Trusting the man she loves could cost her her life

Putting her faith in someone who lies for a living isn’t the safest thing Dr. Jillian Mahoney has ever done. But to stay alive, she has to believe the undercover agent—who’s kidnapped her to prove his innocence—isn’t a traitor to the FBI. And to help him, she must deny their intense attraction as they run from two vengeful killers.

Her captor, Alex Malcom, has lived a life of lies—some worse than others. Still, there’s one truth he’s reluctant to disclose to Jillian, the woman of his dreams. One that could stop their relationship cold.

Her fingers were gentle when she pressed around his stitches. Then she placed her other hand flush against the center of his chest, and he stopped worrying about his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the comforting weight of her palm above his heart. Could she feel it beating, the way it sped up when she was near? Did hers do the same?

Her hand slipped away as she leaned back. Alex opened his eyes to find her watching him, and the naked yearning on her face nearly stole his breath.

“Well?” he croaked.

“I do believe you’ll live to fight another day,” she said, her own voice deep and sensuous.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Me, too,” she whispered.

“You know, Doc, I just noticed something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re a bit overdressed for this party.”

She cocked her head, considering him for a long moment. “You know what? I do believe you’re right.” She stood and peeled off her shirt, dropping it to the floor to join his own.

Dear Reader,

As a native Texan, I have an ingrained fear of snow. Growing up, it was never a part of our regular winter weather, so when I moved to the DC area for graduate school, I packed a ridiculous number of coats and jackets in preparation for the coming cold.

My first real winter was an eye-opener. True to my roots, I abandoned the lab as soon as I saw flakes falling from the sky. There were many days I walked into work (yes, in the snow, uphill both ways!) because I was too scared to drive. And let’s not forget my lack of a windshield ice scraper, which meant I had to use a credit card (something I do not recommend). Nevertheless, I survived, mainly because of the kindness of my friends. They had all grown up in states that celebrated winter, so they taught me a lot of the tricks of the trade. I’ve since made my peace with snow, although we’ll never really be friends.

When I started this book, I knew Alex and Jillian were going to face a lot of difficulties. His cover has been blown, she’s been kidnapped, and a murderous gang is after them both. How could things get any worse? You guessed it—snow.

So grab a warm beverage and make yourself comfortable. I hope you enjoy reading their adventures as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Lara

Lethal Lies

Lara Lacombe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Lara Lacombe

I earned my PhD in microbiology and immunology and worked in several labs across the country before moving into the classroom. My day job as a college science professor gives me time to pursue my other love—writing fast-paced romantic suspense, with smart, nerdy heroines and dangerously attractive heroes. I love to hear from readers! Find me on the web, or contact me at laralacombewriter@gmail.com.

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This one is for Adam, with love.

Thanks as always to Jessica Alvarez

and Rachel Burkot.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“The National Weather Service has issued a severe winter storm warning for the DC metro and surrounding areas...”

“You should get going.”

Dr. Jillian Mahoney glanced up from the computer screen and blinked. Her friend Carla stood in front of her, wearing neon-green scrubs that were bright enough to land planes at Dulles airport. It was a color Jillian could never wear, thanks to her Casper-the-Ghost-like coloring, but it looked good against Carla’s café-au-lait complexion.

“You’re very green today,” she observed, turning back to the computer screen.

“I was feeling festive this morning,” Carla replied dryly.

“Christmas is still over a week away. Besides, I’m pretty sure neon is not a holiday color.”

“It is in my book.” Carla leaned across the desk, casting a shadow over the keyboard. “I’m serious, Jilly. You need to get out of here before the storm hits. We’re supposed to get twelve inches of snow. That’s a foot.” She held her hands out in an exaggerated approximation of distance, her expression earnest.

“I know,” Jillian said, typing faster. “I just need to finish up these charts.”

“Got enough food to last you a couple of days?”

Jillian huffed out a breath. “For God’s sake, Carla, it’s just a bit of snow. It’s not the end of the world or anything.”

Her friend cocked an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes in a gimlet stare. It was an expression Jillian had seen before, one used to great effect with uncooperative patients or egotistical doctors. She’d never had it directed at her, though, and she ducked her head, feeling chastened.

“Sorry,” she muttered, clicking through to the next page of the chart.

“I’ll let it go, because I know you’re tired,” Carla said. “But I worry about you. I know you’ve been too busy to go to the grocery store, but with this storm coming, you don’t want to have to get out in the next couple of days. You need to take the time to relax and recharge, maybe get some sleep.”

“I’ll order in,” Jillian said, entering the final notes with a flourish.

“There’s no delivery when the city has shut down,” Carla said, her tone reproving.

Jillian pushed back from the desk and stood, reaching for her coffee. “I’ll be all right,” she said with a smile, knowing her friend was only trying to help. “I’ll stop at the store on my way home, pick up the essentials. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Carla nodded, apparently satisfied with this plan. “Be careful getting home,” she said. “And try to enjoy the next few days off.”

“Thanks,” she said, rounding the desk and setting off down the hall. “And good luck,” she called back, remembering that tomorrow was a full moon. Carla gave her a mock glare and Jillian chuckled. She shook her head, thanking her lucky stars that she was off for the next seventy-two hours. A full moon and a winter storm? The ER would be crazy, and she’d had enough crazy this week to last a lifetime.

She retrieved her coat from her locker in the doctors’ lounge, not bothering to take off her white coat before shrugging into the outer layer. The puffed black jacket came down to her knees, long enough to cover the telltale fabric. Normally she didn’t like to wear the white coat when out in public because it attracted too much attention, but today, she was too tired to care if anyone saw the hem of her coat.

Keeping her head down, she walked quickly through the hall, wanting to make it out of the hospital before anyone stopped her. She’d been on for the past three days straight, and though by all rights she should have left an hour ago, it was all too easy to get caught up in the eternal rhythm of the emergency room. All it would take was one question from a medical student or an interesting case from an intern, and she’d be sucked back into the vortex. Given the coming storm, she had no desire to be waylaid, as it would likely result in her being stuck until the weather passed. As much as she loved her job, she did not relish the thought of sleeping on the stained, lumpy couch in the doctors’ lounge, subsisting on cafeteria food and bad coffee for the next three days.

She made it to the entrance without incident and she breathed a sigh of relief as she walked out into a blast of arctic air. Huddling into her coat, she pulled it closer to her body while she made her way to the parking lot. She didn’t have a car, but the employee lot was much closer to the Metro station, so she frequently cut through it on her way to and from work.

It had already begun to snow. Small flakes drifted down, landing on the exposed skin of her face and melting into her hair. She was damp within a few paces of the entrance, her nose and ears already going numb as the wind picked up. Great. The grocery store would likely be packed, if the shelves weren’t already bare. She’d probably have to be content with frozen dinners, and she could forget about fresh milk and vegetables. In the face of any winter weather, city inhabitants descended like a plague of locusts on the grocery stores, stripping the shelves of supplies and leaving dented cans and ripped packages in their wake. Given the dire predictions of snow, Jillian would be lucky to find any type of food. It was almost enough to send her back into the hospital to scrounge up some pudding cups from the cafeteria.

Almost.

The streetlamps cast an eerie yellow glow over the parking lot and she picked up her pace, her mind already focused on the comparative warmth the Metro station would provide. With her head down, she didn’t see the man step out from between parked cars, would have never known he was there had he not spoken.

“Doctor?”

She turned reflexively, stopping out of habit. Encouraged, the man stepped closer, emerging into the light. She wished he hadn’t. He was big, tall and broad through the chest and shoulders. Scruffy, too, with several days’ worth of beard on his face and dark hair that was a bit on the longish side, curling over his ears and at the nape of his neck. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but she felt the intensity of his gaze like a brand.

Jillian took a small step back, alarm bells jangling in her mind. He didn’t seem overtly threatening, but he wore only a hooded cotton jacket against the chill. Hunched though he was, she could see his muscles were drawn tight, tense with cold or withdrawal, she couldn’t tell which. It wasn’t unusual for junkies to patrol the neighborhood surrounding the hospital, although she wasn’t sure what they thought they would find. Occasionally violence would erupt when one desperate soul tried to rob another in a bid to get the next fix.

