Under the Gun

“Walk me into the wall and I’ll trade you in on a guide dog,” he warned.

“Two jokes in one day. That qualifies as a stand-up routine.”

“Get to work, Holly,” he ordered with a backward wave. “One of us needs to be earning our pay.”

“Slave driver.”

She clicked the keys, pretending to be busy as she watched him make his way to the open door.

He veered a tad off course and touched the wall, then slid his hands along it in both directions until he found the door frame.

Her fingers continued making noise on the keyboard. A tear leaked out and she quickly dashed it away.

What if his blindness became permanent? She wanted so much to hold him, to protect him, but he would never accept that. Not now. He would see any offer she made as pity.

The awful thing was, she did feel sorry for him and couldn’t deny that she did. She knew how she would hate it if he, or anyone else, ever felt that way about her.

Damn, she almost wished she were the one out there running down leads, and someone else had been assigned to watch Will’s back.

She didn’t really mean that, Holly admitted as soon as she thought it. She couldn’t be anywhere right now but exactly where she was. Even if Jack relieved her and ordered her to go, she couldn’t leave Will in anyone else’s care.

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, she turned to the computer and began scanning faces for the features of his would-be assassin.

Chapter 4

None of the photos looked remotely like the shooter in the hospital. Holly ran them through the shredder and called Jack with the bad news. There would be others, he promised. The search had hardly begun.

Time for a break. She went to the old wardrobe and thumbed through the generous stacks of clothing bought specifically for witnesses who might arrive here without luggage.

She doffed the sweats she had put on that morning, and found herself a tank top and shorts. Then she headed for the room with the exercise equipment, hoping to sweat off some of the tension.

The sound of sliding weight cables reached her before she got there. Grayson must be working out.

Uh-oh, not Grayson. That was so not him.

The sight of Will made her freeze in the doorway. He was wearing only a pair of knit running shorts, lying on his back, gripping the bar on the pulley, straining every muscle as he slowly drew it down to his chest.

A fine sheen of perspiration coated his entire body. Every bulge of muscle shone, even the finely sculpted thighs and calves.

She jerked her gaze to his face for her own peace of mind. His features gleamed, too. Sweat beaded and rivulets ran off his forehead, leading her eye down to the flexing muscles of his neck.

Her breath had stuck in her throat, but oxygen deprivation did absolutely nothing to dull her appreciation. Man, he was something else.

Nope, he wasn’t bad at all, she thought with a grin, noting the snake-and-anchor tattoo stretching over his biceps. She knew he had gotten it during his stint in the marines.

In belated rebellion to all that family money, he and his brother had struck out on their own the summer after their freshman year, served their three years and then returned to college, wiser, calmer and as totally independent as self-made men. Also determined to make a difference in their world. They certainly had done that.

She admired Will so much. His dedication. His courage. His incredible mind. And there was a whole lot more of him to appreciate in addition to those inner attributes.