Just A Little Bit Married?

“Yeah.” He moved restlessly around her small kitchen, trying to get a handle on the woman he was supposed to keep alive. Dr. Sara Grace—physician, trauma specialist, witness ... and a pretty, frightened mouse with a bad leg.

Seeing her limp had bothered Raz. He didn’t know why. It didn’t seem to be a severe handicap. She’d walked almost normally once she had the cane to help. Maybe it was the contrast. She’d been so at home in the pool, a sleek water creature, small and strong and sure.

He thought of his reaction to her once she left that water. Amusement, dark and supple, twisted in him.

“Care to share the joke?” his brother asked, handing him a steaming mug.

“Not really.” Raz sipped. The coffee was one of those fancy gourmet brands, the first evidence of extravagance he’d seen in Sara Grace’s life-style. “I’ve got some questions to ask before she rejoins us,” Raz said.

“Go ahead.”

“What kind of back-up have I got?”

“I can have someone here eight hours out of twenty-four.”

“Wait a minute.” He frowned. “You said ‘here.’ Don’t you have a safe house lined up for her?”

“She won’t go.”

“Won’t go?” Raz’s eyebrow went up. “She didn’t strike me as stupid.”

“Feel free to try and talk her out of staying here.”

He would. Not only was this cottage of hers unsafe from a professional standpoint, it was small. He’d be bumping into her every time either of them turned around, and he did not need the distraction. Not when he’d already experienced the most extraordinary burst of lust for her trim little body.

Lusting after his subject was certainly not a complication he’d expected to have to deal with. Never mind whether he deserved that particular frustration or not. Life had little to do with people getting what they deserved. “You’ve pointed out to her that if she recognized Javiero, he must have seen her, too?”

Tom shrugged and sipped his coffee. His mug was white with a cartoon reindeer on the front. “Most people don’t have her memory for faces. She’s gambling that he didn’t remember her.”

“Funny. She doesn’t look like a gambler.” But Raz had to admit that he hadn’t recognized her, either, and he was trained to remember faces. Of course, he’d been halfway drunk the night she stitched up his arm. “I thought you said she was scared stiff.”

A faint sound made him turn.

Sara Grace stood in the doorway, her pointy chin lifted, her eyes a soft, serious, blue-gray. “I am scared, but I’m not running away.”

Dry, she looked more mouselike than ever. She was so little. Her hair was cut very short and framed her face in a dark, feathery fringe. Her olive-toned skin probably should have made him think of the Mediterranean, but instead he was reminded of the tawny color of the field mice he’d kept in a shoe box in his closet when he was ten ... until they had babies and his mother found out.

He smiled. “That’s an admirable attitude, but not very sensible under the circumstances.”

“I’m always sensible.” Her voice was Southern-belle soft, but her accent was pure, clipped Yankee. It was a strangely appealing combination.

“Then you’ll go to a safe house.”

“No. I have a job to do.”

He shook his head. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember her. He was used to relying on his memory for people. But she didn’t look like a doctor, much less one who specialized in the bloody drama of a hospital emergency room. Her eyes were too big and innocent. Her clothes were just too big.

“No one is indispensable,” he told her. Her pants were baggy khakis. Her white shirt was so loose it hid the existence of her breasts entirely, but he’d seen her in a swimsuit. He remembered their shape, small and firm, nicely molded in powder-blue Lycra right down to the hard little nipples. “No one is indispensable. The hospital can do without you for a few days while Tom gets this straightened out.”

“It might be more than a few days, though, mightn’t it? And you’re wrong. In the ER, the presence or absence of key personnel can be the difference between life and death.”

“Your presence will make a big difference, all right, if Javiero comes after you while you’re at work.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“He did once, didn’t he? That’s how this all started. He’d already tangled with his rival once that night, and when the man came to your emergency room to get his ribs taped up, Javiero followed with his Uzi.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean that he’s more apt to come after me here, at home. Security has been stepped up so much at the hospital. There’s no reason for him to—to make things hard on himself. Anyway, I doubt very much he knows who I am.”

“You’re willing to risk people’s lives based on your assessment of the situation?”

“I risk people’s lives based on my assessment of their situation every day.”

Raz ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t picture it. He just couldn’t picture this soft little creature cracking a man’s rib cage so she could get to his heart. “You mean you use your professional judgment every day. Why won’t you trust ours?”

“I’m sorry,” she said in that deceptively soft voice. “The hospital is already short on staff. I’m needed there. But...” She paused. “If Detective Rasmussin finds evidence that indicates Javiero does know my identity, I’ll reconsider.”

God, she was stubborn. And he was getting hard, for no reason at all. His reaction infuriated him. “You won’t be able to do your job with a couple dozen slugs in you.”

Her pale cheeks turned paler. “If you and the other officers do your job, that won’t happen, will it?”

Tom broke in. “Raz won’t be working with the other officers, Dr. Grace. As I said, I can’t assign you round-the-clock protection. I know you weren’t very happy at the idea of hiring a bodyguard—”

“I’m not.” Two faint spots of embarrassed color appeared on her cheeks. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No problem. Like I was saying, I know you aren’t crazy about having a bodyguard underfoot all the time. That’s why I brought Raz to meet you. He’s on leave right now, so he could take a private job.”

She looked at Tom in disbelief. “You mean—you mean you want me to hire him?”

“Hey,” Raz protested. “I’m not so bad. Honest.”

Tom shot him a look that told him to keep his big mouth shut, then said to her, “Would you like me to pour you a cup of your coffee while we talk about this? It’s pretty good stuff compared to what I get down at headquarters.”

She smiled shyly and, at last, moved into the room. “Please. And refill your own cup, too, if you like.”

So, Raz thought, Sara Grace might argue with him, but she smiled at his brother. It was supposed to be the other way around. Women generally liked Raz, while Tom made them nervous.

He noticed something else, too. “You don’t need to use your cane all the time?”

She shot a quick, surprised glance his way and paused near the table. “I don’t have to use it at all. It just helps, especially if my hip’s sore. The ER was busy last night, so I was on my feet a lot.”

So the problem was with her hip, not her leg. “I guess you were at work when Tom told you about the other witness. The one Javiero shredded last night.” He wanted her to face the reality of what she risked with her refusal to go to a safe house.

“As it happens, I was on duty when they brought his body in.”

Raz felt foolish. For a moment he couldn’t think of anything to say. Belatedly, his mother’s training came to his rescue. He pulled out one of the ladder-back chairs and held it for her.

Now she looked at him—a suspicious look, as if she thought he might jerk the chair out from under her as soon as she tried to sit down.