Authors: Susan Sey
“Dr. Riley,” he said, his voice was as smooth as
aged whiskey
even if his smile was a little pinched around the edges. “How good of you to come.”
“
Did I have a choice?”
He lifted his good shoulder in a lopsided shrug.
“
I’ve been drilling the boys on their manners but t
hey were a little worked up when they left.
”
“First time they’d seen a gunshot?
” Mary Jane dropped her bag on the bed next to his shoulder
. She smiled when he winced.
“In this neighborhood?
” He gave her an amused look
. “
We see more blood than this before breakfast most days. Nah. They were just worried Marcus P was going to kick their asses
.”
“For what?”
“For shooting his money man.”
Mary Jane froze. “Those
were the
boys
who
shot
you?”
“Accidentally.” He shrugged. “
Occupational hazard
.”
“Sure.
I guess you should expect to get shot when you
arm children
for a living
.”
“
Hey, I didn’t give them guns. I just crunch the numbers
.”
“So they can make more money to buy more guns.”
“So they can run their business as efficiently as possible, which, yes, results in more money. A great deal of which goes back into the neighborhood.” He slanted her a look, formidable even sprawled across the bed. “I don’t see anybody else lining up to give these folks money or jobs, do you, Mary Jane?”
She glared at him, a familiar helplessness already curling into her belly.
“I’m not having this argument again,” she said
.
They’d had it too many times already and Mary Jane never won.
“Just...show me your shoulder, all right?”
He waved a casual hand toward his bandage.
“Help yourself, doc.”
S
he
snipped through the gauze wrapping, peeled it
back and inspected the wound. If her stomach twisted at the sight of his elegantly powerful shoulder ripped open by a bullet, she d
idn’t let it show on her face. She
eased him forward to have a look at his shoulder blade.
“
No exit wound,
”
she said.
He grinned at her. “If there was, you wouldn’t be here.”
She dropped his shoulder back to the bed without ceremony, took savage satisfaction
in his grunt of pain
. “You’re lucky I’m here at all. Your boys almost brought you Nixie Leighton-Brace by mistake.”
His dark eyes went wide, then he laughed. “Not that I don’t think you’re beautiful, doc, but how would my boys have mistaken you for a rich, famous celebrity?”
“She was wearing a lab
coat, standing outside the clinic. They had instructions to grab the lady doctor, so they were trying to grab her when I happened by.”
“What the hell is Nixie Leighton-Brace doing in Anacostia? I didn’t think we were third world enough for her.”
“She’s on hiatus. She’s experiencing the real world via my receptionist’s desk. It’s a long story. Don’t ask.”
Mary Jane doused a square of gauze with alcohol and dabbed gently at the wound. Ty hissed and she frowned at him. “Serves
you right, you jerk
.”
“
Come on, MJ,” he said, a trace of weariness under his trademark smoothness.
“
Don’t be like that.”
“Don’t be like what?” She
adjusted the
latex gloves on hands that wanted to tremble. “Don’t be pissed at you for
choosing a life that gets you
shot at
on a daily basis?
Or don’t be pissed because you chose it over me?”
He didn’t answer. Not that she’d expected him to.
That was another argument they’d worn out
.
Mary Jane ripped open a sterile pair of forceps and went after the bullet. Ty closed his eyes. She could see the muscle in his jaw working and she forced back the tears that wanted to well up. She needed clear eyes if she wanted to work. If she wanted to make right choices. Ty had a way of screwing with her vision.
She finally pulled out the mangled slug and showed it to him. “Nice. You want me to sew it up pretty or do you want a nice scar for the street
cred
?”
She
didn’t expect an answer, nor did she get one. “I’m making it pretty,” she said, threading her needle.
“God knows y
ou don’t need any more idol worship.”
He
sat up and
caught her wrist before she could take the first stitch. “Mary Jane. Look at me.”
She focused on the bedspread between his knees. He took her chin, brought her gaze to his. “I
know you don’t understand.”
“Then make me,” she said, her voice fierce and jagged. “
Make
me understand.”
“I can’t. I wish I could. But you need to know I
never meant for this to happen. I never meant to break your heart.”
“
God
.” She wrenched her chin from his fingers, hating the way every inch of her skin warmed at his touch. “It was years ago, Ty.
