Shot Through the Heart

by Diane Benefiel

  John drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Good. That’s good. When can I see him?” He raised a hand to run unsteady fingers through his hair.

  Her gaze focused on the deep red staining John’s shirt just above the waistband of his jeans, made visible under his jacket when he’d raised his arm.

  “You’re hurt. Come with me.”

  “I’m fine. I want to see my brother.”

  “That wasn’t a request.” She turned to the blond-haired guy. “Are you shot, too?”

  He shook his head. “I’m good. Just take care of my buds.”

  She pulled on John’s arm. “Come on.”

  Grabbing hold of her like a lifeline, he turned to the other man. “Ben, come get me if you find out anything.” At Ben’s nod, he let Rane lead him through a curtain to an empty bed.

  Once he had his jacket off and was lying down, Rane eased up his shirt. A bullet had grazed just above his hip, scoring the skin, but leaving the muscle below undamaged. She pulled the supplies she needed from a cabinet and began cleaning the wound. She could feel his gaze on her.

  “Is he really okay?”

  She glanced up. He was biting back on the pain, expression fierce.

  “He’s not now, but he will be. What happened?”

  He leaned back on the bed, closed his eyes. “The DiNardos wanted to keep their junk. An informant told us about a stash house where they were holding heroin to be cut for distribution. A lot of dope there, and they didn’t want to give it up. They had automatic rifles. Nasty firefight.”

  He sucked in a breath when she applied antiseptic. Working steadily, she packed the area with gauze and applied tape. After disposing of the packaging, she pulled off her gloves. “Okay, soldier. I think you’ll live.”

  When he caught her hand, she raised her gaze to his. There was emotion in his expression, too much for Rane to deal with. Her stupid heart wanted to trust him, but her brain told her to be cautious. She pulled free, moving to the curtain. “I’ll get your paperwork.”

  ***

  John leaned back in a very uncomfortable chair upholstered in a garish turquoise blue. The clock on the wall showed it was getting close to nine in the evening. Nathan had been out of recovery and in the room for a couple of hours. He lay motionless in the muted light, tubes and wires hooking him up to bags and monitors that made incessant humming sounds. The doctor had assured him Nate would make a full recovery but, looking at him now, John thought he looked like he belonged in the morgue.

  The door opened, and he sat up. He recognized the nurse, a curvy woman with golden eyes. Lily. Her name was Lily, and she was a friend of Rane’s who’d been in the ER. Lily stopped by Nathan’s bed, attention focused on the patient.

  “Hey.”

  She glanced over at him. “Hey back. You don’t look so comfortable in that chair.”

  He shrugged, rising. “I can’t leave. He’s my brother. I have to be sure he’s okay.”

  She nodded and turned to the monitors. “Everything’s looking good. I’m off shift but thought I’d see how he’s doing. He’s a pretty tough guy to come through getting shot as well as he did.”

  John swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Yeah. He’s a tough guy, all right. I’m glad you think he looks good ’cause he looks like hell to me.” He rose to stand beside the bed, hands stuck in his back pockets.

  The door opened again, and Rane walked in. Her gaze immediately found his, and she crossed the room to stand beside Lily. She glanced at the monitors and then at the patient. “He looks good.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me.”

  “They’re right. You should go. Get some sleep.”

  “When are you off shift?” He could see the weariness in the slump of her shoulders.

  “Now.”

  “Hey there, cowboy.”

  John turned at Lily’s voice. Nathan had his eyes open and focused on Lily as she bent over him to adjust a tube.

  “You’re beautiful.” His voice sounded raspy.

  Lily gave a soft laugh. “Well, you sure woke up fine.” She smiled at him. “Those are some good drugs they’ve got in you, big guy. Made you a little loopy. You probably won’t remember this conversation in the morning.”

  “Nate.”

  Relief flooded through John when his brother turned his head toward him. He’d been shot, he’d been through surgery, but he was there, alive, aware of the world around him.

