Bravo Tango

Bravo Tango by

Julie Miller Chapter One Static crackled over the radio clipped to Justin Grant's Kevlar vest. "Heads up, Grant. Stand down from Bravo Tango alert. Klein's bomb is a dud. Second-floor lab clear." Justin allowed himself a moment to breathe normally as he listened to his TAC team leader, Michael Cutler, relay orders to the three KCPD tactical assistance specialists who'd been sent inside the evacuated building to do a recon sweep after a Bravo Tango — cop-speak for bomb threat — had been called in that morning. "First floor clear." That was Murphy reporting in. Justin removed the protective goggles he wore and wiped the sweat from his brow. This basement was too damn hot for an autumn day when the temperature outside hovered at a balmy fifty degrees. Either this small, independent lab — a new addition to the reclamation of Kansas City's historical downtown district — was literally cooking up some new kind of miracle drug, or they had a problem with their heating system. "Grant, do you copy?" "Roger that, Captain. " Justin pulled off his helmet and scraped his gloved fingers across the top of his short hair, uncaring that the golden strands stood up in spiky disarray. He wanted to take one last look. He wasn't feeling the calm yet, that preternatural instinct inside him that was a more reliable "all clear" order than any departmental procedure. "Something's hinky here." He set down the helmet and used his flashlight to make another visual scan of the basement. He spotted the thermostat on the far wall and made his way toward it. "Did anybody crank the heat when they came in?" "That's a negative," Cutler replied. "You know we've got the gas turned off." "Hmm." The thermostat had been moved to its highest setting, then had the adjusting tab broken off. Justin pried off the cover. The wiring looked normal. But the calm hadn't kicked in yet. He broke out a section of the drywall and followed the wires around to the furnace. "Doesn't it seem like the bomb squad's been busier than usual lately?"

He kneeled down to inspect the gap between the building's iron boiler and the warped concrete floor beneath. "Somebody with a grudge has got too much time on his hands. First, it's a threat on the University research lab. Now it's Markon Pharmaceuticals. They broadcast the threat, KCPD clears the building, time and money are lost —" Justin's commander jumped into the discussion. "Two medical tie-ins give us a pattern. A patient got misdiagnosed. The lab didn't get a drug approved in time. That's payback, pure and simple. But how do you explain the other threats we've had across the city? The convenience stores? The bus terminal?" "Copycats? Thrill-seekers? These threats are a hot story in the press right now. Maybe our guy's just been practicing his craft." Or maybe the recent spate of bomb scares, and influx of illegal explosives and bomb parts into the area, was the equivalent of one sicko's very dangerous, very adult way of playing with matches. Or not. Justin's sharp eyes caught sight of the red plastic-coated wire buried in the bundle leading to the furnace's control panel. "What have we here?" Justin swung the light up to the row of pressure gauges. Son of a bitch. "I've got an independent heat source feeding the temperature in the basement." He was on his feet, ripping off the panel and exposing a portable propane tank. This bastard was nothing if not clever. He eyed the gauges. Approaching critical. Hell. The arrow swung into the red zone. "I've got a temperature trigger." He saw the relay switch too late. A chain reaction had already been set into motion. Klein's voice crackled through the static. "Damn it, this thing's ticking again! I'm going to attempt —" "Negative, Klein! Abort! Abort!" Justin shoved open the door and hit the service stairs, climbing them three at a time. "Damn it, Cutler, stop him!" "Return to base. Repeat. Return to base." "Clear the building!" Justin shouted. Murphy dashed out ahead of him. "Klein!" But it was too late. Justin knew it in his bones an instant before he heard the detonation, a nanosecond before the concussive blast of air hit him in the back and lifted him off his feet. He knew Klein was dead before he hit the asphalt and was swallowed up by oblivion.

Chapter Two Four months later… "I told you we could take 'em." Justin Grant slammed on his brakes and spun into the circular drive outside Kansas City's Truman Medical Center. "Yeah, so why are we the ones at the ER?"

