Next to her, Madrid sat stone still, watching. “No exit wound,” he said. “See if you can feel the bullet.”
Jess palpated the area as gently as she could, jerking her hand away when he hissed out a curse. “Sorry.”
“Dig it out.”
She looked up to find his gaze already on hers. In the dim light she could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The grim line of his mouth. “Madrid…”
“Infection will set in if you don’t.” He paused. “Come on, Jess. It’s not deep.”
Her own wound hadn’t been nearly as bad. It had bled a lot, but the bullet had grazed her. Still, hers had gotten infected and could have become extremely serious if Madrid hadn’t given her antibiotics.
“Madrid, you need to see a doctor.”
“I need to be able to function,” he snapped. “Now, either you’re going to dig it out or I am.”
Jess could only imagine the pain it would cause him for her to dig the bullet out. But like a lot of other things that were happening at the moment, all choice had been taken from her.
Reaching into the kit, she found a package of ibuprofen and handed it to him. “You’re going to need these.”
“Kind of like trying to put out a fire with a squirt gun.” He swallowed the pills dry, then gingerly set his arm on the table. “Just think of it as a big splinter.”
“That’s not helping.”
Using the flashlight, Jess located the sterile tools, a needle, tweezers and scissors. Her heart was beating hard and fast when she turned back to him. But not all the tension inside her was due to the wound. Part of it, she knew, was because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Because he was too close. Too
male
. And in all of her twenty-eight years, she’d never seen a chest like Mike Madrid’s.
She moved the candle closer, shifted his arm for a better angle. Sure enough, she could see the lump of the bullet beneath the skin. Picking up the tweezers, she touched the wound. When he didn’t wince, she slid the sterile tip into the wound. She could feel his muscles tightening beneath her hand, but he didn’t make a sound.
“Here goes.” She probed deeper. A sigh hissed between his lips, but she didn’t stop. A fraction of an inch and the tweezers made contact with the bullet. If only she could grasp it.
A groan escaped him when she let the tweezers open. Fresh blood trickled down his arm when she clamped down on the bullet. “My God…”
“Let it bleed.” He ground out the words. “Get the bullet. Do it. Now.”
Though the mission was chilly, sweat beaded on her forehead as she pulled on the tweezers. An instant of resistance and the bloody piece of lead was free.
“I got it.”
Madrid shifted, and Jess got the impression of him holding his breath. Quickly she tore open another alcohol pad and dabbed at the blood. “I don’t think you need stitches.”
“Good, because I’d hate for you to have to pick me up off the floor.”
She looked at him. Alarm shot through her when she realized he’d gone white. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“It’s okay.” He glanced at the wound, closed his eyes briefly. “You did well.”
“Let me just get it cleaned up.” She opened another swab. “Alcohol is going to burn.”
“Better than dying of infection.”
“Or evidently doing the smart thing and going to the hospital.”
He didn’t so much as flinch when she swabbed the gash. She felt one of them shaking, but for the life of her she couldn’t tell if it was him or her.
She spent a few minutes bandaging the wound. When she finished, she rose on unsteady legs. Madrid leaned forward in the chair and put his head on the table as if the ordeal had drained him of all strength.
“You need to promise me one thing,” she said as she began putting items back into the first aid kit.
But when she turned back to Madrid, he was out cold.
M
ADRID WOKE TO DAYLIGHT
. For a moment he was mildly surprised he’d made it through the night. Pain throbbed in his left arm. Above him, dust motes danced on the air where sunlight streamed in through a window.
He sat up, cursing when pain streaked up his arm. He lay back down and for an uncomfortable moment he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Then the memory of everything that had happened the night before rushed over him in a flood. He and Jess breaking into Angela’s house and the police station. The sound of gunshots. Running through the night. The emergency call to the agency. Jess digging a bullet out of his arm.
The knowledge that they were still in danger sent him back upright, gingerly this time. He was lying on an old sofa, tangled in a single blanket. On the floor next to him, Jess lay on her side, shivering in her sleep. She had no blanket. No pillow. She’d given both to him.
