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  She stuttered a breath, and he exhaled as he refocused on her. She searched his eyes for a moment until he guessed shock set in and hers fluttered closed.

  He wanted her to look at him again, without fear. Without pain. Anything to make him feel a little less alone.

  The sirens closing in drew his glance back to the road again. He needed to leave, but he couldn’t pull himself away. The waning heat of her body drew him in like a magnet, even from just her right arm pressed against his knees.

  He frowned as his mind eventually won, and he shifted, but her eyes shot back open.

  “Don’t leave!” The need and fear in her voice sent a chill down his spine.

  “I . . . can’t stay. You’ll be okay; they’re almost here.”

  He moved again, but she reached up and clutched at his collar, surprising him with a different strength.

  “Nick!”

  Illogical as it was, the urgency in her voice when she said his name irritated him to no end.

  Because he liked it. A whole hell of a lot.

  And he hated that he liked it. He didn’t get to like things. Not while his sister was a prisoner of some psychopath monster and his lackeys.

  Flashes of red and blue snapped his attention back to the street, lighting the windows of the buildings two blocks up, and his pulse quickened. Nearly too late.

  His gaze fell to her face. Before he could stop himself, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a watery, black tear, and smearing the color across her creamy skin. Even her perfect, heart-shaped face was soft. And the curve of her jaw fit nicely in his palm.

  Damn it.

  He scowled and slowly pulled his hand away. “I’m really sorry. You’ll be . . . they’re right there.”

  They didn’t break eye contact as he untangled her fingers from his collar and put her hand in place of his.

  “Keep pressure on it. Okay?”

  She nodded and chewed her lip. Nick grabbed his gun and stuffed it in the waistband of his pants. Then he jammed his phone into his back pocket as he stood.

  He looked down at her prone, damaged body and hated himself. Again. As if he needed one more reason. Guilt filled his mind. She didn’t deserve any of this. Hell, nobody did, most especially to suffer alone, but he had to go. He didn’t have a choice.

  He paused before he shook his head and trotted down the sidewalk, trying hard not to glance back. The red and blue lights just crested the hill as he slipped into an alley.

  She’d be fine.

  He yanked his hoodie off and wiped his hands on it as best he could. Then stepped behind a stack of musty, wet cardboard boxes as the police car zoomed past the opening, followed by the ambulance. He cast his eyes skyward and shook his head.

  They’d patch her up, nearly good as new. So why did he feel like such an ass?

  He scanned the alley and walked toward a large, corroded gray dumpster. He frowned as he chucked the now-bloodied hoodie in, quietly lowering the lid.

  Because he was an ass, that’s why. Because he left a woman bleeding on the damn sidewalk.

  He blew out a slow breath and exited the alley, still fighting backward glances. He ducked through the rusted door of the tiny mom-and-pop “Baker’s Buys” grocery store and made a quick beeline to the bathroom.

  Thank God it had a push door. No possible bloody smudges to clean up. He shoved it open with his back and kicked it closed with his foot, dislodging several chips of faded green paint.

  She’d be fine.

  He finagled the faucet on with his elbow, covered his hands in soap and scrubbed them under the ice-cold water. Red drops fell and swirled down the drain, disappearing like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just felt sparks for a damn knife wound victim. Irritation swelled in contrast to the odd mix of guilt and longing.

  Why was she out there!? Especially in a dress that was both too tight and not nearly tight enough.

  His jaw clenched as he scrubbed harder, hands aching from the temperature and the friction.

  What would have happened if he hadn’t been there? He froze and looked at his reflection in the cracked, hazy mirror, hands halfway under the water. He almost laughed at the irony.

  He’d only been there to save her because he had just murdered a man in cold blood, not ten feet from her. He glared at his hands and sighed as he turned off the faucet, before bracing on the sides of the sink to hang his head.

  At least he’d managed to save one person.

  He shoved away from the cold porcelain and snagged several paper towels. He needed to stop thinking about her. He squared his shoulders, chucked the used towels in the can, jerked open the door, and walked toward the counter.