The man standing in front of her didn’t appear to be an addict, even though the burned-plastic smell of meth smoke clung to his clothes. He was too big, too healthy-looking, for one thing. He lacked the gaunt, haunted look that was so common among users, although he did have the same fierceness to his gaze. He reminded her of a coiled snake, ready to strike, and she had no desire to be in the vicinity when he did.

“If you’re injured, the emergency room is right there.” She withdrew her hand from her coat pocket to point. He didn’t seem hurt, but it was hard to tell in the shadowy light of the parking lot.

“It’s not me, it’s my friend. Can you please help me?”

Jillian bit her lip, feeling torn. As a doctor, it was her duty to help people, even if they gave her the willies. She glanced around, searching for his companion. There was no one else in the lot, and she took another step back, suddenly feeling very alone.

“Let’s find an orderly. Then we can get your friend inside.” And you away from me.

She turned to head back to the hospital, but the man moved quickly to stand in front of her, blocking her path. She stepped back, a strangled yelp dying in her throat.

“There’s no time for that. He needs help now.”

Jillian stared up at him, her mind racing. She could try to scream an alarm, but the hospital entrance was at least a hundred feet away and, with the doors closed, it was unlikely anyone would hear her. She glanced around, hoping against hope that someone was just arriving, late for their shift, but the parking lot was still and silent. There was no one around, no one to help her.

“Please, you’re a doctor, right? Can’t you please help him?”

She halted her slow retreat, the need to help warring with her desire to get away. Don’t be an idiot, she chided herself, knowing the right thing to do was to return to the hospital. There was no telling what kind of injuries his friend had sustained, and she couldn’t exactly treat him in a dimly lit parking lot. No, better to retrieve a wheelchair and bring it back to collect the injured man.

But she couldn’t exactly do that with this man standing in front of her, blocking her path to the emergency room entrance.

“I’m just going to get a wheelchair,” she said, speaking calmly as if trying to soothe an angry dog. “It’ll be easier to move your friend into the ER if we can put him in the chair, and I’ll be able to examine him better once we get him inside.”

The man let out a huge sigh, his shoulders slumping further when he dropped his head. Jillian stepped to the side, intending to skirt around him. He muttered something that sounded strangely like, “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” but before she could process his words, he moved, his hand shooting out of the darkness to grip her arm with painful strength.

This time she did yelp, but he hauled her up against his broad chest so quickly the breath whooshed out of her before she could gear up to scream. She kicked and clawed at him, but he grabbed her other hand and tugged both arms behind her back, braceleting her wrists with one hand and effectively restraining her. Desperate, frantic, she jerked her knee up, hoping to land a crippling blow between his legs. He swerved to the side, easily deflecting it, so she brought her foot down hard, aiming for his instep. Another miss.

Just as she sucked in the air to scream, he flipped her around and clamped a hand over her mouth. He released her wrists to band his arm around her torso, locking her own arms by her hips and effectively rendering her helpless.

He picked her up and hauled her between the rows of parked cars, pulling her into a dark corner of the lot. Part of her brain screamed at her to resist, to make noise, to do something! She kicked furiously, her legs windmilling in the cold air but missing him completely. Her foot made contact with a car and a sudden numbing pain shot up her leg. She blinked back tears and bit down on the hand clamped over her mouth. She was rewarded with a mouthful of leather, the taste so foul it made her gag.

The man ignored her attempts to escape, maneuvering her easily through the lot, as though he did this kind of thing all the time. Maybe he did. He stopped next to a dark, four-door sedan and removed his hand from her mouth so he could open the back door. He quickly pushed her inside before she had a chance to scream, but took care to keep her from bumping her head against the frame.

A considerate kidnapper.

The burned-plastic smell that clung to his clothes was even stronger in the car. Habitual drug use had saturated the upholstery, and she dimly wondered if she would get high just from sitting on the fabric. He released her wrists and shut the door. She waited until he rounded the hood to scrabble at the handle—if she could get the door open, she could run. She had a head start; she could make it back to the ER.

But the door wouldn’t open. She threw herself against it, hoping it was just stuck, but it remained stubbornly closed.

She heard the driver’s door open and the man slid inside. “Gotta love child locks,” he said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. She glared back, defiance and anger quickly replacing the numbness in her limbs as she began to thaw out.

A soft moan next to her made her jump. She shrank against the door in a bid to get away. What she had thought was a shapeless pile of clothes was in fact a person. One who was in bad shape, if the pitiful sounds coming from the opposite side of the back seat were any indication.

“That’s Tony,” the man said softly. “He’s been shot.”

So the friend really did exist.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” she snapped. “If you really wanted to help him, you’d let me take him inside instead of kidnapping me like this.”

The man shook his head as he started the car. “That’s not an option.”

“How do you expect me to treat him when I don’t have any medical supplies?”

He reached across the front passenger seat and lifted a paper bag, which he handed back to her. It was rather heavy, in a bulky, awkward way. Jillian glanced inside, surprised to find a large collection of vials, syringes and bandages. She lifted one out, straining to read the label as they drove. Ketamine.

“Where did you get this?” She picked up another vial. Acepromazine. Controlled substances, both of them, and neither of them routinely used in human medicine. Veterinary medicine, on the other hand...

“Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “Not really, but I typically don’t work with these drugs.”

“Keep digging.”

She did, pulling out a vial of Buprenex. The amber glass shone warmly in the glow of the streetlamps, the liquid inside turbulent as they hit a deep pothole.

“You can work with that.”

She glanced up to find him staring at her in the rearview mirror. “Oh?” He sounded so sure of himself; she couldn’t resist poking him just a little. Who was this man and why did he think he knew what she needed to treat his friend?

His eyes narrowed briefly before he returned his focus to the road. “You know that’s a morphine derivative. It’ll help calm him down so you can dig the bullet out.”

How the hell did he know that? Did he have some kind of medical background? But if that was the case, why did he need her? She glanced over at his friend, who was leaning against the door, his body limp. The sound of his labored breathing let her know he hadn’t died, but neither was he unconscious, as evidenced by the faint moans he released every time they hit a rough patch of road.

“Where were you shot?” She scanned his body, searching for blood, but it was too dark to see anything. No way was she going to touch him without gloves—she was a doctor, but she had her limits.

The man didn’t respond, but his eyes flickered open in response to her question. He stared at her for a beat, then leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes again.

“The chest,” the driver responded. “I think he punctured a lung.”

Jillian clenched her jaw, frustration mounting. “If that’s the case, then we really need to get to a hospital. He’ll need a chest tube, scans and quite possibly surgery to remove the bullet.”

“No.”

“He could die!”

The driver spared her a glance. “Make sure he doesn’t.”

Jillian leaned back against the seat, her heart kicking into high gear. Great. Not only had she been kidnapped, but she was expected to treat a man with serious injuries, without the benefit of a hospital. It belatedly dawned on her that if this man died, her kidnapper would have no further use for her, and he didn’t seem the type to drop her off on the corner with a wave goodbye.

Fear trailed a cold finger down her spine and she shivered, her stomach roiling. “Can we at least stop moving?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t do much for the injured man in a moving car. “And you can’t expect me to treat him in the dark. I’ll need light. Lots of it.”

“We’re almost there.” His voice was grim, determination underlying every word.

Jillian took another look at her patient. His condition hadn’t obviously changed, so she decided not to risk examining him until they had arrived at their destination, wherever it was. He seemed stable enough, and she didn’t want to make things worse. She returned her focus to the bag in her lap. There were several suture kits, additional vials of drugs and antibiotics, and at the bottom, a chest tube kit. Her kidnapper had come prepared.

But who was he, and why was he so insistent they stay out of a hospital?

Was it the nature of his friend’s injury? The law stated doctors had to report gunshot wounds to the police. Maybe he was on the run and didn’t want to reveal his whereabouts. Still, she knew there were back-alley clinics that would stitch up bullet holes for a price. He could have easily taken his friend there, gotten the job done without having to resort to kidnapping. Or theft, she thought, glancing down at the bag of medical supplies in her lap. It was clear the hospital hadn’t been their first stop tonight, and she was willing to bet all the toilet paper in the city that her kidnapper had broken into a vet clinic to steal supplies before grabbing her.

