Back to Life

She soon left for the day with Bella and with more questions raised than answered.

After Skye showered and changed into comfortable jeans and a blue denim shirt, she walked and fed Bella. Then, leaving Bella at home, Skye drove her own car to the Angeles Beach Medical Center.

She asked at the information desk for the room number. After exiting the elevator on the correct floor and walking to his room, she paused. What the hell was she doing there?

Accepting an invitation from a downed officer, she reminded herself. Plus…satisfying her curiosity, if only a little.

Still, she hesitated at the door. Then she rapped and walked in.

The room’s sole occupant was sitting up in bed. “Hello, Officer Owens,” she said. “I’m Skye Rydell. I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Come in.” His voice was hoarse but wasn’t weak or pained the way someone who’d recently been so near death might be expected to sound. That didn’t surprise Skye.

His bed was raised, supporting his back as he sat straight up. He wore the kind of faded green cotton hospital wrap that made most people look ill. But despite the slight pastiness to his face, he looked healthy and tan. His sleeves were pushed up to his wide shoulders, framing impressive biceps.

As she looked at him, those brown eyes she recognized, deep and steady, met hers. A little embarrassed to be caught assessing him, she smiled uncomfortably. “You look like you’re recuperating okay,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.” His voice cleared as if he’d intentionally thrust away its former hoarseness. “But a whole lot better than when they brought me in. I’ve seen you around, you know, but I almost didn’t recognize you without your dog.”

That evoked a genuine smile from her. “And I almost didn’t recognize you without your assault rifle.”

His laugh, deep and sexy, filled the room. “Have a seat.” He motioned to a chair, and she complied.

“So…why am I here?” She studied the way the guy’s prominent cheekbones underscored the eyes that so defined his face. The artificial light radiating from a bar above the bed’s headboard revealed a hint of auburn in his sable-brown hair. Beard stubble shadowed his taut cheeks and emphasized a cleft in his strong chin. Definitely one good-looking cop, especially this close up.

“I was told you were there when I was wounded, weren’t you?”

“Outside,” she replied. “We came into the warehouse—Bella and I—when you were already down.”

“Yeah, after Danver was hit.” He sounded offended, as if the death was a personal affront. There was a bleakness in his eyes and the set of his mouth that stirred Skye.

She couldn’t exactly tell him she’d communicated with his fellow SWAT officer, helped him peacefully to the other side. “It was really terrible,” she confirmed. “But at least you’ll be okay.”

“But the bastard who did this got away.”

That was obviously on a lot of cops’ minds.

“He won’t get away with it,” she said with certainty.

“Yeah.” Trevor’s grim expression suggested he would see to it himself.

Was he going to get caught up in another officer-involved shooting? Was the goal she’d sensed in him as he lay dying to right this wrong by committing a wrong himself?

She shuddered. Maybe she had made a mistake after all. Her intent, as always, was to help those who needed—and deserved—it. Was this police officer a loose cannon who would kill a suspect first and ask questions later? But he had been cleared of wrongdoing in those past shootings. There was no reason to think he would kill anyone, even Marinaro.

Even so, she had a sudden urge to leave, to never see him again.

Won’t happen, taunted a perverse voice inside her. They were both part of the ABPD. They’d see each other around.

Well…okay. Good, in fact. No matter what, she was intrigued by him—wanted to understand his side of those shootings and why she had such a strong sense of connection when she saved him.

“Did you say anything to me then?” he asked. “I mean, when you saw me on the floor. I can’t remember a whole lot that happened then, but I remember seeing you, and I thought I heard you say something.”

“I don’t think so.” It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t said anything…aloud. And only she heard her internal voices.

At least no one she had ever saved in the past had mentioned them. But, then again, she’d hardly been able to ask any of them—any more than she could ask Officer Trevor Owens.

There are other things you could learn from him, that same internal voice taunted. Like his apparent intense desire to get the bad guy?

Or just desire.

She felt herself flush from uneasiness…and sexual attraction. And as their eyes caught again, there was more that made her uncomfortably warm.

No way could Trevor Owens know that she had restored him to life…or could he?

Trevor knew for sure now that he was still alive.

Her slim, coplike yet gracefully curvy form and her intoxicating scent made him ache. He wanted this woman.

Yeah, as if your body could follow through right now.

She was interested, too. He could tell from the look on her face. But Trevor knew Officer Skye Rydell was lying about something.

What? And why?

He studied her.

He liked seeing her in civilian clothes and with loose hair. He wondered what women called that shade of blond—or those shades. It was streaked—some strands were almost white, though most were several shades darker. She usually wore it pulled back and fastened behind her neck as required by the department. With it loose, she looked even more female.

Being so close to her let him get a good look at her gorgeous face—smooth, with a perfectly shaped if slightly long nose and lips that, even without lipstick, were pink and full and suggested slow, hot kisses at midnight on a deserted local beach.

The pale denim blue of her shirt deepened the blue of her eyes. Those eyes…One of the few things he remembered from when he was lying on the floor was looking up into those intense eyes and feeling as if they were lifting him back to life.

But it wasn’t only the way she’d looked at him that he remembered.

When he was barely conscious, he had the odd sensation that he shared something with her. Something vital. Hallucinations by a guy close to death? Sure. What else could it be?

“You’re sure you didn’t say anything?” he finally asked again.

Something different—perhaps embarrassment?—passed across her face.

She might be a liar, but she wasn’t a very good one.

But why lie about something so trivial?

“You didn’t look very well, so I might have murmured some good wishes or a prayer or something like that.”

Something like that. But what?