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  “Give me a few minutes. We’ll talk.” She went into the bath and he heard the shower start.

  When she was out of earshot, Jack, who was propped up on pillows, said, “I think they aimed to kill her. If it had been me they wanted, they could have taken that shot a hundred times.”

  “You look like hell. Rough movie? Never cared much for action flicks myself.”

  “Were you born a smartass or did you just pick it up along the way? Thanks a lot, a bullet does that to a guy. So does the surgery, and all the crap that goes with it. Then there’s the fact I was worried about her.”

  Ryan didn’t comment on his theory. He didn’t have to. It was the truth, and he couldn’t do one thing about it. He knew she wouldn’t back off now. Not after all this. She’d be more determined than ever.

  “I tried to talk her into going home, but it’s like throwing a ball against a brick wall. Whatever you say bounces right off and never sinks in. Hard headed woman, she should listen.”

  Jack smiled when he said it.

  Liv came back into the room toweling dry her hair. “Hey, I heard that.” She sat, very gently, beside him on the edge of the bed. He grinned at her. She smiled back.

  Ryan wondered if they could see all those sparks flying around them, enough of them to make a brother very uncomfortable being in the same room. He didn’t like it. Roarke was trouble and his sister was in enough of it.

  “Say, Ryan, did you know that bullet our man took was meant for me? My hero.” Liv’s eyes were dancing, he noted, and that told him her heart was set on this. He might as well give up. Ryan kicked himself out a few minutes later, knowing she’d be okay. She was in a hospital. There were guards posted everywhere, and she had a cop basically handcuffed to her. She’d be okay, as long as he didn’t screw up again.

  When he finally walked through the door, weary in more ways than he could count, the phone was shrilling on its hook. He hated that damn telephone. Maybe he’d just take it apart piece by piece and see if the garbage disposal would chew it up. With that satisfying image in his head, he yanked it off the hook. “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “Show a bit of respect. I could have splattered her head, but instead take this as a warning. Don’t cross me or I will kill your family and everyone you care for while you listen to their screams. Then, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll kill you as well.”

  Ryan didn’t have a chance to say anything else. He didn’t know what he could have said. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Terror was a living beast, gnawing, thrashing, and it walked inside him. When he finally crawled back in bed at six that morning, he did something he hadn’t done since his father had died. He knelt beside his bed, much as a child does, and prayed with all his heart. He hoped God would take the time to listen to someone like him.

  * * * *

  Shadow walked down the richly carpeted corridor, his heavy army boots thudding with the steps. He sweated bullets, felt like he was taking that last walk. It was rare for him to feel the fear he bestowed in others. He’d been summoned. He’d screwed up and the boss wasn’t happy.

  Niccolo Gueraldi had a little nickname of his own, Sandman, gotten because he sent more people to take a dirt nap than most of the Most Wanted on the FBI hit list. He prided himself on being ruthless and cold.

  His study smelled of roses. Roses, and chemicals for cleaning. Only the guest’s side of the desk was illuminated, and then faintly. He preferred the dark for dealing and for living.

  Shadow couldn’t see him tap his Cuban cigar lightly on the tray, but he knew that he did. The bloodstains on the desk’s glossy top still spilled scent and terror where fingers had been crushed or chopped in torture. “You disappoint me, Shadow, as they call you. You slipped up, and failed to live up to your reputation. You broke your contract with me. Can you explain your incompetence?”

  He swallowed hard and tried to find his words. “It wasn’t my fault. I did everything I was supposed to. The writer, he got in the way. Damn fast for someone who sits around banging on keys all day. It was like he knew I was there, like a sixth sense or something, creepy.”

  Gueraldi shook his head. “How long have you been following the woman, Shadow? Since her plane touched down if I’m not mistaken. You should have researched him as well. You should have known about him. If he was in the way of the job, you should have taken him out, and then carried out my wishes.” The fear was almost palpable, as was his disgust. “I detest incompetence, especially in one of my employees.” He gave his guards a little come hither.

