In His Protective Custody

The loss of blood had made him even more dizzy than he’d anticipated. A lot more. Zane scowled as he tried to support himself for a moment, leaning against the side of the vehicle. He didn’t like displaying weakness of any kind. It was disconcerting enough to be weak, much less to show it. But apparently this wound left him no choice.

“Yeah, maybe,” Zane finally said grudgingly.

Ryan raised his eyes to Zane’s. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile this time around. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention this later,” Ryan promised.

Zane eyed him skeptically. Doubt was always his first emotion, but then he relented. “You’re okay, Lukkas,” he said quietly, staring straight ahead.

Ryan smiled, exceedingly pleased. “Coming from you, that’s like getting a five-star rating.” With Zane’s arm stretched across his stout shoulders and holding tightly on to the man’s wrist while supporting his waist with his other hand, Ryan turned toward the security guard. “Which way’s your ER?”

“You can get there right through here,” the man said. His hand was already on the telephone receiver. “I can call for a wheelchair for you if—”

“You do and it’s the last call you’ll ever make,” Zane growled. The security guard immediately stepped away from the wall unit.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Ryan muttered, shaking his head.

“Nobody told you to,” Zane reminded him with more than a little effort.

“Having a partner die on me would’ve looked bad on my record,” Ryan informed him, a note of finality in his voice.

The ER was dead ahead, its entrance guarded by three registration booths, providing the first line of defense. A fast track was available for New York’s finest, and the woman at the first desk immediately waved them into the interior of the facility. At the same time, she was on the intercom, alerting any available staff members that a wounded police officer was coming in and needed immediate attention.

In the middle of an outpatient procedure, Dr. Gloria Furst looked up in response to the announcement she’d just heard. She glanced around the area for the closest attending physician.

Her brown eyes narrowed as she found one.

“Pulaski,” she called out. “Looks like you’re up. See if you can help the man in blue without messing up this time.”

Alyx’s smile was one she’d practiced nightly in the mirror because glaring would only get her into more hot water. “I wasn’t aware of messing up last time, doctor.”

“I’m sure you weren’t,” the doctor commented crisply, her voice frosty. “But you’ll learn, Pulaski. You’ll learn—maybe.”

Alyx drew in a deep breath, told herself that she could and would survive this nightmare and went to find her patient.

Her patient, she was told, was in trauma bed number seven. She made her way over to that section, which turned out to be closer to the front than the back.

Drawing back the curtain, Alyx didn’t look at her newest patient until she was all but on top of him. And then she stopped dead.

Unwilling to lie down as the attending nurse had requested when she took his vitals, Zane was sitting up on the side of the bed. He came across as the very personification of impatience.

“You,” he said in surprise when he saw her.

“Me,” she confirmed. At least her breath was returning, she thought. Thank God for the small stuff. “Officer Calloway, I’d recognize that scowl anywhere,” she added, infusing a deliberate note of cheerfulness into her voice. And then she looked at the wound. “Let me guess. Someone decide that they weren’t thrilled with your attitude?”

“It was a convenience store robbery in progress. We stopped it,” Ryan told her proudly, puffing up his barrel chest just a little. And then he smiled brightly. “Ryan Lukkas.” Putting out his hand, he introduced himself. “I’m his partner.”

“My condolences,” Alyx replied, her face dead serious. After pulling on her umpteenth pair of rubber gloves, she gingerly removed the hastily applied, blood-soaked towel and then swiftly examined the wound. “Looks like you’re carrying around some metal. The good news is, we can get it out without messing up an OR.” She raised her eyes to his. “That is, if you’re game. If not, I’ll book an OR and we’ll put you under.”

He didn’t want to waste any more time. Nodding at his arm, he said, “Do your worst.”

She had a feeling that he only respected confidence. So she displayed it. “Have no fear, Officer. Even my ‘worst’ is damn good.”

Stepping back, she called to a nearby nurse and requested a surgical extraction tray with a full complement of instruments, plus a local anesthetic and a needle and thread. The nurse returned quickly, bringing the tray and syringe with her. Setting everything down before Alyx, the older woman went to fetch the needle and thread.

Zane watched as she picked up the syringe. Although able to take a bullet—this wasn’t his first—he’d never been very fond of needles. He blew out a breath, bracing himself. “You don’t have to hang around,” he told Ryan. “Go back to the precinct.”

“You kidding?” Ryan cried. He had every intention of remaining to the bitter end. “I’m not about to leave you.”

Zane didn’t particularly want his partner hovering about, watching him trying not to wince. “Isn’t he supposed to wait outside?” Zane asked Alyx.

“Not if he doesn’t want to,” she answered. She saw right through the man. “You afraid that you might show a little emotion, Officer Calloway?” she guessed.

He seemed to withdraw even further into himself right before her eyes. “Get on with it,” he ordered.

The man would never run the risk of being voted Mr. Congeniality by his peers.

