Avenging Angel

She was quiet for a second before trying again. “You need a doctor, Mr. Alazandro.”

“Doctors have to report gunshot wounds to the cops,” Pete said.

A longer silence was followed by a tentative, “But aren’t we going to tell the police what happened?”

Alazandro said, “No hospital and no police, Ms. Medina. I’m a busy man and don’t intend on getting stuck stateside in some worthless investigation when I have a jet waiting. Pete, get us to the airport. You know first aid, you can patch me up after we’re in the air.”

Pete drove. Another glimpse in the rearview mirror revealed Elle shrugging off her bulky jacket and the denim one she wore beneath. “You’d better use this to stop the blood from getting all over the upholstery,” she said, handing the denim jacket over the car seat to Alazandro.

He pressed it against his arm and smiled back at her.

“You’re very brave,” she cooed, sitting forward and touching his good shoulder.

Alazandro kind of puffed out his chest and sighed.

Wait a second. Shouldn’t Elle Medina be shaking like a leaf, shouldn’t she be demanding to be let off at the nearest police department? The woman had nerves of steel.

As enticing a potential spy as she might make, however, Pete couldn’t put her in harm’s way. He needed to find a way to make a surreptitious call and arrange an incident at the airport that would prevent Elle from boarding Alazandro’s private jet. A fake customs ploy, maybe. A phony arrest warrant—

Alazandro said, “Whoever is trying to get me came damn close this time.”

Pete said, “He came close to getting all three of us.”

Elle whistled. “You can say that again.”

Pete, sensing his chance, said, “We don’t need someone else to worry about, boss. Leave the woman here. She can fly down later.”

As Alazandro glanced into the back seat, Pete used the mirror. Elle’s blinding white T-shirt revealed an amazing amount of creamy cleavage. The top curves of her breasts looked smooth and inviting. The stirring in Pete’s groin had as much to do with the memory of her naked as it did with her wavering image in the mirror. She flicked a few blond hairs away from her heart-shaped face and smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges as she licked her lips for Alazandro.

The temptress was back.

Pete said, “We had to leave your duffel bag back at the stable. It probably held your passport—”

“Nope, that’s right here in my purse.”

“Stop fussing, you’re not her father,” Alazandro said, casting Pete an annoyed frown. He added, “I hear your father is a judge, Elle. Whereabouts?”

“Down in Butter Gulch, Arizona,” she said.

“I built a resort down that way a few years ago,” he said, wincing as he tried to get comfortable. “Near the border. So you grew up in Arizona?”