Reckless by Maggie Shayne

Author:Maggie Shayne
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romantic suspense, crime fiction, witness, muder, organized crime, fbi agent, undercover agent, crime writer

Toni’s plan was simple. Nick would open the door, she would give him a healthy dose of hair spray in the face and run like hell. She'd wrapped a change of clothes and her notebook in one of his spare blankets, since there was no telling how long it would take her to find help. The bundle rested close enough so she could grab it as she fled. She watched for his car on the monitor, sighing her relief when it finally pulled up at the gate. Thank God. She’d started to think something might really have happened to him. Flicking off the TV, she tossed the remote over the row of books on the shelf. In case her escape attempt failed, no point letting on that she knew about the monitor. She positioned herself near the door, lifted the hair-spray can and waited.

It seemed to take an unreasonably long time for him to come upstairs. She grew restless. Her feet itched and she shifted her weight back and forth from one to the other.

Finally the door moved and Toni braced herself. It opened. Her finger touched the knob on the top of the can. Carl came through with Nick's arm anchored over his shoulders. Nick's head was bowed.

Toni saw the scarlet blood dripping from his pant leg. His head came up. He met her horrified stare, and she could see the pain on his face. The hairspray can fell to the floor, forgotten in her rush to pull his free arm around her and help Carl get him inside. “To the bedroom,” she instructed, and she and Carl half carried Nick there and clumsily eased his huge body onto the edge of the bed. She released him long enough to tear the covers back, then grabbed him again and eased him down onto the bed.

“What the hell happened?” She tried not to look at Nick's face, at the pallor of his skin, and the lines etched at the corners of his mouth. Hooking a finger into what she presumed to be a bullet hole in his pant leg, just below the belt he'd twisted around his thigh, she tore the fabric wider.

“It's nothing. A graze,” Nick ground out. He wasn't lying flat, but holding his head and shoulders off the bed. She could hear the effort he made to keep his voice normal, and the way he struggled to breathe deeply and regularly. The man couldn't admit to weakness at all, even with a quart of blood soaking his clothes. He was infuriating.

“He was shot,” Carl finally answered.

She realized it had been a stupid question. Of course he'd been shot, what else? A mottled chasm in his flesh still pulsed blood. She couldn't see the wound well until she cleaned some of the blood away.

Her gaze pinned Carl. “Prop his feet on pillows—they ought to be elevated. Get the wounded leg higher. It'll slow the bleeding.” She got off the bed. “Take his shoes off, too.”

Carl's quick nod assured her he'd do what she asked.

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