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.
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