He took a corner hard, the car sliding a bit as the tires fought for purchase on the slick street. The snow was coming down in earnest now, a thin layer of flakes dusting the sidewalk white, as if someone had spilled a bag of powdered sugar over the city. She didn’t know where he was taking them, but if the weather continued in this fashion, it was likely they’d be stuck, at least for the foreseeable future. If his friend took a turn for the worse, or she was unable to treat him, that meant they’d be cut off from help. While the driver didn’t appear to be too concerned about her lack of resources, she shivered at the thought of his reaction if his friend didn’t make it.

They pulled into a small parking lot riddled with potholes and puddles. A squat, plain building that may have once been white sat at one end of the lot, looking like a deflated soufflé. She caught sight of a red-neon Vacancy sign as they circled to the back of the building, but she didn’t see a name for the place. She cursed herself for not paying attention to street signs and landmarks along the way—the kidnapper hadn’t bothered to conceal their route, so if she’d had half a brain, she could have easily called for help and led rescuers to them, or run away herself.

Jillian stared at the back of his head, considering. He didn’t seem to be a very good kidnapper. He’d let her see his face, which, according to all the movies she’d seen, was a big no-no. Either he didn’t care about being caught or...

She swallowed hard, her stomach cramping in warning. It was possible he wasn’t going to let her live long enough to be caught. Why else would he let her see his face or see the route they’d taken to his hideaway? Was he going to have her treat his friend, then kill her?

He parked next to a stained blue Dumpster and turned around to face her. “Are you going to give me any trouble?”

She shook her head, her mind desperately churning. She had to come up with something—she couldn’t just let him lead her like a lamb to slaughter.

Her fingers curled around the bag in her lap and she felt the faint stirrings of an idea. The man had given her several vials of sedatives—enough to fell an elephant, if her hasty calculations were correct. Maybe she could use them to incapacitate him, giving her enough of a chance to run.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” he said, frowning at her. He glanced down, understanding dawning on his face as he saw the way she clutched the supplies. “Oh, no,” he said softly, reaching out to take the bag. “Don’t get any ideas.”

She forced her fingers to relax their hold, knowing that if she put up a fight he’d be even more suspicious. Besides, she’d get it back eventually. She had to have access to the supplies if he wanted her to help his friend.

“Time to go inside.”

He got out of the car and opened her door, letting in a blast of cold air and snow. She instinctively shrank away when he reached for her, but he grabbed her easily enough, pulling her from the car and pressing her against the trunk as he slammed the door. The cold metal bit through her coat and she ground her teeth together to keep from crying out.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked as he hauled her up to a door. She stared at the faded black numbers, which grew blurry as tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked them away and shook her head. Crying wasn’t going to help her. Not now.

If her captor noticed her emotion, he didn’t show it, ignoring her question as he gently but firmly pushed her inside. It was warm compared to the car, and she had a moment to register that the room was surprisingly clean, if rather spartan. He marched her past two beds and guided her into the bathroom, closing the lid of the toilet and gesturing for her to sit. She did, and he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a length of plastic. She recognized the temporary cuffs, having seen them used before when the police needed to restrain a patient.

Jillian pulled her hands away, but her captor merely stared at her, his hand extended patiently as he waited for her to accept the fact that she was well and truly at his mercy. She glanced up at him, expecting to see anger at her defiance, but he regarded her with a flat, bored expression. Slowly, she returned her hands to her lap and he slipped the plastic loops around her wrists, taking care not to tighten them to the point of pain. Another length of plastic was used to secure her to the plumbing of the sink, effectively trapping her in the bathroom. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, shutting the door behind him with a click that echoed off the tiles in the small room.

Now that she was alone, Jillian didn’t try to stop the tears.

* * *

Special Agent Alexander Malcom was having a bad day.

Deep undercover ops were not all they were cracked up to be. It had been hard enough infiltrating the 3 Star Killers, as the gang was inherently distrustful of outsiders. Still, he’d managed to worm his way into the organization, starting as a low-level runner and working up the chain until he’d become part of the trusted inner circle. It helped that gangbangers had a short life expectancy, which meant a vacancy had opened up at just the right time.

He’d been feeding his Bureau case manager a steady stream of information for the past two years, which had further strengthened their case against the group. The gang specialized in drug trafficking, serving as the main meth distributors for the mid-Atlantic region. They weren’t above a little human trafficking and gun running, though, and so the FBI, ATF and DEA had worked together to establish a plan to take them down. It was a shining example of inter-agency cooperation, and the higher-ups couldn’t stop patting themselves on the back for a job well done.

Except it had all gone to hell.

Tonight was supposed to have been a smooth take-down. Alex had been told a shipment of drugs was arriving at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was a commonly used location for the gang; an ideal site for an operation since there was only one road leading to the building, which made it easy to control traffic in and out. He knew that such a big load would include guns as well, along with a few of the unfortunate women the gang moved from state to state, prostituting out to the highest bidder as a way to augment their earnings.

The alphabet soup had decided tonight’s shipment would be a perfect cherry on top of their case, and that bringing it down would not only cripple the 3 Star Killers, but send a message to the other groups who might think to take their place. It was a decent plan, and it should have worked.

But it hadn’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing at the memories. The semitrailer, opening to reveal not the expected shipment of drugs, but a veritable army of gang members who jumped out, guns blazing... The government operatives, firing back but being forced to retreat in the face of the gang’s overwhelming force... The screams of the wounded, as they lay bleeding out in the crossfire...

And the horrible realization that his cover had been blown.

Tony had turned to him with a sneer. “Not what you expected was it?”

Alex had swallowed hard, not wanting to believe the carnage in front of him. “How did you know?”

Tony lifted one shoulder in an eloquent shrug. “You have your sources. I have mine.”

The realization that there was a double agent at work filled Alex with a potent rage. Not only had the bastard outted him, but whoever it was, they were also responsible for the deaths of the agents tonight. Without stopping to think, he grabbed Tony, intending to arrest the man and haul him in for questioning. Tony wasn’t about to go quietly, though, and in the ensuing scuffle, managed to shoot himself in the chest.

“Damn moron,” Alex muttered.

He wanted nothing more than to let the man die, but he needed Tony to reveal the name of his mole. So he had shoved him into the back seat of his POS car and set off, intending to get him patched up.

And that’s when the evening had gone from bad to worse.

Now he stepped out into the cold night air, his case manager’s words ringing in his ears. “Why’d you do it, man? Why did you betray us?”

“I didn’t.”

Alex pulled open the door to the backseat, eliciting a moan from Tony as the movement jostled him. Too bad. Any pity he might have felt for the man was gone, washed away in the blood of the operatives who had died tonight, all because of his actions.

He stooped and got an arm around the injured man. “Let’s go. Time to move.”

“No, please. No more. Leave me alone.”

Alex ignored his request, pulling with a steady pressure until Tony slid from the car. He was a skinny guy and Alex had no trouble carrying him to the door of the motel room. He deposited Tony on one of the beds and stepped back, staring down at the man. His shirt was saturated with blood, and Alex could feel the sticky wetness on his own hands. Repulsed, he wiped his palms on his pants, needing to remove the stain of Tony’s blood from his skin. God, would he ever be clean again?

Feeling old beyond his years, Alex walked to the bathroom door and paused. He hated himself for having kidnapped this woman, this doctor who held his life in her hands. Hated terrorizing her, threatening her, hurting her. He’d tried to be careful with her, but given the ferocity of her struggles in the parking lot, he’d had to use more force than he’d intended to subdue her. He hoped she wasn’t too bruised from their encounter, but did it really matter? He’d kidnapped her, and he was going to force her to treat Tony’s injuries in a bid to keep the scum alive. In the grand scheme of things, a few bruises were the least of his worries right now.

He opened the door and she jerked, shrinking back from him as he entered the tiny bathroom. Her eyes were huge brown pools in her pale face and he had to look away, unable to stand her hunted expression as she studied him warily.

Alex stepped forward, pulling out his knife so he could cut through the plastic cuffs. She gasped and shoved away, her feet scrabbling wildly as she kicked at him in self-defense. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his nose.

Idiot. What did you think she would do?

“Please,” she whimpered.

Her pitiful plea hit him like a punch to the gut. He was driven to find the mole to protect innocent people, but at what cost? The woman in front of him was completely blameless; her hands were clean of any wrongdoing. Her only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now her life was forever changed. It pained him to admit it, but she was one more casualty in this war. One more life, irrevocably altered, by the actions of a few bad men.

