Crossfire Christmas

by Julie Miller

  As warmth and fatigue rushed up to claim him, he pulled away the ice pack and sat up. “You don’t open that door for anybody, understand? Don’t answer the phone if it rings. Don’t call anyone. Don’t give anybody any reason to know that we’re here.”

  “Yes, sir.” She nudged him back down to the pillow and put the towel back in place.

  “I’m trying to protect you. I’m about to pass out for a few hours. I need to know you’ll do exactly what I tell you so I know you’ll be safe.”

  She pulled the bedspread off her bed and tucked the extra layer of warmth around his shivering form. “I will. Is it all right if I keep the radio playing until I fall asleep?”

  He nodded, wondering if she’d slipped him some kind of sleeping pill or if he really was too exhausted to stay tough with her. He hadn’t listened to any Christmas music this season, hadn’t thought much at all about the holidays until he was hiding in this dump with this woman who was starting to mean a lot more to him than a nursemaid should.

  He pushed himself up on one elbow before sleep could claim him. He reached for the Smith & Wesson on the shelf between the beds. “Do you know how to fire a gun?”

  “Yes.” She pushed his hand away from the gun and covered him up again. “AJ showed me. He’s taken me to the firing range a couple of times. He wanted us all to understand gun safety since he kept one in the house. But I don’t like using them. I’ve dealt with more than one gunshot victim in the children’s ward.”

  “Still, if it’s a choice between dying and shooting someone, I want you to—”

  “I’ll wake you up.”

  He nodded, surprised at her trust. He sank back into the pillow, praying he could live up to that trust. “Don’t leave me, Peewee.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Don’t be all clever and brave....” Man, his eyelids were heavy. “It’s not safe out there.”

  “I’m here to take care of you, remember?”

  Yeah. She’d promised to stay. He wouldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose anyone else. “Good night, Peewee.”

  “Good night, Nash.”

  She was still watching over him when he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  “Nash.” Teresa tugged the covers tangling around his long, writhing legs and leaned over him to touch his burning face. “Nash, wake up. We’re going to the hospital.”

  When she’d awakened to the sounds of his heartbreaking moans and the bed rattling against the wall, Teresa hadn’t been sure if Nash was caught in the throes of a nightmare or delirious from fever. Probably some combination of both. But if he kept twisting around in the bed like this, he’d rip his stitches. And then she’d have a whole new possibility for infection to worry about.

  Fear sharpened her decision and made her reactions quick. She’d already fished the keys from his coat pocket, loaded his bag in the truck and started the engine to warm up the cab. There was no negotiating this particular difference of opinion anymore, either.

  She gave his cheek a firmer pat. “Come on, cowboy. Wake up.”

  “Teresa?” She barely got a glimpse of golden-brown eyes before he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. He pushed the hood off her head and ran his fingers over her hair, dropping kisses onto her forehead, her nose, her mouth before he wrapped her up in a suffocating hug. “I couldn’t get to you. They had you and I couldn’t get to you.”

  Teresa held on for a few precious seconds, then wedged her elbows between them to push away. “It was a bad dream. I’m right here. I’m real. I’m fine.”

  “I don’t want to lose you.”

  When he reached for her again, she rolled away off the far side of the bed. “You can’t get rid of me now, partner.”

  The focus in his eyes was still half-blurred with sleep when he sat up. “You should have just told them what they wanted to know.”

  “Told who?” She pulled his legs over the edge of the bed and knelt in front of him to tug on his boots.

  “Berto Graciela and his men. They had you and...” He caught her face between his hands and tipped it up to see the agony lining his. “Don’t let them hurt you. I’m not worth it.”

  A surge of anger fired through her blood that he’d think that. She grabbed his wrists and stood. Even if he was a tad delirious, she still argued with him. “Don’t you ever say that, Charlie Nash. Your men are counting on you. I’m counting on you. We’re going to get through this.” As her words sank in, he slowly nodded. “Now get on your feet. You’re coming with me.”