“Damn,” he whispered, and something went soft in his chest.
Even with her hair mussed, her face devoid of makeup, her beauty took him aback. She’d wrapped herself with her jacket, but it didn’t cover her completely and he was keenly aware of curvy hips and the soft swell of her breasts. That she’d sacrificed her own comfort for his touched him in a place that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.
A powerful wave of affection washed over him, followed by a hard jab of sexual attraction. He didn’t want to admit either. He knew all too well the kinds of things that happened to the people he cared about. For
some reason God had seen to it that the people he loved never survived long enough for him to tell them how he felt. First his parents. Then his wife and child. Angela. Was this woman next on fate’s hit list?
“Morning.”
He started at the unexpected greeting and jerked his gaze back to her. She tugged the jacket up to her chin and stretched like a cat. “How are you feeling?”
Considering the way those jeans were stretching taut over her hips, he didn’t think the truth was appropriate, so he settled on a half-truth. “A little rough around the edges.”
He watched her rise. Every male hormone in his body jumped to attention when she strode to the hall, where he assumed there was a bathroom. He lay there a moment, ordering his libido to settle down. An instant later the sound of running water reached him and he realized the place had an operable shower.
Silently thanking the MIDNIGHT Agency, he struggled to his feet. The pain in his arm snarled as he made his way to the kitchen and looked in the cabinets for coffee. Sure enough, two packages of instant coffee gleamed up at him like gold.
By the time he’d made two cups, Jess had come out of the shower. Her hair was curly and wet, her cheeks pink. Madrid shoved one of the cups at her, trying not to notice the way that old sweatshirt clung to curves he had absolutely no business noticing.
“Where on earth did you find coffee?” she asked.
“Right next to the protein bars and the camp stove.” Looking into her eyes, he found it easy to
smile, even through the pain and the knowledge that he needed a shower.
“Chocolate?”
“Of course.” He handed her one of the bars.
Something warm and uncomfortable fluttered inside him when she smiled back. Damn, she had the prettiest smile he’d ever seen.
Realizing he was doing the one thing he shouldn’t, he crossed to the counter where he’d left the photos he’d confiscated the night before from the Lighthouse Point PD.
“I thought we’d go through this and see if we can figure out what the hell’s going on.” Easing himself into a chair, he spread six photos on the table. “I wish I’d been able to grab more.”
“Kind of hard when someone’s shooting at you.” Jess took the chair next to his and looked at the photos. “What are we looking for?”
“Something that might give us a clue as to where these women are being held.” He wished for the magnification/high resolution software available at MIDNIGHT headquarters, but knew he would have to rely on his naked eye this time around. “Logo on a shirt. License plate number. Street sign.” He sighed. “As far as we know, this may not even be taking place in the United States.”
“But you think these women are ultimately ending up here, right?”
He grimaced. “Yeah.”
They studied the scant evidence spread out before them. After a moment Jess leaned forward and put her finger against one of the photos. “What about this?”
The photo depicted two frightened-looking women
with their hands bound behind their backs. Madrid hadn’t been able to discern where they were standing, because the background was blurred. But in the far right-hand corner there was a tiny round porthole. Through the porthole several letters were visible.
“X-A-N-A,”
he recited.
“What do they mean?”
His heart beat faster. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this sooner.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like part of the name of a ship.” He glanced over at her.
“The ship where these women are being held?” she asked excitedly.
Tearing his gaze away from her, he focused on the photo. “What we’re seeing is the bow of another ship through the window.”
“How is that going to help us?”
“If I can figure out the full name of the ship, we might be able to find the port where it’s docked.”
“Seems like a big undertaking, considering our resources.”
“It’s a long shot, but we might get lucky.”
The one thing Madrid was sure of was that to do either of those things, he would need to contact the MIDNIGHT Agency. It was something he hadn’t wanted to do again, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had a sinking suspicion Angela had been onto something a lot bigger than anyone had anticipated.