He killed the engine and the lights, checking the street to make sure he'd lost the two thugs from the parking lot behind Nathan's Bar. They'd struck him as the type to want to finish what they'd started. And despite his tough talk, Mickey Larkin didn't have much left in him to finish anything off. Justin ran around the hood of his Chevy SS, counting off the minutes since he'd dumped his new best pal into the front seat. He'd been buttering up Mickey for a month now, desperate to infiltrate the gang of twenty-something mobster wannabes that KCPD suspected was behind the two explosions and countless bomb threats that had plagued Kansas City for the past six months. Lending a fist in a parking lot brawl and then providing the getaway car was one hell of a way to gain a suspect's trust, and get in good with the gang. But if Mickey didn't make it… Mickey fell into Justin's arms when he swung open the passenger-side door. "Man, I don't feel so good." "We need some help!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Easy, buddy." Bending his long legs, Justin got his shoulder under Mickey's arm and lifted him out onto the sidewalk. The shorter, stockier man grabbed his stomach and leaned heavily on him. "Can you walk?" "I think I need another drink." Way to prioritize, buddy. But then Justin didn't suppose any amateur bomber who'd earned the infamous nickname "Two Toes" after he'd mis-set the timer on one of his creations was known for his smarts. "Let's get you inside." To the casual eye, most people would dismiss Mickey's stumbling steps and slurred speech as the result of the number of beers he'd consumed. But Justin knew blood loss could have the same effect — and a knife wound to the gut could cost a man a lot of blood. Justin hurried his steps through the fading winter slush that still lined the streets at the end of February, half dragging, half carrying his best chance at getting a lead on this investigation. "I need some help here," he shouted as soon as his thick boot hit the rubber door sensor and the doors slid open. Ignoring the sharp catch of pain in his forearm, Justin boosted Mickey into his arms and carried him to the first empty gurney he could find. "Anybody?" "What do you think you're doing?" Justin turned at the clipped female voice of authority. The big brown doe eyes and creamy olive skin didn't match the battle-ax image the voice had conjured in his mind. But he wouldn't let the intriguing contrast sway him from his purpose. "Making sure my buddy gets some help. He's cut up pretty bad." She signaled an orderly at the front desk. "Let's move him into Exam 2." She raised the side bars, pulled on a pair of gloves and rolled the bed into a private room. Justin fell into step behind her. "Get me the surgeon on call," she snapped with every bit of the authority KCPD's Captain Cutler used with his men. She palmed the center of Justin's chest and pushed him back to the door while a team went to work on Mickey. "Not you." "I stay with him."

"Not on my watch." Justin backed off from the steely set of shoulders that barely reached his chest and tried to catch a glimpse of the name tag attached to her white lab coat. "You a doctor?" "Dr. Rodriguez, assistant shift supervisor. There are procedures we follow here. Rules about prioritizing and stabilization." She picked up the clipboard at the end of the gurney, frowned at the blank sheet of paper, then hung it back in place. "Where's the ambulance he came in?" "I'm the ambulance that brought him. Are you gonna stitch him up or are you gonna talk rules and procedures and get in my face until he bleeds out?" "Your friend needs more than a few stitches, Mr…?" "Justin Grant." She nodded toward the neat slice in the sleeve of his leather jacket and the blood oozing through the narrow gap. "Apparently, so do you."

Chapter Three Emilia Rodriguez intubated and stabilized Mickey Larkin as best she could before sending him up to the OR for surgery. But she doubted he'd make it. Now she was left to deal with his partner in crime, Justin Grant. Partner in crime wasn't a figurative description, either. She recognized the difference between a knife wound sustained in a fight, and someone who'd sliced his finger peeling potatoes. During her rotation in trauma medicine and volunteer work at the City Clinic, she'd treated enough victims and instigators of violence to spot them as soon as they rolled in on a stretcher. She'd grown up poor in a Kansas City neighborhood where violence had shaped a number of lives, including her own. Her brother, A.J., had once run with a gang. Tragedy had touched them when they were both little more than kids — their father had been murdered in an explosive car wreck. Maybe because of where they lived and who they were, his death had been dismissed as an accident. But Antonio Rodriguez Sr. had been a wonderful, loving man. His death had brought the family closer together, and inspired his children to make a positive difference in their world. His son and four daughters had grown up to become a cop, a doctor, a teacher and a social worker. The youngest sister, Teresa, was currently studying at the Kansas City Art Institute. Justin Grant and his friend were grown men — the kind who barreled through life, taking what they wanted, heedless of the fallout on the people around them. Emilia was more than a little suspicious. The fact they'd avoided contacting authorities by not calling for an ambulance was only one red flag. Plus, Justin, with a golden scruff of beard shadow to toughen up his handsome features, moved with a controlled grace that indicated he expected trouble to find him — and, judging by his efforts to save his friend, he was more than prepared to tackle it head-on.