  While he tucked his shirttails into his jeans, she picked up his gun from the bedside shelf, checked the safety and opened up her backpack. But a big hand closed over hers and the gun before she could place it inside. Nash rose unsteadily beside her, taking the weapon from her grasp. “Not your job.”

  He holstered the gun at his belt. She fetched his coat and helped him into it. She stretched up on tiptoe to pull the red-and-gold stocking cap over his head. And then they stumbled out the door into the dim morning light.

  After loading him into the passenger seat of the truck, Teresa paused for a moment, looking for any signs of activity or curious eyes around them. But the sun was barely an orange glow peeking over the horizon. It didn’t look as though anyone else was up yet. Besides the blinking Christmas lights, the only glimmer of any kind of movement besides them was the strobing effect of the television someone was watching in the office, although the different car parked near the door made her think someone else had come to finish out Mr. Moscatelli’s shift.

  Convinced their departure remained undetected, Teresa climbed into the truck and buckled up. She spared a few moments to rub her fingers together in front of the heat vent to get some feeling back into them.

  “I’m okay, Peewee.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I know. I’m in a bad way.” He reached over and folded his hand around hers, offering a warmth and reassurance that were in short supply this morning. “I mean, I was having a nightmare before. I couldn’t shake some of the images. But I’m not losing it. I promise.”

  She shifted her grip to lace their fingers together and squeeze his hand before pulling away. “Good. You’re hard enough to handle when you do make sense.” That earned her an echo of that crooked grin. She checked her mirrors and shifted the truck into Reverse. “I’m still taking you to the hospital.”

  As she pulled into the street, he leaned back into his seat. “If anything happens, I want you to—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.” She watched the cars pulling in behind her, as much to see if she recognized any black SUVs as to note the beginnings of rush-hour traffic filling up the streets. Once she was on the six lanes of interstate heading south, she pushed her speed, knowing she had to get across the city to one hospital in particular. “I know people I can call in favors from, too. I’ve got a way to sneak you in.”

  “I’ll make a fugitive out of you yet.”

  Teresa glanced over to smile at the teasing remark. But his eyes were closed and his handsome mouth was pressed into a tight line of pain. She moved her seat forward another half an inch and put more pressure on the accelerator.

  * * *

  DR. EMILIA RODRIGUEZ-GRANT got very quiet when her temper was brewing. Instead of giving Teresa the order, she nodded to her sister to inject the syringe of antibiotics into Nash’s exposed hip. His answering grunt was the loudest noise for the past five minutes in the silent E.R. bay at the Truman Medical Center.

  “You actually did a good job with the stitches,” Emilia announced, her tone nothing but that of one medical professional to another. “And the wound track looks clean.”

  Teresa disposed of the syringe in the sharps receptacle while Nash pulled up his shorts and refastened his jeans. Emilia picked up th
e gauze and tape from the rolling supply tray beside the examination table and re-covered Nash’s wounds, carefully avoiding jostling the IV needle and tube attached to the back of his hand.

  “I can do that,” Teresa offered, knowing a trauma nurse usually took over for the E.R. doctor at this point anyway.

  But Emilia was focused solely on Nash, completely unintimidated by his towering height or the fact she had to stand on a step stool beside the exam table to address his injuries. She met his probing gaze while she worked, chatting with him as though he was any other patient who’d come into her emergency room—instead of one who’d bypassed most of the check-in paperwork and been sequestered immediately inside a curtained-off trauma bay.

  “I replaced the cotton stitches beneath the skin with degradable sutures,” Emilia explained. “The biggest part of your discomfort is from the muscle tear in your shoulder. But that should heal itself with time if you let it rest and don’t strain it with repetitive motion. The X-ray doesn’t show any bone fragments besides the tiny one I removed. That should ease any of the sharp pain you had in your shoulder. You’re lucky that bullet didn’t ricochet in the other direction and nick your lung or your heart. Or else even my resourceful baby sister here wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Real lucky.” Her dark eyes narrowed, as if judging the sincerity of his humble agreement. Teresa’s gaze bounced from one to the other, trying to figure out to what degree her sister resented doing this favor for her—and what retribution it would require to make up for it.