“Yes, sir,” she retorted crisply as if she were a soldier and he the high-ranking commanding officer. “This won’t take too long,” she assured him. “We’ll be done before you know it.”

Alyx unwrapped the tray and left it positioned on a small, adjustable hospital table. Reaching for a small, rectangular packet, she tore it open and removed the antiseptic wipe from inside. Unfolding it, she liberally applied the wipe to his wound, making sure she got the entire area and beyond. The officer stiffened as if he’d been shot again. The antiseptic packed quite a sting.

Heaven forgive her, she felt a fleeting surge of satisfaction.

“Hurt?” she asked.

“No.”

Alyx was fairly certain that Officer Calloway would deny feeling any pain even if he had a bayonet sticking into him. Her father had been that kind of a man, refusing to acknowledge pain because real men didn’t complain.

Gritting his teeth, trying to think of other things, Zane allowed his eyes to slide over her scrubs. “So I guess you really are a doctor.”

She widened her tolerant smile. The man was not the smoothest talker. Finished, she tossed the wipe into a wastebasket. “Yup. Got my diploma from the back of a comic book and everything.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t.” She spread out the instruments on the tray, wanting to make sure she had everything she needed before she got started. “But you did rub me the wrong way the other night.”

“You rubbed her?” Ryan blurted out, his eyes wide. He’d been silently listening all this time, trying not to get on Zane’s nerves. The bullet in his partner’s arm had been meant for him. If Zane hadn’t pushed him aside, he’d be the one on the hospital bed now—or a slab in the morgue. “And you didn’t say anything? Damn it, Zane, you’ve really gotta learn how to share and tell me things. I’m your partner.”

Zane fixed him with a cold look. “That can be changed.”

Alyx glanced at Calloway’s partner, who came across a great deal more affable than the man she was about to work on. “So I take it that he’s this surly with everyone?” she asked the officer.

Ryan nodded and allowed a sigh to escape. “For the most part.”

“Again, my condolences,” she said. Reaching for the syringe, she held it up and pressed the plunger just enough to release the tiniest drop of solution to make sure that there wasn’t an air bubble going into his arm. “This’ll numb your arm so that you won’t feel anything while I’m working,” she explained.

“Too late,” he bit off, his arm still stung from the antiseptic she’d applied.

For some reason, he could almost feel her smile across his lips as it slid over hers. “Then I guess in this situation we can say better late than never,” she countered.

Alyx paused just before she gave him the injection, pretending that she was trying to recall the steps to the procedure.

“Now, how much of this do I give you?” she murmured under her breath.

“You don’t know?” Zane exclaimed, suddenly alert.

The next second, Alyx jabbed the needle just above his wound.

“It just came back to me,” she informed him cheerfully, then did it again, this time injecting him just below the wound.

Zane gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead. He could feel moisture gathering in his eyes. Damn it, now she would think he was crying.

In all honesty, Zane couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. Maybe never. He hadn’t even cried at his father’s funeral.

The day his heart officially broke.

Chapter 4

The ER doctor was right, Zane thought. His arm had gone numb. Completely and utterly numb. He was vaguely aware of having an appendage, but that was it. He was nervous.

“This is just temporary, right?” Zane asked the woman working over him. “The feeling in my arm, it’s going to come back, right?”

Alyx raised her eyes to his for a split second and was surprised to detect a glimmer of anxiety in the deep blue orbs. He didn’t strike her as the type to be anxious about anything.

“All too soon,” she assured him, resuming what she was doing. “You’re going to need a prescription for painkillers. I’ll write it up for you once I get this bullet out and get you all sewn up.”

“Dunno about his needing painkillers,” Ryan interjected. He stood leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed before his chest, an all but silent witness to the procedure. “Calloway bends steel in his bare hands.”

This was not the time to try to talk him up, Zane thought. “Shut up, Lukkas,” he muttered.

Her eyes, he noticed, were laughing as she raised them to his. He also noticed that they were a brilliant shade of blue. The kind of blue that stayed with you after you walked away.

“No bending steel for at least a week,” she instructed.

He knew she was kidding, but there was a note of restriction in her voice. Restrictions always made him chafe. “But I’ll still be cleared to go back to work, right?”

“That all depends.” She stopped for a moment to look at him. “Does ‘work’ mean sitting behind a desk?”

“Only if they duct taped him to a chair,” Ryan volunteered with a laugh. “And even then it would be touch and go.”

Zane really didn’t need Ryan’s “helpful” comments. Nor did he want a witness to his having the bullet dug out of the fleshy part of his shoulder.

“Why don’t you get back to the precinct, Lukkas?” Zane suggested again, this time more forcefully. “The captain’s probably looking for you.”

It was getting late and Ryan knew he’d feel better making his own report to the captain. McKenzie was an annoying glory hound and he liked nothing better than taking credit for something positive—even if it didn’t belong to him.