And one more mark added to his personal tally of destruction.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. She stopped kicking and stared up at him with a look of profound distrust. Not that he could blame her.

He gestured to her wrists with his free hand. “I want to cut the restraints off. I won’t cut you, I promise.”

She held his gaze for a long moment. He remained still, waiting for her to give him permission to approach. It wouldn’t change things, but he wanted her to understand, even if only on an instinctual level, that he truly wouldn’t hurt her.

Finally she nodded once. He knelt and reached for her wrists, trying not to notice how fragile the bones felt in his hands. Like a bird’s wing, he thought. All graceful lines, perfectly formed.

The skin of her inner wrist was so pale as to be almost translucent, and he could see the dark blue lines of the veins that snaked from hand to forearm. He caught her shudder as he brought the blade close to that vulnerable skin, and was struck by the sudden urge to gather her in his arms, press her to his chest and rock her, to convince her with his body, if not his words, that he would keep her safe.

The knife sliced cleanly through the thin plastic. Once free, she snatched her hands away from him and wriggled to put more space between them. He felt an odd hollowness in his chest at the loss of contact, but quickly shoved it aside as he stood and returned the knife to his pocket. Time to check on Tony.

“My—” he almost choked on the word “—friend is on the bed. I need you to fix him.”

She stared up at him, her light brown eyes narrowing as he towered over her. “What if I can’t?” She thrust her chin out in defiance, but he caught the flicker of fear that danced across her face.

“You can.”

He’d meant the words to be reassuring, but her face blanched, losing the little color she had. Not wanting to scare her further, he elected to keep his mouth shut. He gestured with his arm and she slowly rose.

“He’s on the bed.”

She kept her eyes on him as she moved, reminding him of a watchful cat. She inched around him, pressing her back to the wall, careful to keep space between them. He caught a whiff of vanilla as she passed, and resisted the temptation to haul her close so he could bury his nose in her hair. The warm scent reminded him of home, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome his touch. Not now.

Not ever, he told himself firmly. In another life, she would have been his type. With her dark blond hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, soft brown eyes and gently curving mouth, she was just the kind of girl-next-door he preferred. Pretty but not intimidatingly so. A woman who could hang out with the guys in the afternoon then put on a ball gown and knock his socks off at night. And since she was a doctor, he knew she was smart, to boot. In other words, she was the perfect woman, the embodiment of all his fantasies.

And totally off-limits.

With a soft sigh he followed her into the main room. While he didn’t think she’d try to run before treating Tony, he couldn’t give her a chance to call for help. With the 3 Star Killers and the FBI after him, his life depended on staying off the grid. The last thing he needed was a 9-1-1 call revealing their location. His case handler already thought he was a traitor—if he discovered Alex had kidnapped a woman, he would never believe the truth, and Alex would be dead before the next sunrise.

I just need a few hours.

That’s all. Just a little bit of time to make sure Tony was going to survive. Once he was sure the bastard wasn’t going to die on him, he’d make his move and clear his name.

Chapter 2

Jillian kept her eyes on the man lying on the bed as she shrugged off her black coat. She’d entertained a brief but vivid fantasy of kicking her kidnapper in the face and bolting from the room, but logic told her she wouldn’t get far. Besides, she couldn’t leave this man alone to die. It wasn’t in her nature to ignore a person in pain, not if she could do something to help.

She dropped the coat in the chair and scooped the bag of medical supplies off the chipped table. Fishing out a pair of gloves, she pulled them on as she walked over to her patient.

He was young, impossibly so. No older than twenty, she guessed. Another kid caught in the crossfire. Moving carefully, she unzipped his hoodie and peeled it away from his chest. Now that she had light, the blood from his wound was obvious. It had soaked into the fabric, making it cling to his skinny frame.

She felt rather than saw her kidnapper enter the room. He didn’t make a sound, but she sensed a change in the air, a charge that told her he was there. She could feel his gaze on her as she bent over his friend, heavy as a touch. It made her uncomfortable to be the focus of his attention, so she decided to distract him.

“Scissors?”

“What?”

“Do you have scissors?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then give me your knife.”

She felt him hesitate and turned to face him. “I need to cut his clothes away so I can access his injury.”

He stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Jillian rolled her eyes, but let him approach. Like she was going to stab him and make a run for it. She wouldn’t get far, not in this weather. And while she didn’t know precisely where they were, she did know they were in the kind of neighborhood where people minded their own business. It was unlikely anyone would offer her assistance, even if she did escape. No, she was stuck here, at least for the next little while.

The man loomed over his friend, blade in hand. He held the knife above his friend’s abdomen for the space of a few heartbeats, and Jillian could have sworn she saw a flash of anger cross his face. But then it was gone and he quickly sliced through the young man’s shirt, taking care not to cut him in the process. He peeled back the ruined cloth, making additional cuts to remove it completely.

He’s so gentle. Shocked at the errant thought, Jillian shook her head. No, he wasn’t gentle. Not at all. He’d attacked her in the parking lot, gripping her arm so tightly she could feel the bruises his fingers had left behind. He’d shoved her into a car, then yanked her out and pushed her into this godforsaken room. Those were not the actions of a gentle man.

But...he hadn’t slapped or hit her when she’d fought him, just used enough force to restrain her. He had kept her from bumping her head as he’d put her in the car. And his touch in the bathroom had been very light, his hand cupping her bound wrists with a softness that surprised her. Now he’d removed the shirt from his injured friend, trying not to jostle the man too much in the process. He didn’t seem like a violent man, but she couldn’t reconcile his behavior with the fact that he had forcibly kidnapped her.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced back at her, his brows lifted in surprise. She could have bitten her tongue off for asking the question—if she knew his name, she’d start seeing him as a person, not the enemy. But it was too late to take the words back, so she held his gaze as he stepped away from his friend, giving her room to stand next to the bed.

He didn’t answer right away and she turned her focus back to the young man, her brain already clicking over into doctor mode. That was what Carla called it anyway, having learned not to attempt a non-patient-related conversation with her when she was engaged. Jillian couldn’t exactly explain it, but it was an almost trance-like state in which her entire consciousness was aimed at the person under her hands.

With his clothing gone, she could see the small bullet hole in Tony’s chest. It was on the right side, more lateral than central, which was likely why he was still alive. It had missed his heart and while it looked a little too high to have affected his liver, she couldn’t be sure. “Help me roll him.”

“You want him on his stomach?”

“No. I want him on his side so I can check for an exit wound and determine the trajectory of the bullet.”

She placed the kidnapper’s hands on the young man’s body, one on his shoulder and the other on his hip. When he was in position, she walked to the other side of the bed, pulling out her penlight as she moved. The lamp on the bedside table didn’t provide as much light as she would like, but it was better than nothing. The man waited for her nod, then pulled in a fluid motion, rolling her patient to his side and triggering a groan from the young man.

Jillian ran the light along his back, noting the hole the bullet left behind when it had exited his body. It was fairly small, indicating he hadn’t been shot by hollowpoint ammunition. It was also almost directly in line with the entrance wound, which meant the bullet hadn’t taken any detours on its way out. Both were good indicators, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

She gave another nod and he lowered Tony to his back. She pulled out her stethoscope and placed it on the man’s chest, listening intently. Breath sounds on the left, none on the right. Given the young man’s labored gasps for breath, she’d suspected a pneumothorax, and this confirmed it.

“I need occlusive dressing. Two of them.” He had air in his chest cavity, which prevented his right lung from expanding normally. The first order of business was to seal the bullet holes to keep more air from getting in. Then she could work on restoring his breathing.

She held out her hand, but the expected supplies didn’t materialize. Annoyed, she glanced up to see her kidnapper digging through the bag of supplies.

“Give me that,” she said impatiently, snatching it from his hands and dumping the contents on the bed next to her patient. Gauze, Band-Aid bandages, tape...no occlusive dressing.

“Do you have any plastic bags?”

The man shook his head. Of course not. Fabulous.

“Okay,” she said, thinking out loud. What else could she use to seal off the wounds? “I need you to cut off two squares from the shower curtain liner. Make them about this big—” She held out her hands to demonstrate. “Can you do that?” It was a long shot, but it just might work.

