Explosive Attraction

by LENA DIAZ,

  “Damn straight you should have stayed.”

  Her lips thinned and she looked away.

  He immediately regretted his harsh words. Until now, he’d never thought of Dr. Darby Steele as anything but a quack with a tendency to ruin his best cases with her so-called expert testimony. But seeing her hurt, and scared, had him feeling like a jerk for raising his voice.

  Since she wasn’t looking at him, he took full advantage of her inattention to study her. She was far more delicate-looking up close than he’d expected. Her brown hair had fallen free from the severe bun she normally wore, gently curling around her shoulders, making her look softer, more approachable. The jackets she always wore concealed generous curves he wouldn’t have known existed if he hadn’t pulled the cloth aside to look at her cuts. He’d seen her dozens of times through the years, but this was the first time he’d ever really seen her.

  And he liked what he saw.

  That thought had him stiffening with self-disgust. This was a woman who would say anything to help the defense, and get criminals light, cushy sentences in a mental hospital instead of the tough treatment they deserved in a maximum-security prison.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

  She smoothed her muddy, hopelessly ruined skirt. “Nothing serious, I don’t think.”

  Obviously she had other injuries or she would have just said no. “Where else are you hurt?”

  He noticed for the first time that her eyes were a light shade of green. What the heck was wrong with him? Why was he noticing the color of her eyes? He dropped his gaze, and that’s when he noticed her bloody knees.

  “Good grief, woman. You’re bleeding everywhere.” Her right knee was scraped, nothing serious. But the left...she had a two-inch gash that was trickling blood. “Did he cut you anywhere else?”

  “I don’t think so.” She leaned forward to look at her leg. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  “Bad enough.” He yanked his shirt up over his head.

  “What are you doing?” She sounded alarmed, her eyes widening, her gaze dipping to his chest.

  “We have to stop the bleeding.” He folded his shirt and held it against the gash on her knee. She blanched and scrunched her eyes shut.

  “Hold it tight,” he said, grabbing one of her hands and settling it on top of the shirt. “Put as much pressure as you can.”

  He needed to get her out of here to a hospital. They weren’t exactly in the middle of nowhere. There had to be some houses close by, where the marsh ended and prime real estate began.

  Shading his eyes against the sun peeking through the trees overhead, Rafe stood and looked around. There, in a break in the trees behind Darby, he could just make out the outline of a building, a few hundred yards away.

  “There’s a house through those trees. In a couple of minutes we’ll have you in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. You’re going to be fine.”

  “I hardly think I need an ambulance. It’s not that bad.” Her voice was thin and tight, her eyes closed. She was obviously in more pain than she wanted to admit.

  And Rafe didn’t agree with her assessment of her injuries. That cut on her knee wasn’t going to stop bleeding on its own. He bent down to pick her up, then froze at the feel of a gun barrel pressing between his shoulder blades.

  Chapter Three

  Rafe slowly straightened and put his hands in the air.

  “Who are you?” The man behind him shoved the gun against his back. “What are you doing on my property?”

  The raspy, older quality of the man’s voice reassured Rafe. The bomber had seemed close to Rafe’s age, thirty-five, much younger than this man sounded.

  “I’m Detective Rafe Morgan with the St. Augustine Police Department. The woman with me is Dr. Darby Steele. We’ve been in a boating accident and I need to get her to a hospital.”

  The gun wobbled against his back, as if the man behind him wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. Finally, the gun eased back, and Rafe turned around. The rifle was now pointing at his chest.

  “Miss.” The old man’s eyes didn’t leave Rafe as he spoke to Darby. “You okay? Did this man hurt you?”

  “No, no, he didn’t hurt me. He’s a police officer, like he said.”

  “Hair’s a bit long to be a cop.” The old man’s mouth twisted, his disapproval obvious. “And I doubt they let their officers go without shaving these days, not unless they’ve gotten pretty darn sloppy.”