  Though it didn’t seem possible, it was even colder when Nick stepped back onto the sidewalk, a bundled-up slab of bacon tucked under his arm. Of course, he was down another hoodie. That made three so far. He shivered and headed home, sidestepping potholes and random bits of trash.

  Maybe her cut wasn’t as deep as it looked. He frowned, shaking his head. He needed to stop thinking about her, immediately. He had his own drama to deal with. And a lot of it. She’d be fine.

  His dilapidated building finally came into view, and the familiar ache grabbed his heart again. This had been the single worst month of his life, and that included the time one of their mother’s abusive tirades landed his sister, Annalise, in the hospital. She’d only been ten.

  He’d just turned twenty and moved in his new place. Which meant he hadn’t been there to protect her. Hadn’t been there to take the blows. After that, Nick had moved her in with him. Eight years ago, now. It took a second job and a lot of sacrifices, but it had been worth it to know she was safe.

  He frowned.

  Safe, until he had failed her when she needed him most. Didn’t matter that he wasn’t there when she was kidnapped. He should have been.

  He curled his lip in self-disgust and eyed the faded brick exterior, hit with a wave of painful nostalgia. Again. She and Nick had often mused about what it was like in its heyday. When it had a doorman, and buzzers that worked to ring the other apartments. Now you were lucky if the door opened at all. Luckier still if you could see anything through the metal bars and haze of age on the windows.

  He shook off the cold as he stepped onto the cracked mosaic tile floor. A quick glance at his clothes revealed nothing, even though he was sure he’d have a few bloody spots. So far as he could see he was clean, which was good at least. He knocked on the first door to the right and waited for the faint “Come in” before he creaked it open.

  The tiny, round, elderly woman waddled out from the kitchen, beaming and flapping her hands in the air at him.

  A large smile spread across his face as he held out the paper-wrapped bundle. “Hey, Ms. Holbrook. Here you go.”

  “Nick, I’ve told you fifty times, just Eliza. I’m so glad you didn’t forget about me.” She blinked at him and took package before attempting to usher him into the room. He stayed in the doorway.

  “Where’s your coat? It’s far too cold for just a shirt; you’ll get sick! Come here, sit. You hungry? I made your favorite. I can tell you’re hungry, don’t argue. Sit.”

  The familiar, and not entirely unwelcome, smell of her signature spaghetti and bacon casserole wafted past his nose, and tugged at his heart. She made it every week, and he ate every bite she dished out. And took the leftovers, just to make her eyes sparkle.

  Never had the heart to tell her it was far from his favorite dish.

  His chest tightened. He wanted to step into her time capsule home. God, he did. The safety if offered was something that had always been in short supply in his life.

  Even something as simple as sitting beside her on the squeaky brown couch, listening to her talk about her grandson Thomas for the hundredth time, and how he never visited anymore. About Annalise and her “funny” jokes. Have her pat his knee. Such a plain, normal interaction between a doting mother
figure and a surrogate son.

  But he couldn’t. Not tonight.

  “I can’t stay.” His voice took on a gruffness he didn't intend, so he added a smile.

  Her eyes dulled a little, but she nodded and pointed at his neck.

  “Looks like you got ketchup or something on your collar, hon.”

  Shit. Guilt swam through him again. He hoped Scarlet was okay. There wasn’t a single thing he could do now, though. Even though he was fairly certain which hospital she’d been taken to, he sure as hell couldn’t just show up there. What would he even say? Despite it all, the thought of seeing her face again gave him a small butterfly.

  And calling to check on her would be beyond weird; they didn’t even know each other. He clenched his jaw. Damn it, he needed to stop thinking about her!

  Focus on the goal.

  Kill.

  Keep Annalise alive.

  “Is Annalise back from her trip yet? She’s been gone a while.” Eliza wrung her withered hands.

  The sudden lump of reality nearly strangled him, but he managed another gruff “No.”