  Shadow heard a drawer scrape open. He wet his pants. Before he could think to free himself, he was being held down into the chair.

  “What are you doing? Let me go!” He squirmed but couldn’t break the hold. He paled when light glinted off metal. Gueraldi flipped on the overhead lights. He held a scalpel in his hand.

  ‘Muscles’ pressed Shadow’s right hand down on the desk. Now he screamed for his life as his own victims had screamed for theirs. “You can’t kill me! You need me! She’ll have cops on her now and no one but me can get to her. I know how to get in close. You need me alive. Please!”

  “The police don’t worry me. I could have them wiped out of existence, every last one, but then what fun would the dance be? You do have one valid point, however. For the moment I still need your services. I will spare you your life this time.” As he’d intended to do from the start. “Don’t fail me again.”

  Before Shadow could begin to beg his thanks, Gueraldi touched the tip of his finger to the blade, brought blood. They held him there while he sliced and Shadow screamed.

  Later, much later, after he’d been kicked and beaten to a pulp, they dropped him in front of a seedy bar two blocks from the hole in the wall he called an apartment. Dumped him out of the back of the car was more like it. He struggled to walk to his apartment. Every bruise sang, and he knew at least a few of his ribs had to be broken. By the time he managed to make it through the door, his breath was gone and he was exhausted.

  The one room apartment with its brown linoleum floor and cracked ceiling was filthy and the walls were barely thicker than cardboard. He could hear the sounds of a baby crying down the hall, or maybe it was below him. Who cared? He leered at the banging on the other side of the bathroom wall. ‘Big Betsy’ had a john in for the night. He’d had a night or two next door himself. It was a rotten way to live. It suited him just fine.

  He foraged through the medicine chest and found some bandages—a definite surprise and probably purchased by the last unfortunate tenant—and a crusted bottle of iodine. He poured it liberally, more for form than sanitation, and cursed fluidly to hide the sting. He wrapped the bandages tightly over what was left of his pinky. Bastard had taken his finger. It no longer bled.

  Gueraldi himself had cauterized the wound, with a torch. “Remember what failure has cost you, and don’t let it happen again.”

  Every time he held his rifle, he would see it and think about the one time he’d missed. He slung the bottle of iodine across the room. It splattered as it sailed into the too thin walls, leaving a smear of orange red on them. He entertained himself by imagining it was blood spattered and didn’t bother to clean it up. Oh, yeah, he’d remember all right. He would give back all the pain in spades. Olivia Corrigan was a dead woman, but he was going to have a whole lot of fun playing with his mouse before he made his kill.

  Chapter 9

  Jack walked into the station, his arm in a sling to keep his shoulder steady, Liv at his side. She hadn’t left him for more than a few hours in the days since he’d been shot. He lifted his free hand in greeting to the desk sergeant who waved. A woman dressed like a prostitute, sporting a green Mohawk, sat cuffed to the desk, hurling obscenities around the room that would have made a drunken sailor blush. Liv smiled and waved. He couldn’t hold back the laugh as they made their way to Sam’s office. She would have been surprised to know that more than a few eyebrows had risen since their entrance, though most of the eyes had fall
en squarely on her. Sam’s secretary waved them on in.

  Sam closed the door behind them and gestured for them to take a seat. “Jack, Miss Corrigan, I’m glad to see that you’re both in one piece and on the way to recovery.”

  “Have you found out anything, Cap?”

  Sam frowned and gave him a look that clearly said he should know better.

  “That information cannot be released to the public at this time, officially.” He held up his hand to stop the automatic protest Jack was about to spout. “Unofficially, I can tell you we’re looking at this as a planned hit. Since neither of you have a habit of wandering around in the middle of the night, I figure someone has been following you. I’m assigning both of you a couple of watchdogs. I don’t want any more murders in my precinct.”

  “Liv, could you give me a moment with the captain here?”

  She looked from one man to the other and said, “Sure, I’ll just be right outside if you need anything, Jack.” Slipping out, she clicked the door shut behind her.