As he left to procure the requested material, Jillian collected the jar of Vaseline, several gauze squares and the roll of white tape. She spread a liberal coat of the petroleum jelly on the gauze, saturating it completely before moving on to the next stack of white squares. By the time she was done, the man had returned from the bathroom with her liner.

“Lay them on the bed. I need you to roll him again.”

Her patient moaned as he was repositioned. The kidnapper grimaced in response, and she realized with a shock that he was upset by the sounds. She was so used to people moaning, crying or screaming that she’d become desensitized, no longer bothered by the sound of a person in pain. In fact, she much preferred it if they made noise—it told her they were still alive and breathing.

“If he’s crying, he’s still here,” she told her kidnapper, uncertain why she offered him such reassurance. Maybe because his unguarded reaction to his friend’s pain made him seem more human, not the dark monster she had painted him as after he’d thrown her in the car.

Moving quickly, she placed the soaked gauze over the hole in the young man’s back, applied the square of shower curtain liner and taped down three edges. She leaned back, gesturing, and her patient was returned to the bed, giving her access to the chest wound. She repeated the process for his front, studying the dressing with a critical eye. It wasn’t ideal by any stretch, but it would have to do. Now to restore his breathing.

A large-bore IV was the safest way to decompress a patient, but she didn’t recall seeing those supplies in the bag. Still, best to double check. She scanned the paraphernalia on the bed, clenching her jaw in frustration as she realized she was going to have to employ a more dangerous, and painful, method of treatment. She hesitated, but there was no help for it.

“Give me the chest tube kit.” She held out her hand, gratified when the man passed her the bundle right away. “We’ll make a nurse out of you yet,” she murmured, laying the kit on the bed and ripping open the package. It was slightly different than what she was used to—the diameter of the tube was much smaller, for one thing—but she was pleased to see a valve on the end of the tube. Since she didn’t have access to a drainage system, the ability to seal the tube was critical. She put on fresh gloves and picked up the scalpel.

“Hold his right arm above his head.”

The man moved forward, grabbing Tony’s arm and raising it as instructed. “Keep hold of him,” she said, meeting his eyes for a brief second so he would know she was serious. “Don’t let go.”

Jillian bent to make the first cut. “Wait,” the man said. She looked up at him to find his eyes wide and his face pale. “Aren’t you going to give him something first? Something for the pain?”

She gritted her teeth, unused to having her actions questioned in an emergency. “I can’t,” she explained with a patience she didn’t feel. “He’s lost too much blood and I can’t risk sedating him when I don’t have control of his airway. You didn’t steal me any local anesthetic, so I have nothing to give him to numb the area. Now, hold him down.”

Tony’s eyes flared open and he grunted as she sliced quickly and cleanly through the skin, making a small cut to insert the tube. She stuck her finger inside, probing through the deeper tissue until she felt the bone of his rib. Keeping her finger in place to hold the incision open, she picked up the plastic tube and positioned the tapered end.

“Now it’s really going to hurt,” she warned, and thrust the tube through the opening she’d created. Tony let out a guttural scream and writhed on the bed, trying to wriggle away from the pain. “Hold him.” She bit the words out, working fast to push past the resistance of muscle and connective tissue until the tube broke into the free space of his chest cavity with a pop she felt in her fingertips.

There was a soft hiss as the air in his chest began to escape through the tube, a sound that always made her think of opening a soda bottle.

Jillian held her breath, looking for a flash of red. If the bullet had nicked an artery and his chest cavity was filled with blood, it was unlikely the man would live. She couldn’t treat an internal hemorrhage in a motel room.

Fortunately for him, the tube stayed clear. She kept one eye on the dressing that covered his bullet hole, gratified to see the gauze suck into the wound as Tony’s chest cavity decompressed. The shower curtain liner seemed to hold, as well, creating a seal to prevent air from re-entering his body. As the gas left his chest he began to cough, gasping in great lungfuls of air between the racking spasms that shook his thin frame. Jillian bared her teeth in a fierce grin, the familiar rush of satisfaction washing over her as she rode the high that came from saving someone’s life.

When the hissing sound stopped, Jillian twisted the stopcock on the end of the tube to seal it off and picked up her stethoscope. Normal breath sounds on the left and the sweet sound of slightly labored, but functional, breathing from the right. His heart sounded good, too, the frantic cadence settling into a steady rhythmic pulse as his breathing evened out. Excellent.

She leaned back, looping the stethoscope around her neck. “We’ll leave the tube in place for a few hours, make sure the dressings don’t leak. If he still looks good, we can take it out.” She taped the tube in place to keep it from moving too much, then picked up the gauze and petroleum jelly. Time to make another dressing. It wouldn’t do to have air re-enter his chest through the hole she’d just created.

“I need another square of the shower curtain.”

The man didn’t move right away and she looked up, wondering if he’d heard her request. He was staring down at his friend, his expression a mixture of anger and hope, almost as if he couldn’t bear to believe the young man was going to make it. While Tony was stable for now, he wasn’t out of the woods yet, and Jillian knew there were many things that could still go wrong. It would be so much better to get him to a hospital where his condition could be properly monitored, but since that wasn’t going to happen, she’d just have to make do as best she could.

“Hey,” she said again, waving her hand to get her kidnapper’s attention. “It’s not time for a break yet. I need another square of curtain liner.”

He blinked at her, as if he was coming out of a trance. With a short nod, he rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jillian pressed the saturated gauze over the incision she’d made and allowed herself a brief moment of rest. Treating patients always brought an adrenaline rush, and tonight was no different. If anything, she was even more on edge, given her current circumstances. Still, she had done her job, and done it well. She had saved this kid’s life, and if he cooperated, nothing else would go wrong. Maybe the kidnapper would even let her go—after all, she’d done what he’d asked her to do. Surely there was no need to keep her now?

That thought made her shudder as she circled back to the realization she’d had in the car. While she didn’t know his name, she had seen his face. He wasn’t just going to let her walk out of here—no way.

That didn’t mean she had to make things easy for him. She heard him stir in the bathroom and knew she didn’t have much time. Glancing quickly over the supplies on the bed, she grabbed a syringe and a vial of sedative and shoved them both in her pocket. When she was finished with Tony, she’d ask to use the bathroom and draw up a dose of the drug while she had privacy. It was a risky defense, since she’d have to get close to the man to administer the drug, but it was the only option she had.

She wasn’t going down without a fight.

* * *

God, he was actually going to make it.

Alex sagged against the wall of the bathroom and shook his head at the realization, relieved beyond words. Tony was going to survive, which meant he was one step closer to discovering the identity of the mole who had betrayed him. It had seemed like such a long shot that he had hardly dared hope Tony could be saved. His death certainly would have been the low point of a truly crappy day, but now there was a chance he could make things right.

And all thanks to her.

She’d been amazing, he reflected as he bent to his task. So totally focused and intense, as though she could heal Tony through the sheer force of her will. It had certainly made him sit up and take notice, and he could only imagine what her patients thought when she brought that energy to them. He couldn’t have asked for a better doctor, and felt a fresh wave of guilt at the knowledge he had forever changed her life.

He wanted to let her go, wanted to return her to the nice, safe life she’d led before. But now that he’d pulled her into this mess, he couldn’t leave her until he knew she’d be safe. With the 3 Star Killers after him and the FBI thinking he was a traitor, he had to clear his name and make sure she had protection before walking out of her life. Hopefully she’d forgive him for what he’d done, once she knew why he’d done it. He paused, wondering why with everything else going on, the thought of her anger upset him. Not like he didn’t have enough to worry about right now.

He cut the plastic square free and stood, folding his knife and putting it back in his pocket as he returned to the bedroom. She was still sitting on the side of the bed, her hand pressing a square of gauze to the place where the tube entered Tony’s body. A small part of him felt a perverse satisfaction at the memory of Tony’s reaction as she’d inserted the tube—he deserved all the pain he could get.

The doctor glanced up as he neared, but quickly looked away when she took the square from him. Interesting. She’d never had trouble meeting his eyes before. He watched as she taped it into place with brisk, efficient movements. Then she sat with her hands in her lap, as if at a loss for what to do next.

