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  The sensations were even more intense as his hands went to the front of her blouse again and began undoing buttons. She felt his warm fingers brush her flesh, felt cool air as he folded the fabric back.

  "Sit up," he said, his voice thick, and at least she knew she wasn't the only one affected by the intimacy. Gently he eased her ruined blouse off her shoulders, taking her jacket with it. He was slow and careful. Still, she winced as the fabric slid down her injured arm.

  "Sorry."

  "That's okay. What do you think?"

  He didn't answer, and she raised her lids just a little and peered at him. He was leaning over her, looking down, and she saw that instead of inspecting the wound, his gaze was fixed on her breasts. They were covered only by the sheer cups of her lace-edged bra, and she knew that her nipples were clearly visible. Worse, she felt them bead and tighten — right before his eyes. She might be injured, she might be in pain, but she couldn't stop her body from responding to Daniel Brady.

  "My arm?" she managed.

  He made a strangled sound, and she wondered what would happen if she lifted her hand, curved it around the back of his head and brought his mouth down to hers. The image was so vivid that she almost acted on it.

  Before she could make a fool of herself, he turned his attention to first aid. "You're right, it's a flesh wound," he muttered.

  Dispassionately, she switched her attention to her mangled flesh. The bullet had grazed her arm, leaving broken skin and discolored flesh. She'd been very lucky.

  "Let's hope there's something to disinfect it." Daniel left the room, and she lay back against the pillows with her eyes closed. They snapped open again when he returned with supplies.

  "This may hurt," he said, as he pressed a wet cloth against the injury and began to clean it.

  She clamped her teeth against the pain, clamped them tighter when he progressed to antiseptic. When he'd covered the area with a sterile bandage, she breathed out a little sigh.

  * * *

  Daniel pressed his fingers over hers just for a moment before releasing his grip. "I didn't like hurting you," he said, hearing the grittiness in his own voice. "You should have gone to the emergency room."

  "So a doctor could hurt me?" the maddening woman lying on the bed asked.

  "I'm just a battlefield medic. A doctor would have done a more professional job."

  "You've treated the wounded in the field?"

  "Yeah." He stood abruptly and gathered up the first aid supplies, hoping the clipped syllable told her he didn't want to talk about his war correspondent experiences.

  Crossing to the television set, he switched on the monitor channels that provided views from the surveillance cameras.

  He watched M.J. looking at the shifting pictures on the screen before she brought her gaze back to him. "Quite a security system. But we can't hide out here forever, so we'd better figure out who's trying to kill us," she said.

  "Right, and we're going to start with you telling me your source of information, Mary Jane."

  "Don't call me that!"

  He knew she hated her name, and he'd used it deliberately. Still he felt the outrage in her voice like the stab of a sharp blade.

  She had brought her tone under control by the time she spoke her next words. "No. We're going to start with your telling me what kind of dirty business your father was into."

  He stared down at the woman lying on the wide bed. M.J. Carter might look innocent and fragile. In fact, he knew she was as tough as any of the soldiers he'd interviewed in Afghanistan. She'd come charging into the garage at the Windsor Park Hotel, saved his life — and gotten shot for her trouble. Now he owed her an explanation. But the words clogged his throat.

  Chapter Four

  Unable to meet M.J.'s questioning gaze, Daniel paced to the window and pulled aside the blinds, looking down at the street.

  Since stepping into the mess his father had left at the Denver Star, he'd kept his own counsel. He didn't want to talk about his heartache and disillusionment. But he guessed he'd better get this over with.

  When he turned back to M.J., her eyes were closed again, and it flashed into his mind that maybe he could take the chicken's way out. If she were sleeping, it would be cruel to disturb her, he told himself.

  Once again, he couldn't pull his gaze away from her. She was injured — because of him — and he cursed himself for his wayward thoughts. But, still, she was a powerful temptation, lying on a bed, wearing nothing above the waist but her lacy bra.

  From the moment he'd walked into his first staff meeting and seen her, he'd felt a zing of sexual awareness. She'd pulled him like a magnet, yet he'd ruthlessly kept the attraction under wraps. He'd told himself he had enough problems and that anyone he got involved with would only be dragged into the swamp with him. That had been enough reason to hold her at a distance. There were other reasons as well. But he carefully kept from examining them as he crossed to the walk-in closet and grabbed one of the expensive short-sleeved shirts that his father had left behind.

  When he came back to the bed, he found her watching him.

  "You can wear this," he said, hearing the thick quality of his own voice.

  She accepted the shirt, but when he saw she had trouble getting her arm through the sleeve, he took over the job. Even though he tried to minimize the contact, he was vividly aware of so many small details. The swell of her breasts under his hands as he buttoned the shirt. Her warm skin. The way she kept her breath shallow and her face averted as he touched her.

  Still, when he took a step back, she raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had made her expression fierce.

  "Stop stalling! Tell me what your father was up to," she demanded.

  His breath caught. "You're pretty direct."

  "Yes."

  To give himself a little more time, he sat down in the easy chair beside the dresser. When he realized his hands were clenched in front of him, he made a deliberate effort to relax.

