Katie Reus: Targeted

The large room was attached to a kitchen where Jack stood behind a counter. It was the only thing separating them. She eyed him warily. After that hot—and unexpected—kiss, feelings of long-dormant lust battled the soreness shooting through her arms and legs. It was one thing to fantasize about kissing the sexy stranger, but quite another to actually do it. Especially since he was probably a criminal. “Where are we?”

“Marathon.”

“In the Keys?”

“Yes.”

She reached around and gingerly touched her shoulder blade. What if it was already infected? Why hadn’t he woken her up?

As if he read her mind, Jack said, “We just got here. You haven’t been asleep long and I was letting you rest a couple minutes.”

Using the couch arm as a crutch, she pushed up and tugged her oversized T-shirt down. She had about a hundred different questions—like who the hell he really was—but first she wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to bleed to death.

Jack was completely immobile while she walked into the kitchen. The tile cooled her bare feet as she stepped toward him. She figured he was trying to keep her calm, and that was fine with her. He’d already laid out towels, bandages, tweezers, peroxide, and alcohol.

She stared at his large, callous hands as he opened one of the butterfly bandages, and suddenly she felt very small. And terrified. She was in a strange place with a strange man. A man she’d recently shared an intimate moment with. Yes, he’d saved her life, but kissing strangers wasn’t something she did. She’d never even had a one-night stand, yet she’d let a man with a scary gun and sexy muscles kiss her senseless.

Worse, she’d enjoyed it. A lot. The timing had been insanely inappropriate, and even so, she wouldn’t mind a replay. Not to mention she’d fantasized about doing a whole lot more than kissing Jack. But what if he expected more from her? Her throat seized as violent scenarios played in her head. For all she knew, his name probably wasn’t even Jack. From what little she’d gathered, she knew he didn’t work for Keane Flight.

“I need you to take off your shirt.” His words sliced through the quiet room like a machete.

A momentary burst of panic skittered across her skin. She’d been at the mercy of a man before. Defenseless and hurt so badly it made a shiver snake through her even thinking about it. She clutched the counter, fighting to take a full breath.

Jack didn’t move. Just watched her with a preternatural stillness. As if he was trying to reassure her without words, but actions. The man might be a criminal, but he’d also given her a gun—which she’d lost during her swim to freedom. He hadn’t had to do that. The rational voice in her head overrode her fears. If this man wanted to hurt her, he would have by now. He’d had plenty of chances. And she seriously doubted he’d have laid out bandages for her if he didn’t care about her injuries.

She pushed out a long breath and turned so that her back faced him. “Can you help?” Her left arm was too stiff, so he helped her lift it over her head. Aware of how exposed she was, she froze, unsure what to do when the shirt was off.

He cleared his throat nervously, which actually made her feel better. “Uh . . . you might want to use this,” Jack said as he handed her a hand towel.

Sophie was thankful she wasn’t looking at him and hoped he couldn’t sense her embarrassment. With her back still to him, she covered her breasts with the towel, using one hand to keep it anchored in place. She’d had to lose her bra earlier because it had been soaked through just like the rest of her clothes, and getting warm and dry had been a priority.

She glanced over her shoulder to look at him and saw he was averting his eyes. The apprehension she’d been feeling almost dissipated completely. Almost. He might not be who he said he was, but he wasn’t going to attack her like a rabid animal.

“I’m going to pull out a few shards of glass, then cleanse the area with alcohol. It’ll sting, but these are all surface wounds. You probably won’t even be able to see the scratches in a few days. Do you need to sit down?”

“No. Sorry about earlier. It doesn’t happen every time I see blood. I don’t know why it did this time.” She was beyond embarrassed by the way she’d handled herself. Hyperventilating like that made her cringe.

“A lot happened today. Some people have higher levels of tolerance for stress. You were pretty impressive, so cut yourself some slack.” His deep voice was like a gentle salve against her worries.

Her shoulders bunched when his fingers grazed her skin. As he pulled a piece of glass from her shoulder, her back automatically arched. “What about you? Does this sort of thing happen to you all the time?” Maybe if she talked, it would take her mind off the pain. And the fact that she was standing half naked and alone with a very dangerous man. Hurting her might not be part of his agenda, but this man was an absolute predator. It was clear in his every move.

He chuckled as he pulled out another piece. “More than you’d think.”

She stiffened again and gritted her teeth as he withdrew yet another. The pieces he placed on the counter were so small, she couldn’t believe she’d bled so much.

“That’s it. Now I’m going to cleanse it.”

“Okay.” She liked that he was walking her through each step. It gave her a tiny sense of control, something so important to her. She also appreciated that he wasn’t touching her more than necessary. It was a small thing, but it spoke volumes about the kind of man he was.

The cool wet cloth against her skin soothed her. Even the alcohol felt good. It burned, but it was a relief knowing she was okay.

He cleared his throat again. “You might want to shower before I put on the bandage. If not, I’ll have to rebandage it later.”

Clutching the towel to her chest, she turned to face him. “Then you’ll answer all my questions?”

He stared at her with those somehow familiar pale bluish eyes that reminded her so much of the boy she’d once loved, and an explosion of butterflies launched in her stomach. Maybe it was the dream she’d just had, but watching him—unwanted memories played in her head with a vengeance.

“As much as I can.” His voice was slightly strangled, mirroring how she felt.

But there was no way he could be feeling or thinking the same thing as she. Sophie decided to take a chance. “Can you answer one now?”

“Maybe.”

“Is your name really Jack Baldwin?”

He paused for a long beat and she wasn’t sure he would even answer. That alone pretty much gave her an answer. Finally he spoke. “It’s Jack Stone.”

At least he was being honest. Or maybe that was simply another alias. She inwardly sighed when she realized it didn’t matter how truthful she thought he was being. She had no way of knowing truth from lies or how to check out who he was. “Where’s the shower?”

He turned around and led her down a short hallway. “This is your room.” He motioned to the room on the right. “That’s mine.” He indicated to the one on the left. “They both have private bathrooms. I managed to dig up some clothes for you, but we’ll get you something more suitable tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” They still hadn’t called the cops, Homeland Security was apparently at her work, someone definitely wanted her dead, and he expected her to stick around?

“Shower first. Answers later.” That pale gaze of his was so damn intoxicating.

Maybe he thought he could hypnotize her into staying. She blinked and forced herself to glance away. After the way he’d tackled her at the restaurant, then their running for their lives, only to be followed by a car crash and an unexpected swim in the freezing ocean . . . Yeah, she could do with a hot shower. “Okay.”