скачать книгу бесплатно
“Why?”
She shrugged carelessly. “I like knowing the names of people I take bullets out of.” He eyed her sharply. “I’m funny that way.”
Did he have something to worry about, after all? “So you can report this?”
If she’d wanted to report this, she would have driven him to the hospital. “I thought we’d gotten past that.”
Kane paused a moment. She had a point, he thought. And in a few minutes he was going to walk out the door and, most likely, he’d never see her again. He supposed there was no harm in giving her his first name. “Kane.”
The moment he shared that small piece of information with her, Marja’s eyes lit up. It made her more sensual, he noted. Damn, he’d been so wound up in laying the groundwork for this case, he’d neglected a very basic need. He’d been too long without a woman. The oversight had to be the reason he was reacting to her. Otherwise, he didn’t understand where this pull, this attraction, was coming from.
“As in Cain and Abel?” she asked. “Or as in candy?”
“Neither.” He saw that the woman was waiting for something more. “If you’re asking me how to spell it, it’s K-A-N-E.”
“Well, K-A-N-E, do you have a last name?”
He was a suspicious person by nature, having learned early on to volunteer nothing because you never knew when something could come back to bite you on the butt. And she was asking too many questions.
“Yes.”
Obviously nothing came easy with this man. It really did make her wonder exactly what his story was. And who had wounded him, not physically but emotionally. Because, assuming he wasn’t hiding a criminal past, he was far too reticent not to have a reason for his attitude.
“Is it a state secret?” she prodded.
“No.” The doctor with the all-intrusive bedside manner waited for the rest. He blew out a short breath and gave her the rest of it. “It’s Dolan.” At least, for the time being, he added silently.
Irish. Maybe that was where the green eyes had come from. Marja nodded. “Well, Kane Dolan, it’s nice to meet you.”
That was a hell of a strange thing to say, considering the way they’d met. With a grille and iron between them. “Why?”
Didn’t he accept anything at face value? She decided it had to be tiring, being Kane Dolan. “Is everything a challenge to you?”
“Pretty much,” Kane heard himself saying.
He’d meant it as a flippant retort, uttered to make her back off. But in reality, his answer was pretty dead-on. Since the day he’d come home from second grade to find that his heroin-addicted father had shot and killed his cocaine-inebriated mother and then turned the gun on himself, leaving their tiny, dirty kitchen hopelessly splattered with blood, everything about his life had turned into a challenge. He took nothing on faith, expected nothing to be what it seemed. Because it usually wasn’t.
Kane came to a stop by the front door. He needed to get going before she had someone show up and start asking awkward questions.
“Thanks for patching me up,” he muttered, reaching for the doorknob.
She felt as if she was releasing a wounded bird, not yet fully healed. “When was the last time you ate?” Marja asked suddenly.
He’d just expected her to say goodbye, to be relieved that he was on his way. The question, coming out of nowhere, caught him off guard and he turned to her. Maybe he hadn’t heard right.
“What?”
“When was the last time you ate?” Marja repeated, enunciating each word slowly, as if she was talking to someone who was submerged in a tank of water and had trouble hearing.
“Today,” was the best he could do. “I don’t look at my watch when I eat.” He tacked the latter on dismissively. Maybe that was uncalled for, he thought. She seemed to be an irrepressible do-gooder. The woman was in for some major disappointments in her life. He tried to set her straight, at least about the person he was supposed to be. “Look, I’m not homeless and I’m sure as hell not your personal crusade—”
She had her doubts about the first part. He wasn’t dirty and his face wasn’t leathery and worn from the elements, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t down on his luck. There was plenty of that going around these days, she thought.
“You said the mugger had nothing to mug,” she reminded him.
So that was it. She thought he had no money, no place to stay. No regular meals. “That’s because I left my wallet at home. I find that if you don’t carry it, they can’t steal it,” he told her very simply.
“You’ve been mugged before,” she guessed.
“Yeah.” In reality, there was no “before.” This was the first time. And it would be the last, he silently promised himself. No one was going to get the drop on him, ever.
Again, Kane reached for the doorknob and this time he actually managed to take hold of it and pull the door open before the doctor said anything else.
“What kind of work are you out of?”
More questions. But it was a small world and you never knew how things ultimately played out or whose path you were going to cross in the near future. So he sighed and faced her and her endless barrage of questions. He knew he could just walk out, but the bottom line was that she had helped him when she was under no obligation to do so. Maybe he owed her a little courtesy—as long as she didn’t push it.
Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he gave her a long, penetrating look. “You planning on writing a bio on me, Doc?”
If he thought he could intimidate her—and with that look she was sure that was what he was thinking—he’d failed.
