Pure Dynamite (7 page)

Renata cut her off. "No buts. Look, I've asked David not to call me. And I'll make sure he gets the message not to call you."

"He doesn't call that often."

"That often?" Exactly how frequently did they talk? She rubbed her forehead, determined to ward off a headache. "He shouldn't call ever."

"He thought I could help persuade you. Do you know how much closer Nevada is to Denver?"

The muscle above Renata's left eye ticked. Twice. "I need to go. We'll talk about it this weekend, okay?"

Her mother's voice raised. "You're off this weekend? You could fly home."

"I work Saturday but I'll call Sunday. I promise."

"You work too much. How will you ever meet someone?"

"Mama, please."

"Or give me grandchildren?"

Renata heard her stepfather intervene, warning her mother to mind her own business. Bless him.

It did little to deter her mother, though. When Renata finally hung up she was in an awful mood.
Blast David.
Now it would take half of Sunday to convince her mother to drop the subject.

It seemed all their conversations ended off-key. No matter what her accomplishments, her mother saw a half-empty glass. Renata lived too far away, pursued her career too aggressively, studied too hard, earned too little. Especially when compared to her older brother and sister.

Her prior desire to join her friends had waned, but she didn't want to go home and stew alone in her tiny apartment. She had a theory that anger dissipated more quickly in larger spaces. Better to stay and work.

She headed to the lobby where the television still aired twenty-four hour news. But instead of shutting it off, she switched channels—to MTV—and punched up the volume to test yet another theory: If music truly soothed the savage beast, then livid beasts needed even louder music.

From his hiding spot, Adam watched a group of employees dash into the light rain as they left the Bay Meadow clinic. There were three of them—more than he cared to confront.

He listened, catching a name.
Richard.
He waited, hoping the man would linger in the parking lot, but they took off in unison.

Adam circled back to the front. Only one car remained now, in a spot marked
reserved for physicians.
Lights still burned inside and the blinds were open. A woman sat at the front desk. A receptionist?

He narrowed his eyes. The woman wore a white lab coat. A doctor? Or a nurse?

Headlights swept into the parking lot as a yellow van pulled up in front of the clinic,
hospital security.

Cursing, Adam ducked around the side of the building and watched as a uniformed man climbed out.

The man rapped loudly on the door. When the woman answered, he smiled and tugged the brim of his hat. "Evening, Dr. Curtis. Working late again?"

Adam couldn't hear the woman's response as she held the door open. The man had barely stepped in before backing out, this time hauling a metal cabinet on wheels. He loaded the cabinet in the van, then returned to collect her signature.

Their voices dropped, inaudible. Adam heard a brief guitar riff, laughter, then the man started toward the van. Halfway there he stopped and turned back.

"Hey Doc! Don't forget to close those blinds. No sense advertising you're here alone."

"Thanks, Clarence," she called.

"Yeah, thanks," Adam whispered as he watched the taillights disappear.

He didn't like what he was about to do, but he was out of viable options. There was a lot hanging in the balance. Lyle had been adamant about not going to a hospital. Short of physically forcing him—or surrendering and letting the cops force him—Adam could do little. He had to make some tough decisions.

And time was running out. Adam wasn't a doctor, but he knew Lyle had lost a lot of blood, knew he needed treatment.

Straightening the stolen lab coat, he hurried to the front entrance. Through the window, he watched the woman wrestle with a tangle of cords hanging from the blinds.

She was teeny, barely over five feet, with a sleek ponytail of hair that was nearly as dark as his own. He frowned, eyeing the stethoscope tucked in her pocket. She looked too young to be a doctor. Too … perky. She was also very pretty, though pretty didn't matter right now. All he wanted was her medical expertise.

Squaring his shoulders, he stepped up to the door and knocked. "Dr. Curtis."

Inside, Renata paused, cocked her head.

She heard the knock, heard someone call her name. She peeked out the blinds she'd just closed, but with the lights on inside, she couldn't see beyond the glass.

The knocking repeated, more urgent.

Automatically her hand went to the pager at her waist, sliding it forward. In her dash to close the blinds, she had forgotten to reset the alarm after Clarence left. But no matter. The pager had a red panic button that remotely triggered the alarm. While she had never had to use it, it did make her feel more secure when she stayed late.

Keeping the security chain in place, she unlocked the door and opened it an inch, before peering out the crack. The man standing on the step was a doctor, but not anyone she recognized.

She opened the door a little more, to get a better look at him. Immediately her eyes widened in appreciation. Whoever he was, the man was gorgeous. A bit disheveled, but gorgeous all the same.

"Dr. Curtis?" The man bowed. A polite, disarming gesture.