  With a slow nod, she turned around and moved to the kitchen, returning with a large orange Tupperware container. “The leftovers are in here.” Her voice cracked, and his heart ached again. “We’ll chat next time, okay?” She smiled at his nod.

  “Bye, Ms. Holbrook.” He stepped out and slowly closed the door. Just before it had fully latched, she called out, “Eliza!” He managed a faint smile that disappeared the second his foot hit the first stair.

  He trudged up the three flights and stopped at his door. Behind that plank of weathered wood sat innumerable reminders of his failure. Most of them neon pink and zebra printed.

  He jammed the key in the stubborn keyhole, and as the lock turned his pocket buzzed. Breath frozen in his throat, heart slamming, he snatched his phone out and shot through the door.

  His tiny reward for a horrid deed well done was on the other end of that call, and he swiped his shaking finger across the screen.

  “Put her on.”

  Nick

  Ringing phones and beeping alarms filled the air as Nick waited at the information desk, rubbing the new scratches on his knuckles. Closet drywall this time. Hopefully, this nightmare would end before he broke his hand.

  He shouldn't be here. Should. Not. His pulse was so erratic, if they took it, they'd probably admit him for observation. It wasn't too late. All he had to do was tell the lady never mind, turn, and—

  "She's in room three-forty-five. Take the elevator to the third floor and take a right."

  Blood pooled in his stomach, and he blinked before managing a nod and a grumbled "Thanks."

  He turned on his heel and stepped into the little gift store. Soft instrumental music greeted him as he did a quick scan. Cards, random stationery, snacks . . . ah. He stepped over to the cooler full of floral arrangements and frowned. Was there even something that said, 'sorry you got your shoulder sliced open and I left you alone'? His cheek twitched and he grabbed the least romantic looking one, then stopped, emotionally gut-checked by a tiny pink zebra holding a champagne glass.

  That was just the sort of thing Annalise would have gushed over.

  Bile hit his throat as he made his way to the register. At least she was as okay as she could be, given the absolute shit circumstance. The phone call was shorter than the others, and he was still no closer to knowing a damn thing, but she was still alive.

  Flowers in hand, he made his way to the literal last place he should go.

  Before he realized it, he was outside the door, heart beating a hundred miles a minute. God. He couldn't do it. She'd probably be pissed, now that he thought about it. What kind of—

  The door swung open, revealing a bubbly blonde doctor. "Well, hi there! Doctor Parker. You can call me Li. You family?" She eyed the flowers and wrinkled her nose over a smile. "Cute. Go ahead in, I just finished up. The tendon was cut pretty badly, but she's holding up well. I'll warn you though," she chuckled and stepped out of the way, clearing the line of sight. "She's a bit," she held both her hands up and did comically large air quotes, "high." She patted Nick on the shoulder and gestured to the hall. "Just let a nurse know if you need anything."

  His throat dried, and he nodded, stepping over the threshold.

  There she was.

  Hair, an organized mess, eyes boring into his. The dress was gone, replaced by a standard hospital gown, yet she still made it look beautiful. A monitor hooked up to her arm beeped while an IV drip did its magic. He couldn't decide which was worse, bleeding Scarlet, or bandaged up Scarlet laying in a hospital bed.

  Okay, bleeding was worse. The heavy door closed with a thunk behind Doctor Li, plunging the room into momentary silence before Scarlet took a stuttered breath.

  "Hi," she croaked with a lopsided grin. "Come here often?"

  He let out a small laugh despite being about to die from nerves and shook his head. "Nope."

  She grinned wider and gestured to the flowers with her unfettered arm. "Those for me?"

  "Nope." He smiled. "Just like carting flowers around. Makes me extra manly."

  Her laugh wrapped around his heart and squeezed. Way too sexy. Such a bad idea. He swallowed and strode across the room to the table by her head. She watched his every step, and when he set the little pot down, she cleared her throat.