His watchful look was another clue. Those sharp green eyes revealed something serious — unsettling, even — going on behind that band-of-brothers facade. Emilia had felt them focused on her more than once, and she bristled at the feeling that he saw far more than she wanted him to. He ambled into the semiprivate treatment room behind her. "Where do you want me, Doc?" "I prefer Dr. Rodriguez, thank you." She pulled out a rolling metal tray and suture kit. "The bed will be fine." Emilia rolled the tray up to the side of the bed. Even sitting down, he seemed to tower over her. At only 5'2" herself, anyone who topped six feet was tall, and she guessed he stood two or three inches above that. "Can you take your jacket off, or do you want me to cut the sleeve?" "First you ask me to bed, and now you want to undress me?" His low-pitched teasing danced across her eardrums. "You give a man ideas, Doc." She raised an eyebrow. His words were both a compliment and a boast about his own self-alleged prowess with women. The flirting was also a tad surprising, given how gung-ho annoying he'd been the past hour, dogging her and her team for updates on his dying friend. What kind of game was this guy playing? "It's Doctor," she corrected. "And you do realize I'm holding a needle in my hand?" He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders. "I'm strippin', boss lady, I'm strippin'. You know, your bedside manner could use a little fine-tuning." "So could yours." "Ouch." The mock hurt in his tone was countered by the sexy grin that sliced across his lean, angular features. But as he tugged the black leather sleeve off his left arm, his teasing expression flattened into a grimace of pain. "Damn. I didn't think I was cut that bad." "Let me see." Instantly, attuned to the pain he couldn't mask, Emilia scooted the tray aside and inspected the five-inch gash along the underside of his forearm. "You know I have to report a wound like this to the police, don't you?"

Chapter Four Police? Hell. Justin had been wasting time picking out the subtle, flowery scent of Emilia Rodriguez's hair just below his nose as she bent over his injured arm. That sweet scent was a surprising layer of softness to discover beneath the antiseptic smells that clung to her uniform, and the sharp tongue she wielded as efficiently as her sutures and syringe. But while he'd been flirting, trying to distract her from asking questions about who he was, how he got there and why he really needed Mickey Larkin to survive, she'd gotten the drop on him.

His undercover assignment was about to be blown sky-high by a woman who couldn't be charmed into breaking the rules. The way Justin saw it, he had two options. He could tell her he was a cop, and then trust this woman he didn't know to keep it a secret and off the record — or he could just cut his losses and get the hell out of there. His way into the gang they'd dubbed TNT would be shot. If Dr. By-the-Book here didn't play along, then Cutler would have to recruit someone else from the TAC team with a working knowledge of bombs to replace Justin. Klein would still be dead. A month's worth of work would be lost. And KCPD still wouldn't have the evidence it needed to bring TNT down. Justin voted for cutting his losses. He sat up and reached for his jacket at the foot of the bed. "Just bandage it up and give me that tetanus shot. You've got worse cases than me waiting for your attention." She flattened her hand at the center of his chest and pushed him back into the pillows. "We're mandated to report any suspicious injuries. The police will send someone to take your statement." Justin pushed right back, hating to resort to his superior physical strength to get his way. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, forcing her back a step to maintain a professional distance between them. "Yeah, about that —" "There's no discussion on the subject." Raised voices outside in the waiting area diverted her attention from the lecture. Her shoulders stiffened as though donning a suit of armor. "More friends of yours?" she accused. "Why don't you go find out?" But Dr. Rodriguez was nothing if not dedicated. She shook off her concern and reached for a gauze pad. "I won't leave my patient. Besides, I can't trust that you won't bolt on me." "Don't you ever bend the rules, Doc?" "Doctor, remember?" She unwound a roll of tape. "Do you ever follow them?" She was leaving him no choice. Justin grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her between his legs, right up against the bed. "What —?" Tunneling his fingers beneath her ponytail, he dipped his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I'm a cop, but I need to keep that hush-hush." He pulled a card from his pocket and forced it into the fist she'd wedged against his chest. "Before you fill out any paperwork, call this number. You can check me out." "I can call KCPD right now and have you arrested." But Justin had bigger trouble than the righteous doctor. He recognized the loud voices now — two of Mickey's gang buddies from Nathan's Bar — moving closer to the exam room.