  “I’ve been working undercover.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, since the men he’d been grooming as informants knew he was a cop, but it was close enough.

  “Uh-huh. Let me guess. You don’t have ID with you to prove you’re a cop.”

  “In my back pocket, if my wallet’s still there.” He started to reach toward his pocket, but the old man’s hands tightened on the rifle.

  “Look,” Rafe said, close to losing his patience, “I don’t care if you believe me or not. But Dr. Steele needs medical attention. Do you have a cell phone with you? Call 9-1-1 and tell them to get an ambulance and the police out here. They can verify who I am.”

  Doubt entered the man’s eyes and Rafe thought he might be starting to believe his story, but Rafe didn’t have time to wait for the man to make up his mind. Right now the bomber, if he’d survived the crash, could be getting away. Or, he could be waiting in the woods to grab Darby. Staying in one place was too dangerous.

  “Are you going to make that call or not?” Rafe prodded.

  The man’s lips pursed. “I’m thinking about it. I don’t have my phone with me in any case. It’s back up at the house.”

  “Darby,” Rafe called out without turning around, “I need you to stay down.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Don’t stand up.”

  “I’m not standing. I’m still sitting on the—”

  Rafe lunged for the man’s rifle, shoving the barrel up in the air before yanking the gun from the older man’s grip. The man was so startled he just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

  “Go on,” Rafe ordered. “Get out of here. Make that call.”

  The man’s face paled. He took off in a lumbering gait back toward his house.

  Rafe shook his head and turned back to Darby. He swore when he realized that she’d let the shirt drop to the ground during the commotion. Blood was dripping down her calf.

  “The shirt, Darby. Press it against the wound.”

  Her eyes widened and she made a choking sound as she looked past him.

  Rafe whirled around.

  Too late.

  Something hard crashed down on the side of his head. Sharp, fiery pain radiated through his skull and his world went black.

  * * *

  RAFE CRUMPLED TO the ground.

  Darby let out a strangled cry. She only had a second to realize the man who’d hit Rafe was the man who’d grabbed her at the warehouse, before he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up off the ground.

  She clawed at his hands, trying to ease the horrible pressure.

  He shook her as if in warning and let her fall back to the muddy ground. Sharp, fiery pain knifed through her side. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, clutching her side to stop the bleeding that had started again.

  Above her, the man who’d attacked Rafe stood with his handcuffed hands in front of him, wrapped around the grip of a familiar-looking gun. Rafe’s gun.

  At this range, he couldn’t miss.

  Time slowed to a crawl. Darby’s vision narrowed, everything else fading away except the dark maw of the gun barrel pointing at her. She dug her fingers into the mud beneath her and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the shot she knew would come, waiting for death.

  “Look at me, stupid witch.”

  Her eyes flew open. She forced herself to look away from that terrifying gun, at the man standing over her. His baseball cap and sunglasses were gone. The jeans he wore were torn in several places, with smears of blood
darkening the blue fabric.

  For such a violent man, his face was rather ordinary, not a face that would strike fear into her if she saw him in a crowd. His hair was brown, although that could be because of all the mud packed in it. His eyes were brown, too. So ordinary, and yet, there was nothing ordinary about any of this.

  He wasn’t looking at her now. Instead, he was squinting toward the trees, where the old man had gone a few minutes ago. Had he heard something? Was someone coming?

  Hope flared in Darby’s chest. She risked a quick glance at Rafe, lying facedown in the mud a few feet away. He wasn’t moving. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Was he alive? A sinking feeling shot through her, as if she was on a roller coaster and had just plunged down a steep drop. If he was alive, he wouldn’t be for long, not with his face in the mud, blocking his airway. She needed to wipe the mud from his nose and mouth.

  She needed a weapon.

  She glanced frantically around, searching for the rifle Rafe had been holding. When she saw it, her hopes plummeted. Only three feet away, so close, but impossible to reach because it was behind the gunman. Not that she knew how to use a gun anyway, even if she could somehow get to it without being shot. Her entire body started shaking.