  "Nick—"

  "Wait." He held up his hand and struggled to get himself under control. Why did his name on those lips churn his insides into butter? So infuriating. He exhaled and winced. "I'm sorry, Scarlet."

  "S'not your fault." She slurred a little and giggled. "I'm the one with the janky car."

  "What?" He scrunched his brow as her head lolled to face the window. Moonlight beamed in through a crack in the opaque curtains, making an oddly calming pool of white on the tile floor.

  "I couldn't get it to crank. I figured I was so close to home it'd be stupid to call a cab. What could go wrong, right?"

  Nick grunted, and she refocused on him. "Joke's on me, huh?" She let out a fake chuckle that time and closed her eyes, loosing a single tear. Yet again his body defied a direct order, and he reached out, catching the tear before it hit her chin.

  She snapped her gaze to his and they stared at each other, his finger still on her cheek. Nerve endings on fire, pulse thumping, he let his hand slide the rest of the way down her face.

  "Thank you, Nick," she whispered and leaned into his touch, but he pulled away, grinding his jaw. This was so far past a terrible idea it was almost comical.

  Time to cut and run before his heart got even more twisted.

  "I'm glad you're safe. I wish . . . take care."

  With a parting glance at her widening amber eyes, he stalked to the door and threw himself through it.

  The best thing would be for Scarlet Price and her strong, fearless spirit to forget all about him.

  Three Weeks Later

  Scarlet

  Scarlet stood in front of the bathroom sink and gingerly draped the strap of the sling back around her neck.

  “This. Sucks.”

  She smoothed a wrinkle from her dark green pencil skirt and straightened her white button-down shirt as best she could with one hand.

  At first, it had been near impossible to do anything, let alone get ready for work. Her boss had informed her she could have stayed out another week, but she'd been going stir crazy. Plus, she had essentially exhausted every fantasy scenario she could come up with for her to do with Nick, and really needed to put her mind to work on something else.

  Three weeks was way too long to be dealing with this inconvenient thing. She wouldn't need it much longer and couldn't wait to burn it in a ceremonial fire.

  Okay. Not really. But, in her mind at least, it would burst into flames as it landed on the bottom of the trash can.

  Thankfully the wound was on her left shoulder; otherwise, she'd have been in serious trouble. Even mor
e thankfully it wasn't much, much worse. Which brought her thoughts back to Nick; the literal personification of heroism. And sex. She grinned.

  Her rescue was office-gossip fodder for days after she told her friend Katelyn. Not the ‘sex’ part; that was her secret. Just the ‘hero’ part. She found herself smiling more often than she should, considering.

  At that point, it seemed logical she'd created a large white whale in the guise of a knight in shining hoodie, but she couldn't help it.

  He had saved her. Then came to see her at the hospital. Random, non-hero people didn't do that. And even though he looked like he should have been gruff and harsh with his touch—and had more than demonstrated he was quite capable of that—it was exactly the reverse. Thinking about his rough thumb wiping her tears still made her breath hitch.

  Those compassionate hazel eyes under his dark, low set, intense brow were burned in her mind. They were eyes that could make a girl weak, especially when they were above her. He had a strong, straight nose and deep ridges that formed on his forehead when he scowled. His top lip was slightly thinner than his bottom one and nearly all she'd thought about was what it would feel like to kiss him. To feel those lips on her. Anywhere. Everywhere.

  His close-cut, black beard hardly masked his strong jaw line as the muscles worked from the effort of pressing down on her shoulder. And forget about that tanned, Mediterranean skin.

  She involuntarily shivered and all but melted to the floor when the image of his sexy grin filled her mind for the umpteenth time. She had seen all his features so clearly and so often in her mind since that night that she could probably draw him if she needed to.

  The way he hadn’t even flinched at her wound, or the blood, meant he was surely some kind of doctor or at least worked in the medical field in some capacity. The gun was a little . . .odd. But Twin Bay was a pretty rough town. Lots of people carried, now that she thought about it. So, a hot, gun-toting hero doctor who—