"Doc." He couldn't have his cover blown. He smothered her mouth with his hand, but she twisted her chin away. Man, for a small thing, she was strong and squiggly. He slid his arm around her back to pin her to his chest. "Who's your friend in the OR? He's no cop." "You think you could stop saying that out loud?" "We have protocols in place for this sort of thing." The voice was right at the door. "Is he in here?" Justin froze. No way. They'd tracked him down. He saw a black glove at the privacy curtain. Hell. "I have friends at the Fourth Pre —" Justin tipped Emilia's chin and covered her mouth with his own. The kiss startled her into silence as the curtains opened.

Chapter Five Emilia stirred the turquoise paint, squinting into the afternoon sun glaring off the walls of her brother's living room. Plain white walls and a cot didn't make his new apartment a home — but remodeling it for him couldn't take her mind off last night. She didn't know which had frightened her more — the two big bouncer-looking men who'd invited themselves into her work station? Or the fact that when Justin had forced himself on her, she'd actually kissed him back? Since when did she have a thing for bad boys? No guy was that good a kisser. He'd probably just caught her unprepared. Maybe she'd responded out of some needy instinct buried inside instead of filtering his kiss through the common sense precautions she normally used when getting to know a man. But during those few brief moments, she hadn't been able to spell common sense, much less use any of it. Justin had lifted her off her toes. She'd dug her fingers into the soft knit of his sweater, grasping for purchase on the solid muscles underneath. She needed leverage, she reasoned, so she could push away and scream for security or hold him off with a scalpel. Liar. He'd plowed right through the emotional armor she wore for work and tapped into the woman she'd neglected inside. The scratch of his beard had sensitized her lips, but the bold sweep of his tongue had soothed them right after. And when he'd dared to slip inside her mouth, instead of protesting, she'd made an embarrassing moaning sound — as if she liked it. As if she welcomed his boldness. But then the presence of an audience had registered. Heat had blossomed in her cheeks. Justin had lowered her to the floor and lifted his head, his green eyes narrowed in a frown. He'd looked as confused

and out of breath as she'd felt. He'd silently dared the two men to stop them as he walked her all the way into the hall. "Please play along." His arm was still around her as he dropped his gaze to her breast. "Emilia, is it? I promise I'll come back tomorrow and you can slap my face then. Just let me go tonight. No questions asked." Curiously fascinated by those firm, demanding lips, Emilia had to force her eyes to look up into his. All the way up. What had she done? She'd shoved him away. "I have work to do." He and his friends were gone by the time she'd composed herself and had gone back to give Justin Grant a piece of her mind, and tell him she didn't work again until Friday. She hadn't wanted to wait that long to slap his face — or to ask why he'd let the kiss go that far when clearly he'd only done it to impress his buddies, or to keep her quiet. "You know, this job will go faster if you actually put that paintbrush against the wall." Emilia blinked and focused in on her twenty-one-year-old sister, Teresa. "Smarty-pants." Emilia ignored Teresa's amused grin and started covering the plain walls with the rich turquoise color. "Should I say 'penny for your thoughts'? Or just be blunt and ask you what his name is?" Emilia tried to be affronted. "How do you know I'm thinking about a guy?" "Please. You are the most levelheaded woman I know. You've done nothing but go to school and work for as long as I can remember. The only time I've seen you dreamy-eyed is when you've got a man on the brain." "I do not get dreamy-eyed." "Good point. It's about time you did." "Can we change the subject?" "So there is a guy. Tall? Rich? Nice butt? Tight abs?" "There's more to like about a man than his looks." "He's ugly, with a great personality?" "No." "Cute, eh?" Justin Grant was too rough around the edges to be classified as cute. But she wasn't about to share that detail with her sister. "Why do I get into these conversations with you?" Nine years Teresa's senior, Emilia hated that her sister knew more about relationships than she did. She'd just never had time for anything serious. "I only met him last night." Under incredibly weird circumstances. "I want to talk to A.J. first."