  Get it together, Darby. If Rafe is alive, you’re his only chance. You have to focus, help him. Somehow.

  The gunman’s attention snapped back to her, and he took a step forward.

  “What do you want?” she choked out past her tightening throat.

  “I want these cuffs off,” he snarled, shaking the gun, making the cuffs on his wrists rattle against the short chain between them. “Get the key.”

  “I don’t have the key. I don’t know where—”

  “The cop. Check his pockets.”

  Yes. Thank God. An excuse to go to Rafe.

  She pushed herself up, sucking in a breath at the pain in her side, the sharp burn in her knees. Not sure she had the strength to stand, she crawled to Rafe’s still form, using the marshy grass to pull herself forward. When she reached him, she placed herself between him and the shooter so he couldn’t see what she was doing. She gently turned Rafe’s head to the side and wiped mud away from his nose and mouth.

  Breathe. Come on, breathe.

  “What are you doing?” The shooter’s angry voice was nearly on top of her. “You’re wasting time.” He cuffed the side of her head with the gun, throwing her against Rafe.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but risked one more swipe of her hand over Rafe’s mouth, carving out a depression in the mud.

  “Get the key, or I’ll bust your skull just like his.”

  His voice held the promise of death. She turned to the side, keeping a wary eye on him.

  The sound of sirens in the distance had his mouth contorting with fury. He drew the gun back like a hammer, ready to strike.

  “Okay, okay, I’m looking!” Darby dug her hand into Rafe’s back pockets, but the only thing she found was his wallet. She tried to roll him over, but he was too heavy. “I have to turn him over to check his front pockets. Help me.”

  He hesitated, but the sound of sirens seemed to spur him on. He knocked her out of the way and used his foot to shove Rafe onto his back. Motioning her forward with his cuffed hands still wrapped around the gun, this time he aimed at Rafe’s head, his grip steady and firm.

  “The key. Or the cop dies.”

  Panic sucked the air from Darby’s lungs. She scrambled back to Rafe and shoved her hand in his front left pocket. She pulled out a roll of cash, which the gunman grabbed from her. She shoved her hand back in the same pocket, but it was empty. Moving to his other pocket, she slid her hand inside. Her fingers wrapped around a small chain, with a tiny key on the end. As she pulled out the key, the fingers of Rafe’s left hand brushed against her thigh. The movement was so slight, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.

  Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were shut, but had his eyelashes fluttered? Was there a new tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before?

  A dull thud against her cheekbone had her crying out and sprawling in the mud. Glaring at the gunman, she pushed herself back to a sitting position. The side of her face throbbed in rhythm with her racing pulse.

  He raised the gun, ready to hit her again.

  She held the key up in the air, shaking it, making the tiny chain dance in the sunlight. “I’ve got it,” she cried. “I’ve got the key.”

  He crouched in front of her, pressing the barrel of the gun against her belly. The sirens had stopped now, as if the police had reached their destination. The gunman’s eyes took on a feral look. His expression filled with pure hate, and something far more dangerous.

  Desperation.

  “Unlock the cuffs or I will shoot you.”

  She reached out, grabbing one of the cuffs with one hand, holding the key in the other. Her hands were shaking so hard she almost dropped the key. She bit her lip, concentrating on holding her hands steady. He would shoot her once the cuffs were off. She was sure of it. And then he’d shoot Rafe, lying helpless in the mud.

  Stall him. She had to do something to get him to turn the gun away from her. She fumbled with the key, this time on purpose. “I can’t...get it. You’re too close. I can’t get leverage.”

  A shout sounded from the woods, but Darby couldn’t make out the words.

  The gunman jerked the gun to the side, moving back a foot to give her room.

  Darby weighed her options. How close were the police? If she waited, would they make it in time to save Rafe? To save her?