“I just thought I might know someone who could give you a job.” She was thinking of her father’s security company. Kady’s husband, Byron, a former bodyguard and ex-cop, worked there along with a number of other people. Not to mention that Kane’s demeanor reminded her of Tony, Sasha’s husband. Tony was a homicide detective. On the job, they didn’t come grimmer than him.
Both men—Tony and Kane, had the same tight-lipped temperament, the same slow, probing nature. Maybe Kane could find a career in some aspect of security work. If she could get him to answer questions without putting up a fight.
“What is it that you do?” she asked.
He moved his shoulders in a vague shrug, stifling a wince as his left side issued a protest. “This and that,” he told her.
“Well, that sounds flexible enough.” Even if the man didn’t, she added silently. He seemed forbidding. And she had a feeling it wasn’t just a facade. “I could call—”
He cut her off. The last thing he wanted was for her to find him a job. That was being taken care of even as he stood here with her.
“I said we were even,” he insisted. “You don’t owe me anything.”
It wasn’t tit for tat in her book. She believed in free form. “I don’t work that way,” she told him, noticing a puzzled expression on his face. “With checks and balances. You need a job, I might know of somewhere to place you, that’s all I’m saying.”
He had to continue being blunt. She wasn’t the type to retreat if he took her feelings into account.
“I take care of myself,” he informed her in no uncertain terms.
Her eyes lowered to the wound she had just finished stitching and dressing. Maybe he could have done it on his own, but most people don’t like to sew their own flesh back into place.
“I’m sure you can.”
The tone wasn’t exactly sarcastic, but close, he thought. Turning the knob, Kane pulled the door open. Only then did he nod at her.
“See you around, Doc.”
He meant it as a parting, throwaway line. Which was a shame, he caught himself thinking. Because in another lifetime, she would be the kind of woman he should have pursued—if he were into the whole hearth-and-family type thing. He could tell, just by looking at her, that she was. Women like that were best left alone. Because he wasn’t into that. And nothing good ever followed in his wake.
She was at the door, less than a hair’s breadth behind him. “You’re going to have to change that dressing tomorrow,” she called after him.
He didn’t turn around, but he did nod. “I can do it.”
“And don’t get it wet,” Marja added, raising her voice.
“Dry as a bone,” he promised, raising his hand over his head to indicate that he’d heard her as he kept on walking.
“And—” She stopped abruptly as her cell phone rang again.
He allowed himself a dry laugh under his breath. “That’s probably your sister, checking to see if I’ve done away with you yet,” he guessed.
The next second he’d turned a corner and was out of view.
Turning back into the apartment, she closed the door behind her and glanced at the phone’s screen. He was right, it was Tania. Had it been a full fifteen minutes yet? She didn’t think so.
She knew that Tania meant well, but there were times when she felt so smothered by her sisters and her parents that she could scream.
“I’m still breathing, Tania,” she announced as she opened her cell phone.
“Good,” she heard Tania say, “then you won’t freak Jesse out when he gets there.”
Her back against the door, Marja slid down to the floor, closed her eyes and sighed. “You woke up Jesse.”
“No,” Tania was quick to correct her, “he was still up. Working on some blueprints for a new building by Lincoln Center.” She didn’t bother to keep the pride out of her voice. Jesse was an up-and-coming architect and someday people were going to point out his buildings to one another.
“Call him and tell him not to come,” she ordered her sister. “Kane’s gone.”
“Kane?” Tania echoed. “Who’s Kane?”
“Mr. Bullet Wound Guy.”
Tania didn’t bother to stifle her sigh of relief. “Thank God. Now put the chain on.”
Marja rose to her feet again. Odd, but she could still feel Kane’s presence on the apartment, still all but feel his hand on her wrist when he’d first come to. “I will, now call Jesse off. Let the poor man get some rest.”
“Will do.”
The line went dead.
Marja’s insides didn’t.
Chapter 4
Sometimes Kane couldn’t help wondering if some master plan existed out in the universe, or if things just happened in a haphazard, random pattern.
By all rights, someone with his background should have been dead by now, or pretty damn well close to it. Both of his parents had succumbed to addiction while still in their early teens and the uncle, his father’s brother, Gideon, he’d been sent to live with after their untimely murder-suicide demise, had been long on alcoholism, short on patience. He’d barely survived the beatings.
Social services had stepped in after that, when one of his teachers had reported the frequent bruises he’d tried in vain to hide.
Being passed around from foster home to foster home had been no picnic, either. He’d literally closed up inside. After that, he’d taken to periodically running away. Being on his own was preferable to being under someone else’s thumb.