The door clicked shut behind them and a familiar voice spoke. "Talk to me about what?"

Chapter Six A.J. studied the business card Emilia had pulled from the back pocket of her jeans. "I don't recognize the name, but I'll find out what I can." You can check me out. She intended to check out Justin Grant, all right. But she wouldn't trust any number he gave her. She was counting on A.J. He was a real detective at KCPD. If there was any truth to Justin's claim about being a cop, A.J. would find out. A.J. brushed aside a tendril of hair that had sprung loose from her ponytail. "Did he hurt you?" Teresa interrupted from across the living room. "I think she wants you to get the skinny on him — age, weight…marital status?" "Teresa!" Did the apartment suddenly seem unusually warm for February? Their nosy little sister waved aside the rebuke and returned her attention to the turquoise wall. "I know. Concentrate on my painting." "Is that right?" A.J. rarely betrayed any emotion, but Emilia recognized the slight tightening in his posture. He was sliding into big brother mode. "You like this guy?" Emilia decided not to mention the kiss. "He flirted with me a little, that's all. Our baby sister already has us getting married." Teresa huffed a noisy sigh. "I can't help it if I want to see my role model get a little action. I'm starting to think I'll have to choose between a relationship and a career if I follow in your footsteps." A.J. shifted his attention. "I don't need to hear about any of my sisters getting some action." "So I shouldn't tell you about the grad student I'm dating?" "Teresa!" Baby sister grinned at the dual reprimand. "I'm painting. I'm painting." Emilia gave A.J.'s shoulder a reassuring squeeze to temper the concern in his golden eyes. "I just want to make sure I don't jeopardize a KCPD investigation. I put ten stitches into what was clearly a defensive wound sustained in a knife fight. I need a good reason not to report him like I did his buddy, Mickey Larkin." "Madre dios. Mickey Two-Toes?" "You know him?" That so didn't sound like a promising recommendation for Justin Grant. "He died a few hours after Justin brought him in. He never made it out of surgery." "Dead? Captain Taylor's tossed out his name a couple of times at our morning briefings. Mostly petty stuff. But the D.A.'s office likes him for some of the bomb threats we've had recently. KCPD believes

there's a group of young punks in town, trying to make a name for themselves as the new mob, taking gang warfare up to a more sophisticated level." Oh Lord. Young punks? New mob? That description fit the two thugs who'd interrupted that disturbing kiss perfectly. A spooky calm settled over the room as A.J. retreated firmly into veteran cop mode. "If this Grant guy is mixed up with that, I do not want him hanging around you." Emilia couldn't help but recall the image of her father's burnt-out car after the explosion that had killed him, and the charred skeleton that had to be identified by forensics. "Believe me, if he's involved with the bomb threats — or this new mob you're talking about — I'll tell KCPD and the courts everything I know about him."