  “I’ve ordered you a prescription for antibiotics.” Emilia was back in efficient work mode again. “That spike in temperature could be attributed to a combination of dehydration and blood loss. The IV fluids seem to be bringing it down. I don’t detect any signs of infection, but the pills are precautionary when you have a foreign object like that rip through your body. Do you want painkillers, too?” Nash’s silent glare was answer enough. “No, I don’t suppose a man like you would.”

  She set the remains of the tape onto the tray, then turned atop the step stool, rubbing both her back and belly simultaneously, indicating the toll this eighth month of pregnancy and demanding workload was taking on her body. When she leaned over to brace her hand on the bed to step down, Nash’s hand was there. For a moment, Teresa thought her sister might stubbornly refuse the offer to help.

  But she took Nash’s hand, accepting his support only long enough to get both feet on the floor before quickly pulling away. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Grant.”

  Emilia nodded, accepting some kind of détente with him. But she wasn’t quite ready to deal with her sister yet.

  “Emilia—”

  “We finish with the patient first.” Emilia peeled off her sterile gloves, nodding to Teresa as she walked past. “Then you and I need to talk.”

  Fine. While her sister tossed her gloves into the trash and jotted something onto Nash’s chart, Teresa climbed up on the same step stool to pull the hospital gown hanging at the crook of his elbows back over his shoulders before tying it loosely around his neck. “I sent your shirts up to your room. You can re-dress as soon as the IV is done and we take it out. I told the orderly to move you to room 3010. Standard procedure is to keep someone with an injury like yours overnight for observation.”

  “I can’t do that, Peewee. We can’t stay in one place that long. Especially a location as public as this.”

  “For a few hours, at least.”

  Emilia lifted her observant gaze from the clasped fingers between Teresa and Nash. “Thirty ten is in the children’s ward.”

  Teresa let go and stepped down. “I know that part of the hospital better than any other. I’ll recognize if anyone or anything is out of place there. I can watch over him and I won’t look out of place.”

  She tucked the stool back into the closet cabinet where it had come from while Nash eased to his feet. “I still vote for getting out of here.”

  Teresa was holding firm on her original plan. “You promised me a few hours here. You have to stay until that IV is finished. And what if you need a blood transfusion? Or more fluids? I snuck you into this place once. If you have a relapse, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it again without raising even more suspicion.”

  There was a soft knock at the open door beyond the curtain. Teresa peeked through the drape before pulling it aside and letting the bald orderly pushing a wheelchair enter. “The patient’s ready. Would you take Mr. Smith up to 3010.”

  The dark-skinned man arched a nonexistent eyebrow. “The children’s ward?”

  She walked Nash to the wheelchair, rolling the IV stand along with him, dismissing the orderly’s confusion with a smooth lie. “He wants to be near his daughter.”

  Nash halted beside her, dipping his head to her ear before sitting. “Do you know him?”

  Teresa smiled, helping him into the chair and covering him with a heated blanket. “I can vouch for Chester. He’s worked here longer than I have. I went to high school with his daughter.” She squeezed Nash’s hand and sent him on his way. “I’ll be right up.” She gave directions to the orderly that weren’t on the chart. “It’s a private room, Chester. I don’t want him startling any of the kids up there, so close the door.”

  “Will do.” Chester unlocked the wheels, hooked the chart over the back of the chair and rolled him toward the door. “Okay, sir. I’ll make this ride as smooth as I can.”

  “Teresa—”

  “I know.” She stopped Nash’s warning by pulling the blanket up past his chin to mask his face a little. “If I’m not up there soon, you’ll come looking for me.”

  He nodded, then pulled down the blanket and shifted his gaze to Emilia. “Don’t blame her.”

