Carla Neggers - Night’s Landing

The elevators churned and groaned inside the empty shafts. She didn’t feel nearly as raw and exhausted as yesterday. She’d showered, put on fresh clothes-black pants, a blue silk sweater, shoes that could handle New York walking. Her quick, early-morning call to Rob’s nurse had left her feeling optimistic. He’d had a good night and was more alert today. They’d be getting him up and moving.

A trio of medical students floated toward the elevators in an intense discussion.

Nate Winter walked past them at a fast, deliberate pace.

There was no sign of Juliet behind him.

Where was he off to?

The elevator dinged. Sarah watched its doors open, then bolted down the corridor, going after Nate at a half run.

He had a decent head start on her-she almost missed him retreating through a side door. It was an “exit only,” not an entrance, and she went through it without hesitation.

When she reached the street, Nate was climbing into the driver’s side of a black sedan parked about fifty yards up from the ambulance entrance and the throng of reporters.

With an outward calm, Sarah stepped off the curb and stuck her hand up in the air, flagging a cab before she had seriously considered her options. She opened the rear door and climbed in. “Can you follow that black car just in front of us? He left his wallet.”

“I can flash my lights-”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll just give it to him wherever he stops.”

She knew what she was doing was wrong. Impulsive, insane. Even dumb. She was following a deputy U.S. marshal who’d just been shot and undoubtedly was in no mood to find her on his tail. Nate didn’t seem to have a lot of patience on a good day. And, given the journalistic onslaught he’d just faced and the possibility that a USMS informant was the shooter, this couldn’t be starting off as a good day.

Not that he’d looked upset or irritated. He’d looked focused, as if he were on a mission.

Possibly doing something he shouldn’t be doing?

She’d sensed his bridled energy last night. As exhausted as he was, he was a man of action. He didn’t take to being on the sidelines.

Wounded, still experiencing the shock of what had happened to him, he could easily go off half-cocked.

Maybe today was his day to fall apart, to feel trapped and hemmed in by events, and if she could keep him from doing something he’d later regret, why not?

It was her version of catching him before he fell flat on his face.

Payback for saving her brother’s life.

She stared out the window, her cab speeding north. She knew she was rationalizing her behavior.

But she didn’t tell her driver to turn around, and tailing Nate proved easier than she expected.

They ended up in a run-down section of the city on a mixed bag of a street, some buildings neat and clean, even boasting window boxes, others complete wrecks with nasty graffiti, broken windows, people loitering on the steps. Fortunately, Nate’s car stopped in front of one of the neat, clean buildings.

He mounted the front steps at a trot and disappeared inside. No one had buzzed him in, and he hadn’t used a key-which meant there was no lock on the main door.

Sarah paid her cab driver. “I’ll only be a minute. Can you wait for me?”

He didn’t answer, but the moment she shut her door, he was hurling up the street, leaving her on the curb.

Okay, so she’d have to find another cab back.

Or ask Nate for a ride.

She winced at the thought. Preferably, she wouldn’t even have to see him. She just wanted to make sure he hadn’t gone off the deep end.

Who was she kidding? She was the one who’d gone off the deep end in following him.

A stout, elderly woman wearing a wild hat mounted the steps to an adjoining building, more run-down than the one Nate had entered, and two young women in white uniforms rushed along the sidewalk, talking in Spanish-Sarah made out something about an exercise class they were taking. Their casual attitude helped her feel safer, although she had no idea where she was.

The front door was, indeed, unlocked, creaking loudly when Sarah pushed it open.

The entry smelled of a strong cleaning solution. She could hear music playing somewhere above her. The ordinariness of the scene helped her to relax slightly. Nate had followed her to Central Park yesterday. Even if her motives weren’t entirely pure, why shouldn’t she follow him?

Because he’s a federal law enforcement officer.

But she was an historical archaeologist, and that took a certain amount of curiosity, guts and drive-a willingness to take risks.

Not that she’d thought through the particular risks, whatever they might be, of following a wounded deputy marshal.

She had no idea where Nate was. Upstairs, down the hall. Was there a basement? Should she start knocking on doors?

Feeling less smug about her tailing abilities, Sarah stood at the bottom of the stairs and contemplated her options. Just wait for him here?

“You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?”

She almost screamed and spun around so fast, her hair whipped into her face. Nate had materialized behind her. Sarah caught her breath. “Scare me to death, why don’t you?”

His blue eyes bored into her. “It’s a thought.”

Sarah told herself he had a right to be irritated with her. But she didn’t let it get to her. “Where were you?”

“Let’s go.”

“This isn’t your apartment, is it?” She glanced around the tidy, worn entry. “I thought you were going home. Juliet and I saw you with the reporters and I was concerned-”

“Bullshit.”

She sighed. No way was she worming herself out of this one. “Okay, fine. You think the FBI has the wrong shooter, don’t you? This guy, Hector Sanchez-”

She was out the door before she realized what was happening. Her feet were touching the ground, but she wasn’t walking on her own-he had her by one arm and was marching her down the stairs and out to his car.

He opened the passenger door with his injured arm, apparently by mistake, and swore, then shoved her inside. “Watch your head.”

“Going to cuff me, too?”

“I could. You’re interfering with a federal investigation.”

“Me? What about you? Last I checked, you were a wounded deputy U.S. marshal who was supposed to stay on the sidelines-”

He banged her door shut and walked around the front to the driver’s side.

Sarah felt a wave of guilt when he climbed in. “Do you want me to drive?”

He didn’t answer.

“Your arm-is it bleeding?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You didn’t need to haul me out of there. You could have asked politely, and I’d have left.”

He started the car engine. “I’m not in a polite mood.”

“Are you ever?”

“Sure.” He smiled at her then, a smile that reached his hard eyes and was so unexpected and so sexy, so deliberately sexy, it curled her toes. “I can be very polite.”

Juliet had spotted Sarah jumping into a cab and following Nate’s car and almost went after her-then she figured Nate could handle Rob’s pretty southern Ph.D. sister all by himself.

She wasn’t surprised when Nate dropped Sarah off at the private waiting room. “Don’t let her out of your sight,” he said through gritted teeth, then disappeared down the hall.

Sarah’s cheeks were slightly flushed, but otherwise, she didn’t look as stricken as most people would after pissing off Nate Winter. And she didn’t look particularly guilty for having done it. But why the hell wasn’t he home in bed? Juliet couldn’t muster a lot of sympathy for him.

She crumpled up her paper water cup. “Dare I ask what happened?”

“Nothing. I followed him.” Sarah sighed and sat in one of the plastic chairs. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”