night, to get everything in place. He was eager to get going. “I could start today,” he told her.

The woman laughed lightly, as if he’d told a joke. “Tomorrow will be fine.” Taking a square of paper from a green dispenser on her desk, Carole wrote a room number down for him. She handed it to him before she got up from her chair. “Report to this department tomorrow. Raul will show you the ropes. He’s a little snippy in the mornings,” she warned, “but he doesn’t mean anything by it. Try not to get on his bad side—or to take anything he says before noon too personally.”

“I try not to get on anyone’s bad side,” he told her, and for the most part, that was true. Getting on someone’s bad side meant getting noticed and his goal had always been the exact opposite, no matter what the situation.

Carole rose slowly, like a model who knew that every set of eyes in the room was trained on her. In this case, there was only one set to look at her, but an audience was an audience.

“That’s a very good philosophy,” she told him brightly. And then, Carole escorted Patience Memorial’s newest employee to the door of her office and once again smiled invitingly just before he left.

He could have had her, he thought, walking away from her office. Probably right then and there on her desk if he’d turned up “Dolan’s” charm a notch. The physical coupling would have satisfied the gnawing hunger that the woman who’d bandaged him up had aroused. But again, it would have drawn too much attention his way and he couldn’t afford that now. Not if his assignment was to have a successful resolution.

He would have to put up with the damn gnawing.

The details of his assignment were nebulous and sketchy at best. Over the last three weeks, their specialists monitoring the Middle East had picked up international chatter, a lot of it, focusing on a possible terrorist threat occurring at Patience Memorial. The probable target in that case would be the Jordanian ambassador’s daughter, Yasmin. The twenty-two-year-old woman was arriving at some unspecified date in the near future to undergo a delicate operation. She had a tumor that had intricately woven itself through her brain.

Two of the country’s foremost brain surgeons were going to perform the surgery. One was flying in from the west coast, the other had been on the staff of Patience Memorial for over ten years.

Whether the threat came in the form of a kidnapping—something he highly doubted because of the ambassador’s contingent of bodyguards—or a bombing, he didn’t know. No one did. That only meant he had to be ready for anything—which also included the very real, frustrating possibility nothing would happen.

The enemy enjoyed playing their little war of nerves, enjoyed planting chatter to unnerve the opposition. They made sure to plant enough rumors so that everyone was in a hypervigilant state. There would be so many false rumors until the real one came and if the public had gotten blasé about the rumors, it would turn a deaf ear to the chatter just when it should be listening closely. Much like the old fable about the boy who cried wolf.

But all that was for the movers and the shakers to sort out and deal with. He was just a foot soldier on the front lines, determined to remain alert to any and all threats. He was there to dismantle the bomb if necessary, to defuse possible volatile situations whenever possible, regardless of the personal consequences.

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