"Do I know you?"

He shook his head. "We've never met. I'm a friend of Richard's. He's mentioned you before."

Ohmigod.
Was this the friend Richard had wanted her to meet?

"Hold on." She stepped back and quickly smoothed her clothes. Perhaps it was just as well she didn't have time to check her hair and makeup. Ignorance was bliss.

She released the security chain and opened the door folly. The move earned her a dazzling smile as the man stepped closer, into the spill of light.

Renata's gaze traveled slowly over him. She melted, her bad mood evaporating. She'd been wrong. He was not gorgeous. He was
breathtaking.
With that androgynous Madison Avenue kind of beauty: high cheekbones, strong jaw, patrician nose.

Michelangelo would have taken one look at the man and scurried off to find a sledgehammer to destroy his David. Janet, the receptionist, would have helped.

The man's ebony hair was long, brushing his shoulders, and a little wavy from the rain. Tousled—as if he'd run his hands through it too many times.

But it was his eyes that intrigued Renata. In the half- shadows, they appeared black. Secretive. Haunted she decided. Which suited his dark charisma.

She scrambled to recall what Richard had said about the man. He was a research fellow? Gifted? He had slight circles under his eyes. Did he work too hard, with no one to hurry home to at night?

Renata understood that. Her work was her life, her passion. She couldn't not be a doctor. But sometimes, it wasn't enough. Sometimes she couldn't bear to go home, to the emptiness. The long nights ...

When he ran a hand through his hair she realized she'd been staring. Probably drooling.

God she needed a life. If he hadn't been standing there she'd have smacked her own forehead.

Still flustered by her sensual thoughts, she quickly straightened and slid on her professional persona to cover her adolescent gaffe.

"I'm sorry, but you just missed Richard."

The man glanced at his wrist then looked back at her. "Could I use the phone to call him?"

"Certainly." She held the door open and stepped back.

When he crossed the threshold, she found he was even taller than she'd thought. He had to be at least six- four or five, with a physique to match. And in the light she saw that his eyes were actually deep blue with little flecks of gold above the irises.

He winked and smiled, sending her pulse to a dangerous elevation. "I'm glad to meet you, by the way. Richard speaks highly of you."

"He does?" Renata fought the urge to stammer. "Uh, the phone's right there. He was stopping at Janet's for pizza, though, so I'd try his cell."

"Thanks." The man shifted closer.

Again she caught her breath, her knees shaky. "Had
...
had he invited you to join them? I could drive us there."

"Are you sure it's no trouble?"

She grinned, and tried to flirt. "None. But if I drive, you have to tell me what Richard said."

"About you? Deal."

He extended his hand. When she went to shake it, he tugged her close. The move threw her off balance, levering her against his chest. His arms circled, one at her waist, one at her back, steadying her as he held her gaze.

"He said you were beautiful. So forgive me," he whispered. "But I'll die if I don't do this."

His mouth lowered sweeping across hers in a hard fast kiss. Renata jumped at the intensity, the unexpectedness of it, her senses overwhelmed.

She had a brief thought that she didn't know this man, followed by a rush of desire
to
know him. Intimately. Raw sexuality spilled from him, overpowering her sensibilities. No man had ever claimed he'd die if he didn't kiss her. And likewise no man had ever held her as if she were the most precious thing on earth. This was the stuff of fairy tales, midnight fantasies. Kinky singles ads:
Warrior god seeks single princess.

His arms tightened slightly, drawing her attention back to his kiss. She parted her lips to breathe and felt his tongue sweep forward. Instinctively her mouth opened wider. He made a low noise, in approval, as he deepened the kiss.

Renata reveled in the moment, feeling secure in his embrace. Part of her realized that while this man was a stranger, he was highly recommended by Richard. Which allowed her to relax.

Then he straightened, breaking off the kiss. The abruptness left her unsteady. She blushed, uncertain of what to say. The thoughts she'd been thinking ... This had never happened to her before. And now that it ended, she felt awkward. Embarrassed.
Turned on.

She pointed to the television. "I'll shut it off while you use the phone."

As she went to move past him, he raised his arm, blocking her. She stopped, half expecting another kiss.

Then she noticed the gun in his hand.

The fantasy developing in her head imploded. She searched his face for a clue this was a bad joke. But the eyes that minutes ago seduced her now looked grim.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"I won't hurt you as long as you do exactly as I say."

"Who are you? Richard said—"

"Richard and I have never met."

His blunt admission bewildered her. She eyed his jacket again. In the light, she could see the badge had been tampered with, the photo torn off. Stolen. She had simply looked at his white jacket and assumed.