  “Johnny, what the hell happened?”

  “They knew we were coming. That’s what the hell happened. We were outgunned.”

  Nathan tried to raise a hand, but he was hampered by tubes. “Shit.”

  “Mr. Garretson, your brother needs to rest.”

  He glanced up at Lily. It was then he noticed Rane had left the room. He figured Lily didn’t want him to agitate Nathan with talk of the shootout. She was right. It could wait until morning. “Nathan, now that I can see that you’re okay, I’m going home.”

  At his brother’s nod, John smiled. “I’ll leave you in the care of the beautiful Lily.”

  Chapter Six

  John leaned back against the wall near the employee entrance. The temperature had dropped, and a steady rain fell from low clouds. He felt drained. Completely and utterly drained. Part of it was adrenaline crash. That surge of alarm when the shooting had started then the mind-numbing fear when he’d realized Nathan had been hit. Follow that with hours of waiting, and his brain was numb. John hunched his shoulders as a gust of wind drove rain under the overhang.

  The door opened, and he glanced over. A doctor in a long white coat. He wondered why they wore white coats. Why not blue? Or green? He turned his collar up and waited, trying to ignore the gnawing ache from his side where the bullet had grazed him. Hardly serious, but it burned. The door opened again, and, this time, he straightened.

  “Rane.”

  She had a small backpack slung over her shoulder, car keys dangling from her fingers, and long hair hidden under a knitted beanie. She stopped at his voice, hesitating. When she turned toward him, wariness marred her expression. “What do you want?”

  He almost slipped and said you. He fought the urge to put his arms around her, to hold and be held just for a minute. Not the right time or place. “A ride home?”

  “Where’s your truck?”

  “At the station. I came here in a squad car.”

  She paused before finally agreeing. “Okay.”

  He wasn’t sure how to read her. She seemed subdued, closed in. That morning, she’d been upset, but after they’d talked, he thought she had at least understood why he’d rented her apartment while undercover. He watched her, wondering what was troubling her. He could have sworn that, between the time he’d seen her in Nathan’s room and now, her burden had doubled. Uneasy, he joined her, casting his gaze around the parking lot, looking for anyone out of place.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer, instead tugging down her beanie and stepping into the rain.

  They crossed the wet pavement toward her car. “Rane.”

  She shook her head then remotely unlocked the car. Feeling edgy, John opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.

  When she would have put the key into the ignition without saying anything, he caught her hand. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles and waited until she turned toward him. She gave him a long look then pulled her hand free to reach into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a folded slip of paper and passed it to him.

  He unfolded it, using the light from his cell phone to illuminate the paper. “Bojangles? What the hell does this mean?”

  “It was in my locker. Someone slipped it through the louvers when I was on shift.”

  He stared at the note. “Why Bojangles? Does it mean anything to you?”

  “My dad’s had a couple of lines from the song stuck in his head the past few days. He’s been singing it over and over.”

  “And someone put it in your locker?” John
drummed his fingers on his knee. “It’s from DiNardo. It means he’s seen your dad. The bastard has been to see your dad again. It’s a warning.”

  She started the car and backed out of the parking space. “I don’t know if he saw him again. I went to dad’s facility this morning to make sure only people I’ve approved can visit him. Could be one of the nurses reported to Simon. I think someone on the staff might be one of his people.”

  The streetlights reflected off the pavement as the car moved down the road. One of the windshield wiper blades had deteriorated and trailed a piece of rubber back and forth across the glass. “Why do you think that?”

  “Something Simon said last night about the nurses. And I’ve wondered if he might have sources inside a hospital or a senior home like my dad’s where they could get their hands on Oxy. Some has gone missing from St. Augie’s as well. These kids aren’t starting with heroin. They’re getting hooked on other stuff first then graduating to heroin.”

  “You’re damn right about that. We’ve been working on that angle.”