Chapter Seven "What's in there?" Justin nodded toward the padlocked door off the kitchen at Nathan's Bar. A cache of explosives? A meaty hand steered him to a room farther down the hall. "Nothing you need to worry about." Justin took the seat Big Dumb Guy pushed him down into and peered through the room's smoky haze to the blue-haired punk sitting across from him. "Who are you?" "I'm Billy Blue." Did everyone around here have a cheesy street name? Justin toyed with the beer he hadn't been allowed to drink. He was late for his standing appointment at Truman Medical Center. Emilia Rodriguez still owed him a good smack. He'd gone there the past two nights, hoping to catch her and apologize for his cavemanlike silencing technique. But she'd been a no-show both times. He didn't have time for a guilty conscience at the moment, however. "What do you want from me?" "I hear you know your way around explosives." "I have some experience." "Now that Mickey's gone — because he's gone — I have a proposition for you." Mr. Blue pulled a stack of bills from his jacket and set it on the table. There had to be a good ten grand there. "I want you to build me a bomb." "I've got the know-how." This could be his direct connection into the pipeline of illegal explosives. Maybe he hadn't needed Mickey to give him the answers, after all. "I don't know if I can put my hands on the parts, though."

"Give me a shopping list. We'll get you everything you need." "Everything? Computer-laced circuitry and military-grade plastique?" Billy seemed pleased by the opportunity to show off his connections. He slid the money in front of Justin. "Everything. If we like your work, we might have other jobs for you. Deal?" Justin swallowed the bitter taste of success as he shook Billy's proffered hand. "Deal." ***

Justin snapped at the voice on his cell phone. "Yeah, Cutler, I'm still here." But where the hell was Emilia? Justin sat in the darkness behind the wheel of his black-and-white Chevy for the third night in a row, waiting for Doctor Rodriguez to take her dinner break. "They blame the Westside Warriors for Mickey's murder. They want me to create a little payback gift — something loud and messy that will take out their leader's car, with him in it." As Justin's KCPD contact, Cutler was taking notes. "We can rig the car easily enough. Do it in an abandoned lot so no one gets hurt. Maybe we can strike a deal with the Warriors. Get their head man to lie low for a couple of weeks so that TNT buys the hit." Justin's eyes never left the hospital's employee entrance. Two guys came out for a smoke. Still no Emilia. "He'll never go for that. TNT has stolen part of their drug turf. It's a matter of pride and profit to fight back. If we're not careful, this young stud mob is going to turn K.C. into a war zone." "I'll find something on my end to get the Warriors to cooperate. You just worry about the bomb. Any chance Billy Blue will let you in on where he's getting the stuff?" "Not yet." "We need a look at a warehouse, a contact name, something concrete we can take to court." "I know." Justin had thought of little else for the past month. Until he'd kissed Dr. By-the-Book. Now his hormones were nagging him as much as his conscience. His desire to solve the case was being challenged by a desire to kiss Emilia again — to find out if the passion inside that pint-sized dynamo had been forced by the desperate circumstances, or if she was the real thing. Not that she'd give him a second chance. "I'll keep my eyes open. We'll find the supplier. I'm gonna do right by Klein." "Just be careful." Do right by Klein. Justin considered the intricacy of the triggering device on the bomb that had leveled Markon Pharmaceuticals. Mickey had struck him as a meat-and-potatoes style of bomber — nothing fancy. Maybe Justin was looking for more than a black marketeer who could supply all the destructive

power Billy Blue and his boys wanted. There was another bomber out there.

Chapter Eight Hello. Petite brunette at nine o'clock. Justin's pulse kicked into a higher gear. "'Bout time, Doc." His perseverance had paid off. Zipping up his new leather jacket against the damp February chill, he hopped out of the car, taking care to ensure the gun he wore beneath his left arm was hidden from view. He was about four days late with this apology, but he was gonna get the job done. And this was only about apologizing, he reminded himself. But Justin couldn't seem to shed the eagerness that quickened his pace as he headed across the street to meet her. A scan of the employee parking lot accounted for the same two guys from the night before huddled outside for a smoke, plus the man and woman in medical garb who'd walked out with Emilia. Beyond that, the lot was deserted. He was the biggest, baddest thing out here. Emilia hugged her friends, and then the three of them parted ways. The other two, apparently a couple, linked hands and turned in one direction. Emilia, looking almost child-sized as she hunkered down into the turned-up collar of her coat, took off by herself across the middle of the parking lot. "Damn fool," Justin muttered beneath his breath, lengthening his stride. Hadn't she heard of preventative self-defense? Practicing safety habits like never walking alone in the middle of the night? Why hadn't her friends escorted her to her car? Why hadn't she asked a security guard for assistance? Dr. By-the-Book wasn't as smart as he'd given her credit for. At least she had her keys in her hand. And maybe a can of mace, judging by the way she was holding them. She even slowed to look beneath the cars as she approached her own. Someone had taught her the basics, at any rate. "Doctor —?" Justin snapped his jaw shut. The need to apologize — the urge to scold — both fell silent inside him. The light inside the car next to Emilia's flashed on. The doors opened and two men climbed out. Her steps stuttered. Stopped. Retreated. A barely-acknowledged sexual attraction had hummed through his veins just a moment ago, but something decidedly more urgent screamed at him to take action. "Doc!" Justin ran. ***