  “Nice nurse you got there.”

  Jack only glared at him.

  Sam grinned back unaffected. He’d gotten used to these moods of his. “Pretty lady wants to fuss over me, I wouldn’t complain. Especially one who looks and sounds like that.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down.

  Jack only frowned. “Liv has waited on me hand and foot and practically been my keeper since this happened. Even put off her trip another week to take care of me. I tell her I’m fine. Do you think she listens? No. Just goes on doing her thing. Not that I mind her company, I love her company, but I’ve been taking care of myself since…” It got easier everyday to imagine Liv there with him forever. Sissy faded slowly into the back of his mind. He hadn’t had a nightmare since he’d met her.

  “She’s in trouble, isn’t she?” He just knew Liv was the target, but why?

  “I’d guess it is more an indirect sort of trouble, but yes.”

  “I want my badge back.” It took something for him to say it.

  “I can’t, Jack, not yet. Come and see me when you’re well. Until then it wouldn’t hurt her any for a concerned friend to keep an eye on her.”

  Jack got up to leave and shook Sam’s hand. “Thanks.” He turned and walked out, back into the bullpen.

  He heard laughter, fairy bells over the bog. Maybe she is a fairy, and I’m spelled, or maybe I’m an idiot and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Both of the plainclothes detectives, her bodyguards, she spoke to had a sort of goofy awestruck look on their faces. Jack laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “You ready, Liv?”

  She nodded. He knew it was a proprietary gesture, but he kissed her lightly on the lips and steered her to the door.

  “Mmm. Mind your arm now.”

  “Do you have any idea what affect you have on the male population when you turn on that smile?”

  She gave both of her assigned protectors a little wave. They were grinning like loons when he looked back.

  “Of course. Ah, but then you’ve gone and dashed all their hopes to shambles. You know they think we’re having this wild illicit affair.”

  Come to think of it, he’d never kissed a woman in the station, not even his wife. Tongues would already be wagging over bad coffee and stale donuts. “Do you want to set them straight? Or are we?”

  “They have the idea, or will.”

  Jack’s house was one of the oldest homes in the city, but it sported the newest in security. He knew people who knew people, and had met all kinds during his undercover work. He sat back, watched Liv punch in the complicated code to open the iron gate. She was driving his car. He’d never even let Sissy drive his car. It was his pet.

  She must have the codes imprinted in her mind now along with the codes for the front, terrace and all the balcony doors. Each one might as well have been Chinese, so complicated they were. A six-foot high wall of brick surrounded the property. The gate mechanically shut behind them as Liv continued up the drive. She punched in another key code to let them inside.

  “Here you are, Jack. Home sweet home.” She set the grocery bags on the counter. The kitchen was stocked with every kind of appliance one could possibly want to cook with. Cooking was something she loved to do. She tinkered and fiddled with all the gadgets while she set about making the dish, singing a song he couldn’t have known the lyrics to as she worked. It was in another language, Gaelic, her voice lilted with it. The tune made the heart ache so that the words weren’t really important. She’d made herself at home these past few days. Close quarters.

  Jack watched Liv from the doorway. The woman was like a miniature tornado, always twirling around doing something. Taking over, doing any least little thing she thought that might give him trouble; Liv cleaned, cooked and became all but a live-in maid. He shouldn’t complain, but it smothered him. They’d barely known each other two weeks, and it would be that much harder to get used to her being completely gone. She wouldn’t be bopping around in his kitchen, or scrubbing up invisible dirt. He knew her intentions were good, but he didn’t want someone mothering him.