  They drove through the wet streets until they reached her driveway. Getting out of the car, they walked toward the house as a fitful wind blew the rain down in fat drops.

  At the kitchen door, she paused, jingling her keys in her hand, expression uncertain. Cooper whined on the other side of the door. They stood under the outside light, and he raised a brow at her hesitation. “Rane, you’re under my protection. I told the task force that you know I’m a cop. We agreed it’s safest for you if I stay. I don’t want you by yourself tonight, particularly with Simon putting pressure on you.”

  She frowned. “You didn’t need a ride tonight, did you? You’re just playing all the angles to make sure I let you stay.”

  He scowled. “Not exactly. I really did need a ride. But this works out for both of us. I know you can protect yourself, but, with me, you get an extra layer of security. And since Kyle and Simon keep popping up around you, I can keep tabs on them. It’s a win-win.” He paused. “Can we go in? Cooper wants his dinner.”

  She unlocked the door and stepped inside, going down on one knee to greet the dog with a body rub as John followed her in.

  Rane did her best to ignore John. He unsettled her, and she figured the best strategy was to limit interaction with him. She fed Cooper and then disappeared upstairs. When she came back down, dressed in stretchy pants and a loose sweatshirt, she found John leaning against the kitchen counter, a beer in hand. He still wore the shirt stained with blood from where he’d been shot. He tipped the bottle toward her. “Want it?”

  She eyed him warily. “Where’d you get that?”

  His expression remained neutral. “Fridge.”

  Knowing she hadn’t purchased that brand, she opened the refrigerator door. When she’d made her breakfast that morning, the near-empty shelves had prompted her to start making a mental grocery list. Milk, bread, fruit. But someone had beaten her to it, and it wasn’t hard to figure out who. More food than she could eat in a week stuffed the shelves. Bottles of John’s favorite micro-brewery beer lined the door, and little tubs of her brand of Greek yogurt were stacked on a shelf. He must have run to the store before going to work. Shaking her head, she reached for the English muffins and peanut butter. Holding them up, she raised her brows.

  He shook his head. Instead, he turned to open a cupboard and pulled down a box of cereal.

  “Thank you.”

  He shot her a questioning look.

  “For the groceries. You didn’t have to. I never cared about you eating my food.”

  “I did. I know you don’t want me here, Rane, and I’m sorry about that. The least I can do is help out with the groceries.”

  She nodded. She didn’t want him in her house for several reasons. The top of the list should have been the risk that he would figure out her dad’s involvement in Kyle’s prosecution. But right now, struggling against this crazy attraction for him when he was assigned to stay close felt equally dangerous.

  Beyond that, she had to admit the note in her locker had rattled her, and John just plain made her feel safe. Cooper whined at the door, and when she started to rise, he held up a hand. He set his cereal and beer on the table and went to the door to let the dog in. “You have a towel to dry his feet?”

  “I’ll do it.” She opened a cupboard by the door and pulled out an ancient towel. When she turned, John held out a hand.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “No, thanks. He’s my dog.”

  “Rane.” He ran his hand down her ponytail, his expression thoughtful. “Don’t do this. You’re trying to keep me out, to keep me at a distance. I’m in this with you.”

  “No. You can’t touch me.” The words came out sharp and defensive. She didn’t care. Her self-preservation was on the line. She backed away from him. “I get that you have to be here. Here with me in the house. It’s part of your assignment. But I won’t go along with it if it means physical contact. I can’t deal with that.”

  He lifted his hands, backing away. “You know this is more than an assignment to me. You’re more than an assignment to me.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to touch me.”

  “Okay, fine.” He turned to let Cooper in, holding on to his collar while Rane dried his paws. When they were done, they sat at the table and had their late evening snack, neither one talking. She figured they were both pretty close to exhausted.