Still, there was a loose end to consider. “What are you going to use for transportation?” Ryan asked Zane.

Transportation was the last thing on his mind right now. “When the time comes, I’ll improvise,” Zane answered. “Maybe I’ll even give you a call,” he added, knowing that was what the other man was hoping to hear. For some reason, to Lukkas that would mean that they were bonding.

But rather than take off, Ryan hesitated. He slanted a look in the doctor’s direction to see if she gave her blessings to his departure.

Zane caught the small, almost imperceptible nod she gave his partner. And felt the more positive attitude that Lukkas assumed.

“Okay, then,” Ryan declared. “I’m off. But you call me the second the doctor’s done patching you up and they let you leave here, understand?” Ryan instructed.

Zane said nothing. Instead, his partner gave him a penetrating look. Ryan realized that he had overstepped his boundaries. He’d dictated rather than merely put the suggestion out there. Zane didn’t appreciate being dictated to.

Changing his tone, Ryan asked brightly, “Okay?”

It cost him nothing to be agreeable, even if he didn’t mean it. “Okay,” Zane replied.

Ryan blew out a breath, suddenly looking as if he was at loose ends. “Okay then,” he murmured, flashed an unsteady grin at the sexy surgeon and ambled out of the small area.

The man had muscles like a rock, Alyx thought, slowly probing around the wound for the bullet that had caused it.

“You like intimidating him?” she asked mildly.

“I’m not intimidating him,” Zane contradicted. “Just not letting him act as if he’s in charge.”

Again he saw that smile, the one he found unnervingly seductive. There was also amusement. “Because you are.”

Was she mocking him? Or just trying to bait him? He couldn’t tell.

“I have seniority,” Zane said, neither agreeing or disagreeing with her assumption.

Amusement curved her mouth and he decided that she had a nice smile. A really nice smile. Something vaguely familiar stirred within him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. These days, his work took up all his available time. When he wasn’t working, he was usually asleep. It kept him from thinking, or remembering.

Or noticing the emptiness in his belly that had nothing to do with food.

“Which makes you in charge,” Alyx concluded.

This would go faster if the man had slacked off and skipped a few workouts. She held her breath as she continued probing, waiting until she heard the sound of metal on metal: her scalpel hitting the bullet. And then there it was, the point of her scalpel touching the lethal part of the bullet. They were in business.

“Okay, we’re almost past the worst part,” she told him. He was being very quiet. She didn’t even hear him breathing. Sparing him a glance as she worked the bullet out of his flesh, she asked, “How are you doing?”

He watched her work in utter fascination. “Don’t feel a thing.”

She detected a note of frustration in his voice. He had no idea how lucky he was not to “feel a thing.” “Good.”

But it wasn’t, he thought. Not feeling anything made you hollow and that was how he felt, had felt for a lot of years. As if he was hollow. Unable to reach out, unable to forge any sort of a relationship with a woman. He had nothing to draw on as an example. All he remembered was shouting. Words of recrimination would bounce back and forth between his parents with frightening regularity. No words of endearment counterbalanced that, no warmth at all, other than the type that came from a heater in the garage.

“If you say so,” Zane commented on the doctor’s pronouncement.

Finally coaxing her quarry out into the open, Alyx deposited the bullet into the corner of the tray with no small feeling of triumph.

She glanced at her patient. His expression was completely neutral. He neither looked happy to be done with it or grimacing in anticipation of the pain.

“You are a very complex human being, Officer Calloway,” she commented.

He said nothing.

Alyx began to clean the wound again, making it as sterile as possible before she started sewing up the hole. The ensuing silence made her uncomfortable.

“So, are you a Yankees fan, or do you like to root for the underdog and cheer for the Mets?” she asked him as she prepared the sutures and needle.

Zane lifted his other shoulder and let it drop dismissively. He’d never watched more than a part of a game and those instances only occurred when he was at someone else’s place and they were watching the event. He had no use for watching grown men swinging a stick at a ball.

“Neither.”

There was finality in his voice. She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You don’t follow baseball?” she concluded.

Zane moved his head from side to side only once. “No.”

She tried to remember if she’d ever met anyone who didn’t root for their home team. “How about football?”

The answer was the same. “No.”

“Basketball?” she guessed. “Soccer?”

“No and no.”

She wasn’t about to give up. There had to be some sport he enjoyed watching if not playing. He didn’t make her think of someone who liked being on the sidelines. “Bowling? The poker channel?”

Each question drew out the same answer. His “no” grew a little firmer each time.

He completely fascinated her. “A man not into sports. I didn’t know there was such a creature.” Her smile raced straight into his insides, pureeing them before he could think to sideline it. “Maybe you’re not so complex after all.”

His reasons sounded completely plausible to him. “I don’t have time to follow sports.”

What did he do that fired his imagination so much it kept him away from vegging out before his set at least once a week? she wondered. “What do you have time for?”

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