Midnight Run. Linda Castillo

      “Hurry up,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

      Holding her breath, she secured the second length of tape, trying in vain to ignore his groan of pain. Oh, dear God, when was Aaron Chandler going to arrive?

      By the time the bandage was in place Landis was shaking all over. A dime-size stain of fresh blood marred the gauze. The injury would leave a tremendous scar, but at least it wouldn’t get infected. Sighing with relief, she stepped away, aware that her legs were rubbery.

      Jack slumped against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed. He cradled his left arm as if it were broken. His face was pale and drawn and his strong jaw had finally stopped clenching. She watched him for several minutes. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. His hands, which had been fisted in pain, relaxed. The furrow at his brow smoothed out. At least he wasn’t hurting anymore.

      Surprising herself, she raised her hand and touched his lean cheek the way she’d done a hundred times in the months they’d been involved. The stubble of his beard felt rough and unfamiliar beneath her fingertips. She could smell his clean, masculine scent. Memories stirred uncomfortably inside her. She stared at him, remembering, hurting, regretting and wishing things could have turned out differently.