He could relate. When he geared up for an operation, adrenaline was a palpable rush in his limbs, coursing through his veins in a powerful rhythm. During the operation was no different, his body seeming to move of its own accord, his actions perfectly choreographed thanks to endless hours of training. But afterward, when the danger was gone and there was nothing left to do, it was hard to come back down to earth. He imagined emergency medicine, with its life-or-death stakes, was much the same way.

Without stopping to question his motives, he decided to distract her. “Alex,” he said softly in answer to her earlier question.

She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.

“Before, you asked me my name. It’s Alex.”

“Oh,” she said, her gaze sliding away from him again. She removed her gloves with fumbling fingers and tossed them into the trash can by the desk. He gave her a moment to respond, but she didn’t say anything.

“When someone offers their name, it’s customary for you to offer yours in exchange.”

She glared at him then, a flash of temper darkening her brown eyes in the dim light of the room. He fought to keep a smile off his face, knowing it would only anger her further. “It’s the polite thing to do,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Polite?” she huffed. “You manhandled me in the hospital parking lot, shoved me into a car, threatened me and forced me to treat your friend with stolen veterinary medical supplies, and now you want to lecture me about manners?” She shook her head, her ponytail dancing with the movement. “As if this night couldn’t get any stranger,” she muttered.

“I did do those things, yes,” he said. “But there’s no reason we have to be rude to each other now.”

“Is this some kind of Hannibal Lecter thing?” She tilted her head, leaning away as she studied him. “Because I’m really not in the mood for games.”

He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, the bad guy from Silence of the Lambs.”

“Never seen it.”

“Well, he always insisted on being uber-polite to his victims before he killed them. You should know that’s not going to work on me.”

He’d tried to keep her from bumping her head as he’d put her into the car, but maybe the stress of being abducted had caused her to snap. “I’m really not following,” he said, sitting on the second bed and trying to appear non-threatening. At least she’d saved Tony before going insane. That was something.

She sighed, the action pulling her white coat tight across her chest. He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes glued to her face. No way was he going to let her catch him ogling her, especially when she was clearly delusional. She seemed calm right now, but if she thought he was going to assault her, there was no telling how she’d react.

“Being nice to me won’t make me trust you,” she said, speaking slowly, as though he were a small child.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he replied truthfully. “I just want to know your name.”

“Why?” Her expression was wary, like she thought he could use her name against her somehow.

He spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. “So I know what to call you.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip, as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.”

He clenched his jaw, biting back the retort that sprang to mind. It was his fault she was so jumpy, and snapping at her for it would get him nowhere.

“Fair enough. But we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, so I thought it might be nice if we were on speaking terms. Unless you think you can ignore me for the next few days?” He raised a brow in challenge.

“Days?”

The color drained from her face and for a second he thought she was going to faint. Alarmed, he half rose from the bed, but she held up her hand to keep him in place.

“No, it’s fine. Stay there. I just... I need to go to the bathroom.” She bolted up and dashed off before he could do so much as nod.

Poor thing. He’d worked with guys who threw up before an op, the stress and nervous energy settling in their stomach where it couldn’t do any good. He’d never had that problem himself, but he knew she’d be fine once she got it out of her system.

Wanting to give her a bit of privacy, he stood and stepped closer to Tony’s bed. The medical supplies were still strewed across the other half of the mattress, a jumbled mess of syringes, gauze and glass bottles. He could tidy this up, at least, so she wouldn’t think he’d been sitting here listening to her the whole time.

He tossed the wrappers from the supplies they’d used and then set about collecting the items and putting them back in the paper bag. He moved methodically, gathering all the supplies of one type at a time in an effort to keep the bag somewhat organized, to make it easier to find what was needed in case there was another emergency. He hoped they were done for the night, but he couldn’t be sure.

His hand paused as he began collecting the vials of medication. There were only two bottles on the bed. He closed his eyes, thinking back to his frantic search through the cabinets of the vet clinic. Most of the medication had been locked away, but he distinctly remembered finding three bottles that had been left out. He’d grabbed them along with fistfuls of other supplies and run, not bothering to stop to read the labels of what he’d taken.

Where was the third bottle? He felt along the bed, checking to make sure it hadn’t rolled against Tony. It wasn’t under the pillows, and a quick search of the floor didn’t turn up anything. He paused, suspicion making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Had she taken it?

He silently moved to the bathroom door, listening for any noise that would indicate what she was doing in there. It had been disturbingly quiet since she’d entered the bathroom, with no sounds of retching or water running. Almost as if she was trying to be too quiet, so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

Alex grasped the door handle, hesitating only a second. If he interrupted a private moment, he’d apologize. But he doubted she was in there trying to regain her composure.

With a twist and a tug the door opened, making her shriek. She jumped and he heard the musical tinkling of breaking glass as the third vial of medication hit the tiled floor. Just as he’d thought—she had taken it. Probably thought to drug him and make her escape. It wasn’t a bad plan, all things considered, and a small spark of admiration flared to life in his chest.

He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, crossing his arms and legs as he studied her. She glowered at him, a half-filled syringe in one hand, her other clenched in a tight fist.

“I’m curious, Doctor,” he said conversationally, striving to keep the amusement from his tone. “What would you have done if the first dose didn’t knock me out?”

Chapter 3

He wasn’t dead.

The bastard must have been born under a lucky star, because by all rights, he should have been killed tonight. That had been the plan. That was how things should have gone.

Alexander Malcom, former golden boy of the Bureau, turned traitor and killed by the very gang he had infiltrated. Pity the Bureau hadn’t gotten to bring him to trial, but everyone knew you didn’t cross an organization like the 3 Star Killers. Street justice was bloody and swift.

Or at least it should have been.

Dan Pryde pasted on a somber expression, shaking his head over the loss of life. Yes, it was a shame that so many promising young men and women had been injured or killed tonight. Even more shameful that they had died in vain, since the primary target was still alive.

He’d checked and double-checked the identity of the bodies, called all the hospitals to make sure Alex hadn’t slipped through the cracks. There was no sign of him. While some of the casualties were still being collected, he knew in his gut that Malcom wouldn’t be among them. The man had vanished like a ghost.

Nodding to the other agents around the table, he wheeled out of the room and down to his office. Let them point fingers at each other and rant about operational security—he had bigger things to deal with.

Such as finding Malcom before the man had a chance to expose him as a double agent.

Dan paused just inside his office to shut the door behind him. He needed privacy for this call, and although it was late and the halls were empty, he couldn’t take a chance that someone walking by would hear him. He motored to his desk, the whir of his wheelchair a soft hum in the otherwise silent room. It was a nice chair, provided by the Bureau, but after all, they owed it to him to provide the best in wheelchair technology, seeing as how it was their fault he was in the damn chair in the first place.

No, he corrected silently, not their fault. Not the faceless entity that was the FBI. One man was responsible for the paralysis that had rendered his legs useless and made him a prisoner in this chair, and now, after too many years, Dan had decided to enact his revenge.

I set the wheels in motion.

Shaking his head at the awful pun, he dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved his burn phone. Time to check in with his friends on the other side; find out just what the hell had happened out there tonight.

He hesitated a brief second, debating who to call. That punk kid Tony or someone a little higher on the food chain? Tony was his eyes and ears on the ground, but he was always a little too brash, too cocky for Dan’s liking. Although he provided good intel, he was still just a seventeen-year-old kid with a big mouth and a hot head. Like all teenage boys, Tony thought he was immortal, a testament to the power of denial, since he saw his friends gunned down on a regular basis. He was on his way to a gang leadership position, but he wasn’t there yet. If he’d managed to keep himself alive during tonight’s fiasco, he’d be one step closer to the position he craved.

No, Tony wouldn’t provide him with the information he sought. If he really wanted to know what had happened tonight, he needed to go all the way to the top.

He dialed quickly, loosening his tie as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line. Hopefully his contact hadn’t been killed in the shootout. He frowned at the thought, but dismissed it quickly. Despite their reputation, the leaders of the 3 Star Killers were not brainless thugs. They were too smart to get in the middle of a firefight between the government and the gangbangers. But as the phone continued to ring, cracks of doubt began to mar his conviction. Why weren’t they answering?

Finally someone picked up. They didn’t speak, but he could hear the raspy sound of their breath on the other end of the line. “What happened?” Dan didn’t bother with preliminaries, nor did he offer any kind of identification. He thought of the gang as a tame beast—under his control for now, but capable of turning on him in a heartbeat. He wasn’t stupid enough to give them the ammunition they’d need to ruin him.