  “I don’t.” Emilia was waiting for an explanation after Teresa closed the door and pulled the curtain. “Really? Sneaking a wounded agent into my E.R.? Is he why someone broke into your apartment and trashed it? Justin said there were reports of gunfire in your neighborhood. Did he have something to do with that, too?” Teresa didn’t have to answer the barrage of accusations. Emilia was already shaking her head, turning away. “Madre de Dios.”

  “You can’t tell AJ.”

  “You may have become a pretty little liar over the past few days, but I haven’t.” Emilia rolled the tray over to the counter and sorted items into trash and what could be stored away for use. “You know the hospital is mandated to report gunshot and stabbing victims to the police.”

  “Couldn’t you lose his paperwork for a day or two?”

  “Teresa.” Emilia pulled out a metal stool and sank onto it, already tired on a shift that was only a few hours old. “Has he brainwashed you? Now he’s got you thinking like one of them.”

  “One of them?” Teresa’s shoulders stiffened at the insult. “He’s not a criminal.”

  “He’s not John Smith, either. Are you sure his badge is real?”

  “Yes. Try not to stress any more than you have to. I’m worried about your blood pressure.” Teresa advised her sister to stay put and took over cleaning up the supplies for her. “I told you, Nash is an undercover DEA agent. The man who set him up to be murdered is a fellow cop. He didn’t have anyone he could trust. He asked for my help. What would you do?”

  “I’d call Justin.” Her husband the cop. “Or AJ.”

  “But Nash thinks the agent who betrayed him in Houston is covering up the fact that he’s a cop so that KCPD will treat him like a fugitive from the law.” She stowed the last of the supplies before facing her sister. “The cartel has far-reaching influence, Emilia. Nash said that if he goes to jail, there’ll be someone there to kill him.”

  “How do you know you can trust him? Do you believe everything he says?” Emilia’s eyes narrowed, then widened as if she’d just discovered something in Teresa’s expr
essions. Maybe something more than the utter trust she had for Charles Nash. “Oh, Gamberro, no. You don’t think you’re in love with him, do you?”

  Was that what this feeling was? This gut-wrenching fear that she could lose him that clouded every decision? The fiery desire that made the passion she’d felt for any other man pale by comparison? That curious instinct that made her believe she knew Charles Nash better in three short days than she knew any other man?

  “I don’t think it,” she finally answered.

  Emilia shook her head. “And he’s put you in that kind of danger?”

  “He’s protected me at every turn.”

  “And what kind of future does he promise you?”

  “He doesn’t.” The sorrow that gripped Teresa’s heart at that notion proved the depth of her feelings for the man. “I imagine that once he finds out who set him up and has that man arrested, he’ll go back to Houston. To his job, to his life there. But right now he needs me, Emilia. Like no one has ever needed me before.” Teresa circled the room, finally making sense of why Charles Nash meant so much to her. “He needs me to be strong and capable. He lets me do things. He lets me argue with him. I don’t feel like the baby of the family when I’m with him. I just... I feel like...me. He lets me be me.”

  Emilia reached for her hand across the stainless-steel counter, perhaps understanding more than Teresa had given her credit for. “When I first met Justin, I thought he was a criminal. When I found out he was an undercover cop, he was still just as dangerous. It’s not an easy life.”

  Teresa squeezed her sister’s hand, unused to hearing this cautionary tale about her marriage. “But you looked past the danger. You got to know the man he was underneath that bad-guy persona. Justin is a good man. You love him.”

  “With all my heart.” Emilia’s serene smile warmed with the love she was used to seeing there. “Justin saved my life.”

  “I remember the bomb threats around the city that year. He saved me, too.”

  “He’s a wonderful husband and a good father. And now we’re having our second child together.” Emilia released her hand to cradle her swollen belly in a maternal hug. “I’ll keep your secret. I’ll list the patient as John Smith and send the bill to you—with the promise that he pays you for it, like he said.”