  She looked right there, like she belonged. He didn’t care for the direction his train of thought was taking him. Maybe she did, but he wouldn’t see that she stayed there. If it had been a matter of finding a woman who fit the bill, Liv would have been it. She looked like a goddess, cooked like a French chef, and cleaned like a fiend. She was smart, and had a well-paying career, not that money was an issue. Liv would have made the perfect wife if he’d been looking. He couldn’t do it, though. He liked her in spite of any chemical thing they had going between them. She had a soft heart and if he gave her the chance, she would most certainly fall in love with him. He couldn’t or wouldn’t love her back. She deserved someone better, so they’d enjoy each other’s company, and when she was gone he’d be grateful for the time they’d had together. Unable to think about it any longer, he headed into his office to give both of them some distance.

  Propping up his feet on the desk, he rubbed his eyes. He should try to work, would, but for the stupid sling that kept getting in the way. He’d be rid of it soon enough. It's driving me crazy, sitting around doing nothing, just being dependent on Liv for everything. He needed to do something. Someone was set on killing her and he felt helpless to stop it, just like before. No, not like before. He had loved Sissy, but he didn’t love Liv. Did he? He was beginning to think it would be a lot healthier, for both of them, if he could get her out of his mind. Love made you stupid. It made you blind. It kept you off your guard. It ripped your heart in tiny pieces. He’d paid the price once, or Sissy had. He wouldn’t allow himself to be caught by it again. He wouldn’t let himself love. Where there was love there was pain. Pain he could live without.

  * * * *

  Liv tapped on the office door. She heard him mutter something, took it for an assent and went in. The utilitarian file cabinets and metal desk didn’t seem to go with the dark paneling or plush carpet. It definitely wasn’t aesthetically pleasing. She instinctively knew Jack hadn’t chosen it for that reason. He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d come into the room, neither had he spoken to her.

  “Jack, I’m thinking I’ll head on home. I need to put in a few hours of work.”

  He still said nothing. She waited impatiently, but decided to try again.

  “If you need anything you’ve only to call. I’ll come.”

  Still he said nothing.

  She’d had enough of this silent treatment. She had a hand on the doorknob when he called to her.

  “Liv, I need to tell you about before.”

  “Before? When you were a cop? You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jack.”

  “I think I do, now, before things go any farther between us. Will you listen?”

  He needed to talk, so she’d let him talk.

  “My dad was a cop. It was all I ever wanted to be from the time I was little. When I was five my best friend was Serena O’Neil and guess what she want
ed to be when she grew up?”

  Liv smiled at the boyish look his eyes had taken. “A cop?”

  “Yeah, she was the greatest. My mom came from old money. There were events and circles Serena didn’t fit in, but my family didn’t care where she came from or what she had. We stayed friends all through high school. We were headed for the same goal you know, so we didn’t drift apart like some do.” For a moment Jack buried his face in his hands.

  “What happened?”

  “We went to work under Sam. He had made captain by then, so we worked our way up. Our detective badges still had that newness that can only be gotten rid of with experience and time. My parents were on a holiday together. Their plane crashed. Both were killed.”

  Liv leaned against the desk. “How awful to lose them together! How did you ever survive it?”

  “I was devastated. You know what it’s like to have the world fall out from under your feet like that, Liv? There is nothing to compare with it. I didn’t think I would survive it. I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Serena. She had been my best friend most of my life. She was my partner. She held me up, stayed with me. She got me through the arrangements, the memorial. When it was over, she gave me the space I needed to grieve and a shoulder to cry on when I finally wanted it.

  “I fell in love with her. I say fell but it was more like a slow, warm slide into it. It took me another year to get her to marry me. She was afraid. We had been friends so long she wanted to be sure. Not long after we were married, she went undercover on a case. It was hard on both of us. She wanted me to act like a cop and deal with the danger involved. I wanted her out of it. All the way out. It was the only thing we ever fought over.

  “I took her out on our anniversary, the first one we had. We got a call from an informant. He insisted on meeting us. We went. It felt like trouble from the start. Do you know what I mean? You could just feel it in the air. Shots were fired. One of the three hit Serena in the chest. She was a friend, partner. She was my lover, my wife, my life, and took her last breath cradled in my arms. At nine-o-four PM that night she died, and so did I. They never found her killer, could never connect it to any other case.”