There was a scratching as the phone was passed and then a familiar voice greeted him. “Mr. Hoover.”

It was the gang’s pet name for him, something he’d suggested they use. It was nice being called by the same name as the father of the FBI. He usually got a small thrill out of it, but tonight he was too wound up to notice.

“Why’d you call? We’re busy.”

Dan bit his bottom lip, refusing to give voice to his thoughts. I know you are, you little shit. And the only reason you’re busy is because I saved your ass tonight. Instead of pointing out that they should be thanking him for the fact they were still alive, he silently counted to five before he spoke again. “Did you take out Malcom?”

There was a pause, which made him grit his teeth. He started counting again. One... Two... Three...

“Haven’t seen him yet.”

“Which means he’s still alive.”

“Nah, man, it means I haven’t found him yet. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

“You’d better hope he is, because that was the price for the information I gave you.” When there was no response, he hardened his voice. “Do I have to remind you of the terms of our deal?”

“Nah, I got it. Look, he’s probably dead. We’re out looking for him and Tony now, to make sure.”

Tony was missing, too? That was disturbing news. Although the kid couldn’t identify him, Malcom could still get information from him. Information that would have him asking questions and stirring up trouble.

Why couldn’t you just die?

“I’ll call back in an hour. You’d better have good news for me.” He hung up before the man on the other end of the line had a chance to respond. Things were even worse than he thought.

Dan tucked the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He knew better than anyone that life didn’t always go as planned. While he hoped the gang would turn up Malcom’s body, he had to prepare for the very likely possibility they would not. It was a setback, but he wasn’t about to let Alex go that easily, not after all these years.

Not when he was so close to getting his justice.

* * *

Jillian stared up at him, her heart pounding so hard she felt as though it might beat right out of her chest. So much for her grand escape plan. She’d only managed to fill the syringe halfway before he’d barged in. She glanced down at it now, still clutched in her right hand. With a sigh, she set it on the sink. It wouldn’t do her much good, and she didn’t want to antagonize him further.

He was already intimidating enough, taking up the width of the doorway as he leaned against the jamb. He blocked her exit, but he didn’t seem threatening. His stance was casual, arms and ankles crossed, like they were having a normal conversation and he hadn’t just caught her making preparations to drug him. His expression was open and curious, and as she watched him, she could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched. She focused on his lips, caught the movement again. Was he—? He was! The jerk was laughing at her!

“This is funny to you?”

He sobered at that, his gaze sharpening as he regarded her. “Not at all. But I admire your determination. Not many people would be so resourceful.” His eyes cut to the syringe, then back to her. “Or so brave.”

“If you’d just let me go, I wouldn’t have to resort to such desperate measures.”

He shook his head before she’d even finished speaking, which had her temper flaring.

“Why not? I’ve done what you asked. I saved your friend, and now I want to go home.” Her voice broke and she bit her lip, blinking furiously. She would not cry, especially in front of him.

“Not yet.” His voice was flat, his jaw clenched. She could see that he was upset, but she pressed on, hoping she could get through to him.

“Is it money? Is that what you want?” When he didn’t respond, she took a deep breath. He needed to know the truth, even though it would probably upset him. “You should know I don’t have any money. Residents don’t make much, and most of what I do make goes to paying off my school loans. I can barely afford my apartment, much less pay you.”

“Don’t you have family?” There was a flash of something in his eyes—Interest? Calculation?—but then it was gone, making her wonder if she was imagining things.

“No.” She didn’t like to talk about her brother on the best of days, and she certainly wasn’t going to discuss him now. “So if you were hoping to use me to get rich, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

He smiled then, a brief curve of his lips. It transformed his face, making him look friendly. In other circumstances she would have found a smile like that on a man like him attractive.

“I’m not interested in money,” he told her.

“Then let me go.”

He shook his head, shifting slightly. “Can’t do that. It’s not safe.”

“What do you mean?” She felt a chill on the back of her neck and reached up to rub the sensation away. What could be worse than this?

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. “There are some bad guys after us,” he said, uncrossing his feet and scuffing the toe of his boot on the stained linoleum. “We need to lay low for a while.”

“Bad guys?”

He nodded. “Have you heard of the 3 Star Killers?”

Heard of them? Oh, yes. She saw the results of their handiwork on a daily basis, treating gunshot wounds, stabbings and overdoses with a regularity that broke her heart. They were a major presence on the streets of DC, and the news that they were after her kidnapper did nothing to alleviate the knot in her stomach.

“You have a gang after you?” She should have known—the smell of the car alone should have tipped her off. The 3 Star Killers were the major meth suppliers for the city, and the heavy, cloying stench emanating from the upholstery wasn’t due to casual drug use. She’d probably been riding around in a mobile meth lab, a thought that made her skin crawl.

Watching her captor now, she was struck again by the thought that he didn’t look like a typical user or dealer. How was he associated with the gang and what had he done to bring their wrath down on his head?

“Something like that.” He ducked his head, the gesture of a little boy in trouble. His refusal to meet her eyes made her stomach clench. He was hiding something.

“There’s more.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it.

“You don’t need to worry about the details now.”

She considered his statement, wondering if he was right. It would be easier to remain ignorant of the danger facing them, but what good would that do in the long run? Better to know, so she could be prepared for the worst. Maybe there was a chance she could slip away before the gang even realized she was with him. The 3 Star Killers weren’t known for their subtlety, and she knew that if the gang found them, they wouldn’t distinguish between the one who had wronged them and the one who was in the way.

“Please,” she said, her voice quiet. “If you’re not going to let me go, at least tell me what’s really going on.”

He looked at her then, his dark blue eyes sharp and focused, glinting like twin sapphires in the dull bathroom light. “Why should I tell you? How do I know I can trust you?”

Jillian felt her eyes grow round with the question. Trust her? He had doubts about trusting her? After everything he’d done to her? She fought down a wave of exasperation and tried to see things from his perspective. She’d probably be a little paranoid if a gang was after her, but still. Who was she going to tell?

“Seeing as how you kidnapped me, and not the other way around, I don’t know why you’d have trouble trusting me.”

He raised a brow, regarding her skeptically. “Seeing as how I just found you filling a syringe with a whopping dose of sedative I can only imagine you meant for me, you can see why I’m a little worried.”

She felt her cheeks heat with a blush, but refused to look away. “Can you blame me?”

He smiled again and she couldn’t help but return the gesture. “No, not really. I’d probably do the same thing.”

“But you’d probably be successful,” she muttered.

His smile broadened as he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Please tell me,” she whispered.

The smile faded from his face as he regarded her, his expression sad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said softly.

How could she get him to talk? What could she say that would convince him she needed to know what was going on? She deserved to know—her life was in danger too, dammit!

She wanted so badly to yell and scream, to rail at him until he gave in. But she knew he wouldn’t respond; if anything, her temper would only cause him to shut down. No, if she wanted answers, she would have to extend some kind of olive branch. What did she have that he wanted?

When someone offers their name, it’s customary for you to offer yours in exchange.

Did he still want to know? Would that be enough?

“Jillian,” she blurted, breaking the silence between them.

He tilted his head, studying her like she was some kind of talking monkey.

“My name,” she clarified. “You asked me before. It’s Jillian.”

* * *

The name fit her, Alex thought as he watched her draw herself up, as though she was preparing for battle. He knew why she had finally told him—she was hoping he’d give her some information in exchange. Tit for tat. One of the oldest interrogation tricks in the book; a tactic he’d used with varying degrees of success throughout his career. He’d never been on the receiving end before and was surprised to realize how susceptible he was. Her confession, her peace offering, made him want to explain things, to lay it all out for her. He was sorely tempted to tell her the truth, not just about why he’d taken her, but about everything.

It was a heavy burden he carried. He wanted badly to share it with someone.

But he didn’t want to put her in any more danger.

Needing time to think, he stuck his hand out in a bid to buy a few seconds. She stared at it warily, as if he offered her a stick of dynamite. When he didn’t move, she grudgingly slid her hand into his and gave him a perfunctory shake. “Nice to meet you, Jillian,” he said.