  As if reading her mind, the gunman turned his gun toward Rafe again.

  “Here!” She shoved the key in the lock, wiggling it until she heard a loud click. She unlocked the second cuff and it popped open. The gunman twisted the cuffs off his wrists and dropped them to the ground.

  “Detective Morgan?” a voice called out from the woods nearby.

  “Dr. Steele? Are you out here?” Another voice, followed by the sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling.

  “Time to die.” The gunman pointed the gun back toward Darby.

  Oh, God. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and waited.

  A shot rang out, an explosion of sound that made Darby whimper and cover her ears. She waited for the pain, but it never came. The sound of grunts and cursing had her opening her eyes.

  Rafe was on top of the gunman. The two men were locked in a struggle for the gun.

  Darby scrambled back out of the way and yelled for the police. “Over here! Help us!”

  Two officers crashed through the trees toward them.

  The gunman twisted violently, smashing the gun into Rafe’s jaw. Rafe cursed and fell to the side. With the pistol in hand, the gunman lunged to his feet, snatched up the rifle and took off running toward the marsh.

  Rafe tried to get up, but fell back down, holding his head.

  Darby scrambled to him just as the policemen reached them.

  “Are you Dr. Steele?” one of them asked. The other officer ran after the gunman.

  “Yes. Please help us! Detective Morgan needs an ambulance.”

  Rafe shook her off and staggered to his feet. “She’s the one who needs the ambulance. Give me your gun.”

  “Detective, I’m not sure that’s a good—”

  “Your gun. Now.”

  The officer handed him his gun. Rafe took off in an unsteady line through the trees.

  “What are you doing?” Darby cried out. She glared at the policeman above her. “Go on. Help him!”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m not leaving you alone out here. I’ll wait for backup.”

  No amount of arguing would make the policeman leave her and go help Rafe. Darby stared in frustration at the gap in the trees where Rafe had disappeared.

  A few minutes later the marsh was crawling with cops. One of them insisted on carrying Darby to the waiting ambulance. She’d wanted to wait for Rafe to come back, but the policeman wouldn’t list
en. She felt silly being carried, especially since the officer should be out helping Rafe instead of worrying about her.

  Where was Rafe? Was he okay? No one seemed to know the answer to that question, and soon she was in the back of the ambulance being rushed to Flagler Hospital a short distance away.

  In spite of all the blood, her injuries weren’t life threatening. While the emergency room doctor stitched up her knee, a police officer took her statement and her description of the suspect.

  “Have you heard anything about Detective Morgan?” she asked. “Is he okay? Did he catch the gunman?”

  “I don’t know anything about that, Dr. Steele,” the officer replied.

  She dug her fingers into the crinkly paper covering the examining room table.

  “Worried about me, huh?”

  Rafe! He stood in the doorway between two uniformed officers. He was shirtless and smeared with mud. Darby’s relief turned to concern when she saw how pale and unsteady he was. It looked as if the only reason he wasn’t falling down was because the policemen were holding on to his arms.

  The doctor taking care of Darby pressed a last piece of tape into place on her leg and hurried to Rafe.

  “Sit him down over here. He should have been brought in on a gurney. What happened?”

  “Gurneys are for sissies.” Rafe’s words were slurred. As soon as he sat on the examining table the doctor pointed to, he fell backward with a groan.

  * * *

  DARBY YAWNED AND STRETCHED, her muscles aching from being scrunched into the uncomfortable chair in Rafe’s hospital room where she’d fallen asleep. The clock on the wall facing his bed showed it was twenty minutes until midnight.

  His face was relaxed in sleep. He looked far less intimidating and more approachable now that he wasn’t wearing his usual frown. She wished he would wake up. The doctors had said he’d fully recover, but she needed to look him in the eyes and hear his impatient voice for herself. The man might be infuriating most of the time, but he’d risked everything for her. She needed to thank him for saving her life.