  "I've spent some time piecing it together." He cleared his throat. "There are three newspapers in Denver. Dad wanted to stay number one, and he found out that someone else was going to a faster press system that would give them the edge. He wanted to stay competitive, and he'd already borrowed a lot of money from the bank for a new computer system. When one of his golf buddies offered to put him in touch with a businessman looking for investments, he said he was interested."

  He had thought that would be hard to say; it hadn't been as difficult as he'd thought.

  "Did he ever figure out the guy was connected to the mob?"

  Daniel winced inwardly at the speed with which she'd drawn the correct conclusion. "I think so. I know he tried to borrow the money to pay back the loan, but he was already too far extended. I think he was offered a deal then — in exchange for a favor. Not anything big. All his contact wanted was for Dad to let them know if the cops were planning any major initiatives against organized crime. The demands got heavier after that." Daniel looked down at his hands, seeing they were knit so tightly together that the knuckles were white. Deliberately, he eased up the pressure.

  "I think Dad found himself in a situation he couldn't stand. He'd dug himself into a hole, and he didn't know how to climb back out. I think that's why he had a heart attack. Or maybe it wasn't a heart attack. Maybe —"

  Before he could finish, M.J. had scrambled off the bed and crossed the room. She lowered herself to the floor beside his chair and laid one hand gently on his knee.

  "Oh, Daniel, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. All I saw was your coming in and taking control of the paper — making decisions that...surprised me."

  "Yeah, right," he managed. He'd been holding himself together for months, and now in one swift stroke, she had broken through the defenses he'd so carefully erected.

  "It must have been so awful for you."

  He struggled to speak around the lump that blocked his windpipe. "I didn't tell you any of that so you'd feel sorry for me, M.J.."

 
"I pushed you to tell me. It's my reporter's instincts. I push..."

  "That's what makes you good at your job!"

  She tipped her head, her eyes going wide. "I thought you felt like I wasn't pulling my weight. "

  "Maybe that's what I wanted you to think." He realized he'd revealed too much — again. About his feelings and his motivation. "You shouldn't be out of bed," he said gruffly. Bending, he picked her up in his arms, carrying her back toward the bed, but her hands clutched his shoulder.

  "Maybe I need you to hold me," she murmured, laying her head against his shoulder.

  His arms tightened around her, and he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, cradling her in his lap. She was so lithe and light, so perfect in his embrace. He brushed his lips against the top of her hair, a small caress.

  Her head tipped up, and he found himself staring down at her lips. Needs and desires surged through him. He wanted her. Wanted more from her than he had any right to ask.

  * * *

  As M.J. stared up at Daniel, seeing his parted lips, her own lips opened in response.

  There was a breathless moment when the world seemed to contract around them. Then slowly, oh so slowly — giving her ample time to refuse, his head bent toward her.

  His mouth brushed against hers, then settled gently, softly.

  The kiss felt good — right. And she found herself experimenting with the sensations, rubbing her mouth back and forth against his, nibbling, then increasing the pressure.

  He gathered her closer, and she knew he had forgotten why they had come here. She wanted him to forget — wanted more of what he was offering. When she tightened her good arm around him, the kiss turned hot and hungry.

  Again she answered him, unable to damp down the desire she'd been fighting since the first moment she'd set eyes on him. He angled his head, his mouth sexy and skillful, and the last shreds of coherent thought fled from her brain.

  All he had to do was lean back, and they'd be lying on the bed instead of sitting.

  But when he moved his hand to her arm, his fingers pressed against the recent injury. He'd made her forget about it. Now she couldn't hold back a small strangled sound of pain.

  Abruptly, he lifted his head, and she saw his eyes go from smoldering passion to self-accusation. Very deliberately, he moved his hand to her waist. "God, M.J., I'm sorry. You got yourself shot a few hours ago — saving my life. And now here I am taking advantage of you."

  "You made me forget about that," she murmured, looking up at him from below her half-lowered lashes.

  He shifted his position, setting her against the pillows, then climbed off the bed. "I should be figuring out how to protect you instead of coming on to you." His words might have been meant to reassure her, but they had the opposite effect. He'd lulled her into thinking they were working together — that they were establishing a relationship. Now he'd neatly shattered the illusion.

  She hid her bitter disappointment with a sharp retort. "I don't need protection!"

  Chapter Five

  Daniel couldn't believe M. J.'s reaction. He'd said he was going to protect her, and she'd answered with an angry retort.

  He kept his voice steady as he asked, "What are you planning to do? Go back home tonight? And then when the hired killers come charging through the back door, both you and your aunt will get hurt."

  The sentence was so loaded that she hardly knew how to respond, but she heard herself saying, "You know I live with Aunt Martha?"

  "Of course. I've read your personnel file."

  "You read the personnel file of everyone who works at the Star?"

  "Only if I've taken an interest in them."

  What kind of interest exactly. Like — what did it mean when you kissed me?

  She'd felt the heat of that kiss all the way to her bones. Had it been the same for him? She wanted to ask that question — among others. But she carefully steered away from the personal and asked, "You think Aunt Martha could be in danger?"