“Let’s see if Santa left us a cell phone that can’t be traced.”
Jess’s brows went together. “Santa?”
Given that the place was a MIDNIGHT Agency safe house, there was a good chance an untraceable cell phone had been supplied. Madrid began going through the box of supplies Jess had found the night before. Sure enough, buried beneath the bottled water and batteries was a tiny cell phone.
Quickly he punched in the number from memory and waited. Jake Vanderpol answered on the second ring. “Don’t tell me,” he began without preamble. “You need a favor.”
Madrid couldn’t help it; he smiled. “I need a miracle, but a favor will do.”
“Cutter called a meeting yesterday, told us not to help you.”
“I was wondering why you didn’t call me back.”
“Not only has Cutter been a pain about this, but information has been tough to come by. I’m still working on a few things.”
But uncertainty fluttered uncomfortably inside Madrid. “I wouldn’t put you on the spot like this if it wasn’t important.”
A beat of silence, then Jake sighed. “Madrid, you are going to owe me big-time.”
“I need to know the name of the port where a cargo or container ship is docked.”
“U.S.?”
“Probably.”
“What’s the hull number?”
“All I have is a partial name.
X-A-N-A
.”
“Well, that ought to make it easy,” Jake said dryly.
“How soon can you get it for me?”
“Give me an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Madrid said. He gave him the cell phone number and snapped the phone closed.
J
ESS LISTENED
to the clang of the old water pipes and tried hard not to envision Mike Madrid naked beneath the spray. As far as she was concerned, she’d seen far too much of him the night before when she’d treated his gunshot wound. She told herself she had no desire to see more. But Jess had always been truthful with herself; she wanted to see more of him. A lot more. She just didn’t like the edgy need that engulfed her every time she laid eyes on him. She’d screwed up enough relationships in her lifetime to know anything more than the tentative friendship they’d forged would never work.
She busied herself studying the photos as he showered. She wanted to call Father Matthew to check on Nicolas, but wouldn’t do that without clearing it with Madrid first.
“Jess.”
At the sound of Madrid’s voice she spun around to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. His hair was damp and curling at the ends. Even though he’d had to put on the same shirt and jacket he looked…sexy.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“I was just thinking about Nicolas. I want to call him. Is it safe?”
“As long as we keep it short.” Unclipping the cell phone from his belt, he punched numbers, then put the phone to his ear. “It’s me. Everything okay?” His eyes met Jess’s. “Good. I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”
He passed the phone to her. He smelled of soap and man, and a string of tension wound through her at his closeness.
“Father Matthew?”
“Hello, Jessica. How are you?”
“I’m okay. How’s Nicolas?”
“He’s doing fine. One of the sisters has been spending quite a bit of time with him.” He chuckled. “The boy has a healthy appetite.”
She smiled. A boy’s appetite was such a normal, wonderful thing. She wished she could speak to Nicolas, but didn’t think he would talk on the phone.
“I can’t quite make out the words, but I think he’s trying to say something.”
In the background she could hear Nicolas. “Mah-mah.”
Remembering, Jess closed her eyes. “We think he’s asking for his mother. For Angela.”
The priest made a sound of sympathy. “Poor child.”
“Father Matthew, we think he saw what happened to her.”
“What a terrible thing for a child to see. I’ll do everything I can to give him comfort.”
“Thank you for keeping him for us.”
“My pleasure. Be safe.”
Jess felt better after talking to Father Matthew. At
least Nicolas was safe and in good hands. Now, if she and Madrid could find the people responsible for murdering his mother, all of them could get on with their lives. Maybe even find some closure.
Madrid sat at the table, going through the scant evidence they’d managed to smuggle out of the police headquarters the night before. He looked up when she handed him the phone.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Your brother is a lifesaver.”
“He’s saved my ass on a couple of occasions.”
The thought made her smile. The contrast between the two men was stark. Though their physical characteristics were similar, their personalities and lifestyles couldn’t have been more at odds. “You’re lucky to have him.”