  He put his dishes in the dishwasher then strode out the kitchen door and pounded up the stairs to his apartment. He came back scant minutes later with some clothes and a few toiletries. Knowing she didn’t really have a choice in the matter, she didn’t say a word.

  It was nearly eleven by the time Rane showed John the guest bedroom. She’d seriously considered just letting him continue sleeping on the couch. The funny thing was she knew he’d have done it without argument. Maybe it was for just that reason she found herself turning on the light in the bedroom next to hers. But before she could get ready for bed and escape into the oblivion of sleep, conscience dictated she do one more thing.

  She stopped him when he would have walked past her into the room. “I need to check your bandages. The bathroom’s over here.”

  She led the way across the hall. When he didn’t follow, she turned and looked at him expectantly. Cooper sat in the hall, eyes tracking from one to the other.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Right. You’ve been shot, but you’re fine. Come here.”

  “No. I’ll look after it myself. I know how to change a bandage.”

  She blew out a gusty breath. “Would you stop arguing and get in here?”

  He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling as if searching for salvation before looking back at her with an expression Rane thought seemed a bit desperate.

  “Problem?”

  “Problem? What could be the problem? Let’s get the damned bandages changed.”

  She frowned as he brushed past her, going into the bathroom. “Okay. It’ll be easier if you take off your shirt. It’s a mess anyway.”

  Glancing in the mirror, she caught his reluctant expression as he started on the buttons. Puzzled, she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out packages of gauze, swabs, tape, and a bottle of betadine. “Really, no need to be shy.”

  Turning to face him, she about swallowed her tongue. That morning, she’d been focused on his wound, and he hadn’t removed his shirt. But wow. Those weights he’d hauled up to his apartment had certainly paid off. Dark chest hair highlighted well-defined pectorals, and his rippling abs made her mouth water. And the man had amazing shoulders. She’d always been a sucker for strong shoulders.

  With his head bent, John tugged on a corner of the tape. He looked up, and Rane could only hope she’d guarded her expression well enough.

  “Umm, you’d better sit on the counter. The light is better there.”

  “Sure.” In only low-slung jeans, he pushed himself onto the c
ounter. His wince helped her to focus on something other than the play of muscle across his chest. She tugged off the tape and then the gauze to reveal the wound below. “Have you taken the pain meds I gave you?”

  “No.”

  She glanced up at him. “Why not? I can tell this is sore.”

  “I just didn’t.”

  She gave him a searching look before turning back to the wound. “It’s looking fine. The color is good, and it’s beginning to heal.” She applied a fresh pad and then a bandage, smoothing it against warm skin. “I want you to take those meds. The added benefit is that they’ll make you drowsy and help you sleep. Where are they?”

  “I left them in my jacket downstairs. I’m not taking them.”

  She straightened, her fingers still pressed against the bandage at his waist. She became suddenly aware of the fact that she was standing between his legs and his gaze was very, very intent.

  Blue eyes focused on her mouth. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  Refusing to acknowledge his comment, she tried to concentrate. “Why won’t you take the pills? You need the rest, and you don’t want to be in pain.”

  He gave her a hard look then surprised her by grasping her hand at his waist and turning it so he could press a warm kiss into her palm. “You’re testing my resolve here. Now stand back.”

  “But—”

  Letting go of her hand, he cupped her shoulders and moved her back himself before sliding off the counter. He reached for his shirt.

  “John.”

  “Look, Rane. If I took the pain meds and zonked out, I wouldn’t be much help if you were in danger. You have Tylenol? I can swallow a couple of Tylenol.”

  Giving in, Rane retrieved a bottle from the medicine cabinet. She shook out two tablets and dropped them into his open palm. Before she could reach for the little paper cups on the shelf, he tossed the pills into his mouth and ducked his head to the faucet. Turning it on, he splashed water on his face then took a mouthful to swallow down the pills. He dried his face on a towel, hung it carefully, and then moved to the doorway. “Thanks for the TLC, sweetheart. Good night.”