  "I'm sorry. If they figure out who you are, they could come looking for you."

  "I've got to get her out of the house."

  "You can't. In the first place it's too dangerous to go back there. In the second place, you're in no shape for a rescue mission."

  His voice had taken on such a steely tone that she felt a shiver travel over her skin. As she studied the taut lines of his face, she understood that he meant what he said, and he wasn't going to accept what he considered the wrong answer.

  She swallowed. "Do you have a better suggestion?"

  "Is there someone you trust? Someone who could take her in for a few days?"

  The answer came to her instantly. "Sunny. Or one of my other friends from high school. We were close. We took care of each other back then, and we still do."

  "Okay. Good." It was obvious from the intense expression on Daniel's face that he was working out the details in his mind.

  "I know you don't want your aunt to worry. So call her and explain you're on an undercover assignment and can't get away. Tell her..." He stopped and ran his hand through his blond hair. "Tell her that you had a threatening phone call down at the paper and don't want her at home right now."

  She nodded, thinking he'd come up with a very clever approach — in a minimum amount of time. "You're good." Better than I gave you credit for, she added silently.

  "Thanks."

  Picking up the phone on the bedside table, she called home.

  "Aunt Martha," she began when the familiar voice answered. "I need to talk to you about some stuff."

  "Is everything all right, dear?"

  "It sounds kind of bad, but I don't want you to worry, okay?"

  After making sure that her aunt wasn't going to freak out, she relayed Daniel's plans.

  Next, she called Sunny. "I'm in kind of a bind," she began.

  "So what do you need?" her friend asked instantly.

  M.J. launched into another explanation, providing a few more details than she'd given Aunt Martha.

  Fifteen minutes after making the call, she was breathing easier.

  "That was perfect," Daniel said when she hung up.

  She wasn't sure why his praise made her feel vulnerable. To counteract the sensation, she almost said, So, as my reward, are you going to tell me exactly why you limited my assignments?

  But just as she'd stopped herself from asking about the kiss, she bottled up the question about their working relationship, too, knowing it was a bad idea to make the situation any more tense between them.

  "So now that that's taken care of, what are we going to do?" she asked.

  "Call the cops."

  Her response was instantaneous. "No!" "What do you mean no?"

  She raised her chin, spoke her words slowly. "My contact said not to trust anyone."

  His eyes narrowed. "We're back to your contact. Perhaps you'd better tell me who it is."

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then deliberately let it out while she tried to decide what to do.

  "If you read my file, you know about my investigative work for the Chicago Sun."

  "Yes."

  "The person who called me to say you were in danger is the same person I worked with in Chicago. The person who fingered the top guy in the Detello family for me. But I don't feel comfortable giving you her name. Not when it could get her killed."

  "So it's a woman."

  The way he said it made her bristle. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Forget it!"

  "No. I'd like you to explain that remark."

  "I should have kept my mouth shut."

  "But you didn't."

  Before he could come back with another evasive answer, movement on the television screen caught her eye, and she stared in shock at the image in the upper right-hand corner. A car had pulled up in the space beside hers. As she watched, two men got out and headed swiftly for the back door.

  M.J. watched with narrowed eyes. "One of them is the thug who was shooting at us in the gar
age," she breathed.

  "Yeah. I think we'd better get out of here." Daniel turned to her, then cursed under his breath as he looked at her arm. "You're in no shape for climbing."

  "I'm fine!"

  He studied her for long seconds, then grabbed her hand and led her toward the bathroom. On the way, she picked up her leather backpack from the floor and slung it over her good shoulder, then watched in surprise as he flipped a switch under the vanity sink.

  One of the decorative ceiling panels slid open. Inside was a folding ladder.

  "I guess your father figured he might have to make a quick getaway."

  "Yeah. He must have had this installed after the mob started making threats. You go first."

  Dutifully, she climbed upward, gritting her teeth to keep from wincing. She emerged into a dark closed-in space, where she waited for Daniel to join her.

  As soon as he retrieved the ladder and closed the panel, they were thrown into pitch darkness.

  Disoriented, she reached to grab his arm.

  Swiftly, he turned and held her tightly, then gave her a quick squeeze before easing away. In the next moment, he switched on a flashlight, and a powerful beam illuminated the attic. Leading her across the low space, he stopped at another door that opened onto the flat roof of the breakfast room.

  As she and Daniel stood out of sight with their backs pressed to the wall, she could hear the thugs down at the back door. Her eyes stayed focused on the windows of the house across the alley. There was no point in telling him she hated heights. No point in giving him any reason to doubt her abilities. Because she was pretty sure his remark after the phone call meant more than he'd intended.

  A million years seemed to go by as she waited for something to happen. Finally, below her, she heard the door open, then the beeping sound warning that the alarm was engaged. But it didn't ring.

  "Either they have the combination, or they have some way to disable the system," Daniel growled. "We'd better be gone by the time they figure out we're not inside."

  After hurrying her across the roof, he put one foot over the edge, and she saw that the cleats holding the downspout in place could function as a ladder.