She pulled away quickly, no doubt repulsed by his touch. He wished he could say the same, but her small, strong hand had felt nice in his own. It was so easy to think of her as fragile, because of her porcelain skin and delicate bones, but he had only to touch her to be reminded of her hidden strength.

His resolve weakened with the contact, the words building up on the tip of his tongue. Why not share the truth with her? Who could she tell? After all, he was going to keep her by his side until the mess died down. He should be able to make contact with his case handler soon, explain everything. Now that Tony was stable, he had evidence to support his claim. He’d get things straightened out with the Bureau, find the mole in the organization, and then his nightmare would be over. He’d make sure Jillian had a protective detail, so if the gang got wind of her involvement tonight, she’d still be safe.

The more he considered it, the more he realized that if he told her the truth, things could only get better. Since they were going to be stuck together, he needed her to trust him. Besides, he couldn’t stand the way she looked at him now. The combination of fear, determination and hurt that shone in her eyes just tore him up inside. The way she flinched every time he moved broke his heart. He’d never hurt a woman before, never given one cause to be afraid of him, and he didn’t like the slimy sensation he felt in his gut every time she jumped in response to his actions.

His mind made up, he straightened from the door jamb. Jillian watched him move, her stance reminding him of a feral cat, ready to run at the slightest provocation. Alex took a deep breath, gearing up to say the words. After so many years as an undercover agent, it was hard to overcome his ingrained reluctance to reveal his identity. But it had to be done.

“I’m undercover FBI. I was involved in a sting that went south tonight. A lot of government agents died because of a mole in the organization who told the 3 Star Killers about the takedown. Tony knows the identity of the double agent, which is why I needed you to save his life. I couldn’t take him to a hospital, because the FBI and the gang would know, and they would send people to either arrest or kill me. I can’t let that happen.”

She watched him, her eyes growing round as he spoke. “You’re an FBI agent?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he thought he detected a note of doubt. Not that he could blame her—he hadn’t exactly acted like an upstanding lawman tonight.

He nodded. “I infiltrated the 3 Star Killers almost three years ago. I’ve worked my way up the chain of command, passing on intel to the FBI so they could build a case against the gang. Tonight was supposed to be the big operation, the one that crippled the gang and effectively took them out. But it all went wrong.”

“I see.” She nodded mechanically, and he had the distinct impression she was humoring him. As though he was a mental patient and she was agreeing with everything he said so as not to provoke him.

Biting his lip in frustration, he thrust his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his identification. He normally didn’t carry his badge and ID, but since tonight was the big op, he’d brought it along so he could identify himself to the other agents. Jillian jumped and shrank back as he shoved it forward for her inspection, but when she realized he wasn’t going to hurt her, she reached out to take the leather case from his outstretched hand.

Her brows pulled together as she studied the badge and card. “This looks real,” she said, sounding confused. “How is that possible?”

“Because it’s the truth?”

She glanced up at him, her brown eyes shining with an emotion he couldn’t name. “But you kidnapped me.”

“I had to. I couldn’t let Tony die.”

She took a step forward, evidently growing braver in the face of his confession. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were before?”

He shook his head. “There wasn’t time. I couldn’t stand there in the middle of the parking lot and explain the situation to you. We had to move. I made a command decision, and while I’m sorry you were scared, I’d do it again.”

She stood in front of him now, a breath away. “You idiot,” she seethed. She slapped his badge against his chest and he raised his hand to keep it from falling. “I would have helped you. I could have admitted Tony as a John Doe, bought you some time. But you didn’t think of that, did you?”

Actually, no, he hadn’t considered that possibility. He’d figured the FBI and the gang would comb the area hospitals looking for him, and he’d wanted to get away as soon as possible. Besides, while the FBI would be careful not to harm any innocent bystanders in their quest to arrest him, he knew the gang wouldn’t be so circumspect.

“I couldn’t risk other people getting hurt. You know the 3 Star Killers wouldn’t hesitate to mow down everyone in the ER if they knew I was inside.”

Some of the anger in her eyes dimmed at that. “You still could have told me the truth.”

“When?” he asked, his temper flaring to life. “In the car on the way here, as you were looking through the supplies? When you were treating Tony? When you were sneaking off to drug me? When, exactly, do you think I should have had this conversation with you?”

“I don’t know!” She took a step back, throwing up her arms as she moved. “But don’t get mad at me for being upset at the fact that you kidnapped me and brought me here under false pretenses.”

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as he caught the hitch in her breathing. She was terrified, and trying hard not to show it. The knowledge doused his anger like a cold shower. “I’m not the bad guy,” he said softly.

Jillian stared up at him a long moment, considering. He watched the emotions play across her face—anger, frustration, fear, denial. And acceptance. Finally she spoke again. “I know.”

“But the bad guys are out there. And they are coming for us. So we have to decide—are we going to work together or are we going to argue over all the crap that’s happened tonight?” He reached out to rest his hand on her arm, squeezing gently. For the first time, she didn’t flinch at his touch. He felt like whooping in celebration, but kept his voice quiet. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the way things went down. I’d give anything to keep you out of this.”

The corner of her mouth hitched up in what might have been a smile. “Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” she said wryly. “You’re right about one thing—if we waste time arguing, we’re as good as dead. But don’t think I’m going to forget about the fact that you kidnapped me and shoved me into a car.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. You can punish me later. For now, let’s get some rest.”

“I need to check on Tony first.”

He leaned back so she could walk out of the bathroom. As she brushed past him, he put a hand on her arm, stopping her. She glanced up, a question in her eyes. “I was never going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please believe me—I would never deliberately hurt you.”

Her expression softened and she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. “I know that now,” she said, giving him a reassuring pat.

He released her, the tension in his chest loosening with her words. “Good.”

He watched her walk into the bedroom, a curious sense of relief making him feel almost giddy. She knew. She knew all about him, about what had happened tonight. And now she could help, as his partner, not his hostage. He wasn’t alone any longer—he was part of a team.

Alex moved to the second bed and folded down the scratchy spread. Jillian glanced up from her examination of Tony, and he gestured to the empty bed. “You should get some sleep.”

She looped the stethoscope around her neck as she stood. “What about you?”

He nodded to the chair on the other side of the room. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Promise you’ll wake me in a few hours?” She was already stripping off her white coat and shoes. He heard a thunk as she set her pagers on the bedside table before climbing in.

“Promise,” he said, but he doubted she heard him. Her breathing was already the deep, even cadence of a person sleeping. She was probably a pro at taking advantage of the odd stolen moment; a skill he imagined came in handy in her line of work. He watched her for a moment, envying the peace she’d found and wanting nothing more than to lie next to her and rest for a few minutes. Or a few years.

Shaking off the errant thought, he flipped off the lights and settled into the chair, positioning himself in the dark corner. He had a good angle of the window and door, but was out of the direct line of fire, should anyone burst into the room with guns blazing. He checked his Glock, then his backup weapon—a snub-nosed .38 Special. Both were in good working order, loaded and ready for use. Just in case.

He’d been careful to make a clean exit tonight and knew they hadn’t been followed. The gang didn’t know about this room at the no-tell motel. Neither did the FBI. It was his personal bolt hole, a place to retreat and regroup when things went bad. In the three years he’d been with the gang, he’d never once had to use it.

Until tonight.

Sighing quietly, he reached up a hand to rub his eyes, trying to scrub away the images from tonight’s attack. The screaming. The smell of cordite and gun smoke on the wind. The blood.

Watching the attack unfold tonight had made him feel helpless. It was a sensation he hadn’t had in years, not since the day of that horrible training accident when he’d reached out a hand to help Dan make it to the top of the obstacle wall. Dan’s grasp had been solid and sure, until suddenly it wasn’t, and Dan was scrabbling for purchase as he slipped. The screams of the injured tonight were a haunting echo of Dan’s cry as he’d fallen. Even now, Alex had only to close his eyes to see the man lying at a terrible angle at the base of the wall, the image as clear and perfect as a photograph. It had been almost ten years, but he hadn’t forgotten any of the details.

Probably never would.

Jillian sighed and shifted on the bed. He focused on her, using the distraction of her presence as a lifeline to pull himself out of the sea of memories. It wouldn’t do to get bogged down in things that couldn’t be changed. He had to stay focused on the job at hand—he owed her that, after dragging her into this mess.

It was the only way to make sure they survived.

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