Kane had learned from a very early age how to take care of himself. It came about out of necessity because he’d known that there was no one else around to do it, or to even care if he lived or died. His parents hadn’t. His uncle certainly hadn’t and neither had any of the families he’d been shipped to like a piece of tattered, hand-me-down clothing. No one had.
He supposed the only reason he hadn’t turned to a life of crime was that the thought of being confined in a cage made his chest tighten and the air stop dead in his lungs. Unlike so many who took to that way of life, he knew the odds against him and he was pessimistic enough to believe that no matter how clever he might be, prison would be his ultimate destination.
Permanently tossed out of the system and on his own at eighteen, he’d done the only thing someone with no money and an ability to survive the most adverse conditions could do. He’d joined a branch of the military. Specifically, he’d taken to the air force. It was there that he’d wound up being tapped for Special Forces, which further developed his unique survival abilities.
Somewhere along the line, bit by bit, he’d earned a degree in criminology. So by the time he’d returned to civilian life, joining an organization that could make use of his special skills—one of which was being able to terminate a man’s existence using only his thumbs—seemed like a very logical choice.
And that was how he and the CIA came to a meeting of the minds.
Fully grounded, Kane had no illusions about what he did. It wasn’t glamorous, but he felt it was damn necessary. And it got his adrenaline pumping, giving him a reason to get up every morning. Not having anyone to worry about or to come home to at the end of the day freed him to do other things.
At times he had to admit, if only to himself, that he wondered what it would be like to have a wife and 2.5 kids. Especially the .5 part. But in truth, all that was utterly foreign to him. He had no reference base, no happy childhood or adolescence to draw on. His had been the kind of childhood that easily bred serial killers.
Or loners.
Which was what he was. A loner.
He supposed he’d always be one, which was all right because he never made any long-term plans. The kind of life he led, working for the Company, did not inspire people to set up IRA accounts for their old age. Few ever attained that status and those who did, usually died of boredom, leaving their funds untouched for the most part.
He liked what he did for a living as much as he could like anything. And making a difference, however minor, mattered to him, again, as much as anything in his life could matter to him.
While he had few rules, there were two he followed. Don’t get attached and don’t screw up. Simple. And demanding.
Kane supposed he’d been born jaded, which was as good a way as any if you had to be born at all. Being born jaded saved time, because eventually, everyone was stripped of their hopes and illusions. The end result was jadedness. He firmly believed this was inevitable. He’d just gotten a head start.
“Well, everything looks to be in order,” the shapely blonde reviewing his forms said. She carefully placed the three sheets on her spotless desk and flashed a broad smile at him.
He wondered what she’d say if she knew the only reason the position he was applying for had opened up was that certain people had persuaded James Dulles, an orderly in excellent standing with the hospital, to take an extended vacation in another part of the country. That was because he needed this position, needed an excuse to be on the hospital premises in a capacity where he could slip in and out without actually being noticed.
No one really noticed orderlies in a hospital unless there was a mess to mop up. Otherwise, they could move around like shadows, having the run of the place. Since they had the grunt work, no one questioned their presence no matter where they were found—other than perhaps the ladies’ restroom.
The Company intended to place two or three more of their operatives, men he’d worked with before, at Patience Memorial Hospital. Placing them as the “vacancies” that would suddenly come up in the next couple of days. But he was the center of this. It was his operation to pull off or screw up. So far, his track record was perfect and he intended to keep it that way.
The woman who headed Patience Memorial’s Human Resources Department smiled at him. He smiled back. It would be interesting to find out her reaction to the fact that he knew more about Carole Reed than she knew about him. He knew she was divorced, currently between boyfriends and didn’t like being unattached. The way she gazed at him told him she was considering him as a possible candidate, someone to dally with as a bridge between the significant others.
Carole looked down at the form. “Says here you worked in two different hospitals in L.A.” She raised her eyes to his face. “Tell me, why’d you decide to settle in New York?”
He knew she was a California girl herself. Knew why she’d picked New York. “I like the change of seasons,” he told her. “And having everything I could need within walking distance.”
Her eyes brightened and she nodded. She came very close to saying, “Me, too.” But instead said, “Good enough. Well, your references are impeccable and you sound like you’ll be a good addition to our little family.” Little was a whimsical term, seeing as how the teaching hospital was one of the larger ones in the city. Carole reached out across her desk, her hand extended. “Welcome to Patience Memorial.”
Rising slightly in his seat, Kane took the offered hand and held it a beat longer after he shook it. His smile was warm, charming. Inviting. As befitted the persona he’d assumed.
As always when he was on a job, he was performing. He found that he preferred it that way. When he was someone else, he could do whatever was needed of him without a second thought.
