In Graywolf's Hands

It made him wonder why Harrison hadn’t hit on her last night. Special agent or not, she looked to be right up his best friend’s alley.

But then, maybe Harrison had hit on her and she’d set him straight. That would have been a first. Lukas made a mental note to catch up with Harrison to ask for details when he got the chance. If there had been a conquest last night, something told him he would have known it. One way or another.

“You’re here bright and early,” he commented as she came up to him.

He didn’t look as tired, she observed. His sharp, blue eyes seemed to be taking in everything about her. She’d always thought that Native Americans had brown eyes. “So are you.”

Her mouth looked pouty when she said the word “you.” Something stirred within him, but he dismissed it. He’d been around Harrison too long. Maybe the other man’s ways had rubbed off on him. “I have patients to see.”

Lydia inclined her head, as if going him one better. “I have a prisoner to interrogate.”

And here, Lukas thought, was where they came to loggerheads. It hadn’t taken long. Less than a minute, by his estimate.

“Not until he’s up to it.”

“If he’s conscious, he’s up to it, Dr….” Lydia paused and, though she knew his name, made a show of looking at the badge that hung from a dark blue cord around his neck. Since the back of the badge faced her, she turned it around. “Graywolf.” Releasing the badge, she raised her eyes to his face. “This wasn’t some spur-of-the moment, impulsive act by a deranged man acting out some sick fantasy. This was a carefully planned act of terrorism. This man is part of a group that call themselves the New World Supremacists. I assure you, he wasn’t alone at the mall last night. I want to make sure his friends don’t go scurrying off to their garages to concoct some more pipe bombs to kill more innocent people. The only way I’m going to do that is to get names.”

He understood all that, but he was coming at this from another angle. He had to put the welfare of his patient first. “Ms. Wakefield—”

“That’s Special Agent Wakefield,” she corrected him. Taking out her wallet, she opened it for him. “It says so right here on my ID.”

Holding her wallet for a moment, Lukas looked at the photograph. She looked better in person. The photograph made her look too hard, too unforgiving. There was something in her eyes that told him that might not be the entire picture.

He dropped his hand to his side. “I always wondered about that. Is ‘special’ a title, like lieutenant colonel?” he deadpanned. “Are there any regular, nonspecial agents at the agency?”

“We’re all special,” she informed him, finding that she was gritting her teeth.

“In our own way,” he allowed magnanimously. “Even people accused of crimes.”

Not in her book. “Just why are you yanking my chain, Doctor?”

Because it was there, he realized. But he gave her a more reasonable answer.

“Maybe it’s because you insist on getting in my way. The man you shot almost died on the table last night. Twice. I’d like to make sure he doesn’t. Having you go at him like a representative of the Spanish Inquisition isn’t going to help his recovery. I think it might be better if you hold off asking any questions.”

Not hardly. And she didn’t particularly like being told what to do. “I don’t give a damn about his recovery, Doctor. I just want him to live long enough to give me the names of his buddies.” She watched him shiver and then turn up the collar of his lab coat. It wasn’t particularly cold. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to protect myself from frostbite.” He slid his collar back into place. “You always come off this cold-blooded?”

She could almost literally feel her patience breaking in two.

“I happen to be a very warm person,” Lydia snapped, then realized how ridiculous that sounded coming in the form of a growl. A smile slowly emerged to replace her frown. “Ask anyone.”

It was amazing. He wouldn’t have thought that a simple smile could transform someone’s face so much. But it did. The woman in front of him seemed light-years removed from the one he’d just been talking to. This one looked younger, softer. Way softer.

“Maybe I will.”

He was being nice. So why did she feel so uneasy all of a sudden? And why was he still looking at her as if he was dissecting her a layer at a time? “What are you staring at?”

“Your smile.”

Instinctively she began to press her lips together to blot out her smile, then stopped. The smile was replaced by a glare. “What’s wrong with my smile?”

He spread his hands. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Makes you look like a completely different person, in my opinion.”

As if she gave a damn about his opinion. “I’ll remember that the next time I need a disguise.” It was getting late and she had to get down to business. “Have you moved my prisoner since last night?”

She had remained long enough for Conroy to be transferred from recovery to a single-unit room, where she’d made certain that a policeman from the Bedford police force was stationed.

Lukas was about to remind her that the man was his patient before he was her prisoner, but he let the matter drop. He’d learned early on that butting his head against a stone wall never brought victory.

“I wouldn’t dare. I left him just where I found him this morning.”

She could do without the sarcasm. “How is he?”

It was Conroy’s chart he’d been writing on when he heard her approach. “Still weak.”

That was a relative term in her opinion. “I don’t want him to dance, I just want him to talk.”

“That might be difficult. He’s on a great deal of pain medication—speaking of which,” he segued smoothly, “how’s your shoulder?”

Graywolf’s question only reminded her of how much the shoulder ached. “If I was a bird, I’d have to postpone flying south for the winter, but under the circumstances, I guess it’s all right.”

Lukas nodded. “I need to see you back in a week to take the stitches out.” She was favoring her left side. Would it have killed her to follow his instructions? “I see you’re not wearing a sling.”

She’d actually toyed with the idea this morning, arranging and adjusting several colorful scars around her arm and shoulder. They’d only made her feel like an invalid. “I don’t want to attract attention.”

Too late, Lukas thought. Three orderlies had passed by since she’d stopped to talk to him and all three had been in danger of severely spraining their necks as they turned to look at her. “Then maybe you should wear a paper bag over your head.”

“What?”

Was she fishing for a compliment, or was she wound up so tightly about her job that she didn’t see her own reflection in the morning? “I’m just saying that a woman who looks like you do always attracts attention.”

Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “Are you coming on to me, Doctor?” She’d dabbled in profiling. Graywolf didn’t seem the type.

“Me?” He raised both hands, fingers pointed to the ceiling. “I wouldn’t have the nerve to come on to someone like you. I’m just making an observation, that’s all.” He looked at his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got the rest of my rounds to make.”

He was turning away from her when she called after him. “You mean you’re not going to hover over me while I try to question the prisoner?”

Lukas stopped to look at her one last time. “Would it do any good?”

A smile crept back to her lips as Lydia shook her head. “No.”

“Then I won’t.” He crossed back to her, fishing into his coat pocket. He took out a card and pressed it into her hand. “There’s my number if you need me.”

She glanced down at the card. Three numbers were neatly printed above one another. “Pager, cell phone and office number.” Lydia raised her eyes from the card. “What about your home number?”

“Unlisted. On a need-to-know basis,” he added just before he left.