We
were years ago. Back when you wanted to be an executive and I wanted to be a doctor. Back when we both thought we could be more than where we were from.”
“And here we are, working within half a mile of each other.”
Mary Jane made her voice cold. “We’re working worlds apart, Ty. Worlds and worlds.”
He eased his grip on her wrist, slid his fingers through hers. “I tried to live in your world, babe.
God
knows I tried.
You saw how that turned out.
”
“I saw
you get caught up in the rush of playing with other people’s money. I saw you get sucked into a culture of greed and risk and I saw how it screwed with your moral compass.”
“
My moral compass?” He shook his head. “Business is war, babe. Soldiers follow orders, not a moral compass.”
“So, what, you weren’t guilty of anything? You were just a casualty of war?”
“Hell yes.”
“And
you think
that makes it okay to
join a gang
?”
“I didn’t join anything.
Maybe I’m a mercenary, but I’m an independent mercenary.
I don’t do anything but the books.
” He pressed her hand between his
when she tried to pull it away
. “
Seriously, MJ. I know you don’t like the people I work for, but how different are they really from the assholes I used to work for when I was legit? You can shoot a man, or you can strip him of his dreams and ambition. He’s dead either way, so what difference does it make how
he got
wounded?”
She stared at him. “You can ask me that with the bullet hole in your shoulder still bleeding?”
“
Yeah, I can. I’ve been hit both ways now. I preferred the bullet.”
She jerked her hand free of his and applied herself to stitching him up. It cost her to put even one more hole in his beautiful, stubborn hide, but she didn’t let him see that. She focused on her work to the exclusion of all else. It was what she always did.
She
snipped
off the thread.
“I’m not giving you any painkillers.”
“I wouldn’t take
them even if you did.” He lai
d back, closed his eyes. “I may
work for
pusher
s
, but I don’t sample the
merchandise
.”
Mary Jane frowned. She didn’t like the way sweat
had
beaded on his forehead, or the way he’d gone ashen under the rich cocoa of his skin. She shook a couple antibiotics out of a vial and knelt down beside the bed.
“Hey,” she said, tapping a fingernail against his cheek. “Take these.”
He rolled his head to the side, opened clear dark eyes. “What will you give me if I do?”
She recognized that look, that tone. It pulled at her with a traitorous warmth, tempted her to ante up a really excellent bribe. Something that involved lots of skin and heat and rumpled sheets. He must’ve seen it in her face, the wanting that never fully died, because he reached out to finger a lock of her hair.
“Stay with me, MJ. Just tonight.”
She shook her head. She was pretty sure that
no
wasn’t the first thing she’d say if she risked opening her mouth. He tugged gently on her hair and she bowed under the silent request.
God
she missed his touch. He leaned forward, as if to whisper something, but it wasn’t words that hit her ear. It was his mouth. His hot, magical, seeking mouth. Time flipped, twisted, stretched, until she couldn’t remember if he’d ever been away. If they’d ever been apart. Had she really denied herself this? Had she really convinced herself she didn’t want it? Didn’t want him?
He nipped at the shell of her ear until she heard herself sigh, half resignation, half desire. She could feel him smiling as he dragged that talented mouth lower, ran a chain of tiny kisses along her throat, her collar bone.
When he pulled her onto the bed, she went. But she didn’t speak. She never said a single word until she pulled her rumpled clothes back on and caught the first train out of Anacostia the next morning.
Coffee. Oh sweet baby Jesus, somebody was making coffee
.
Erik pulled the smell into his lungs like it was pure oxygen. Then he remembered.
He lived alone and his coffee maker was broken. Had been for months. What the hell?
He checked the bed side clock. 7:12. He scrubbed a hand over thirty-six hours of stubble and forced himself upright. He doubted a thief would hang out for a little coffee, and the only person who had a key to his apartment was his mother. He took a moment to weigh his options.
He wanted that coffee. He didn’t want to talk to his mother. He needed to tear a strip off her for
trying to fix him up
with Nixie, and he didn’t have time. He needed to be in Anacostia knocking on doors before Nixie attached herself to him like a pretty, long-legged barnacle. He decided it was a draw. He’d face his mother but the coffee would make it bearable.
He yanked on a pair of flannel pajama pants and ambled toward the kitchen.
“That better be the good stuff, Mom,” he said. “Because after the Nixie Leighton-Brace thing, you owe me.”