Emilia heard the deep voice shouting at her almost as an afterthought. Two men — mid-twenties, built like offensive linemen, the same ones who'd shown up in her ER the night Justin Grant had kissed her — climbed out of their car and walked toward her with an air of intimidation to their bulk and stride. "We've been waiting for you." An ominous chill shimmied down her spine. "Get away from me." Raising her hand, Emilia squeezed the tiny canister of mace in her fist. "I know how to use this." The two men looked at each other. Their amused smiles were even more frightening than their bullying glares. "That won't be necessary, ma'am. We're just here to deliver a message." Run, Emilia! The instinct was there, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. Why the hell had she gotten so careless? Did she think that just because A.J. had confirmed Justin Grant was a cop working a case for KCPD that the danger he'd brought into her life had suddenly been removed? She recognized the bulky holsters beneath their coats from the years she'd watched her brother and his colleagues work. They were both armed. Like either one of them needed a gun to overpower her! But she kept her cool. On the outside, at any rate. "What message?" "Doc!" Not wanting to risk turning away from the two hulks, Emilia let her gaze slide toward the tall, lanky form zipping through the shadows. Another one? Her lead feet wiggled to life inside her thick-soled shoes. Run! Burnished gold hair gleamed in a pool of lamplight, giving her a moment's recognition before Justin Grant towered beside her. "What do you boys want?" He was every bit as terse and unyielding as he'd been three nights ago. "We wanted to make sure that Dr. Rodriguez got to her car safely." "Try again," Justin warned, sliding his arm around Emilia's waist and tucking her to his side. "She's with me."

Chapter Nine Justin was solid and warm, and Emilia fit against him in such a way that her head nestled against his shoulder. She couldn't feel quite so short and defenseless after discovering her body matched up perfectly in the space at his side. After catching her breath at his proprietary claim, she found herself making the unexpected choice of reaching behind him and curling her gloved fingers around his belt to anchor herself to his strength.

He hadn't done much to endear himself to her, but Justin was a cop — on some sort of dangerous, hush-hush undercover investigation, according to A.J, who'd warned her that that kind of assignment was reason enough to steer clear of him. But when faced with the two thugs who'd accosted her, she had no problem ignoring big brother's advice and snuggling closer to Justin. If nothing else, Emilia respected the badge, and she trusted that Justin would stick to the protect part of KCPD's To Protect and Serve motto. The smaller of the two men adjusted the front of his camel-hair coat. "If you're workin' for Billy now, then you're entitled to all the rights and privileges of his protection. Your girlfriend is, too." Girlfriend? "You're working with them? Who's Billy? Why do I need protection?" But in this battle of testosterone, her questions went unnoticed. "The same way you were there to protect Mickey in the parking lot at Nathan's?" The man in the expensive coat bristled at Justin's taunt. "Billy's well-being is always our first priority. Mickey should have known better than to get drunk and leave himself open like that. The Westside Warriors have been gunnin' for us for a long time." Emilia recognized the Warriors name from the newspaper. Mickey Larkin had been killed by a gang of teenagers? She'd thought drive-by shootings were their execution of choice. Unless they hadn't intended to kill Mickey — or the Warriors hadn't been responsible for the attack. Justin's fingers clenched at the nip of her waist. "Dr. Rodriguez is my responsibility. If she needs any protecting, I'll do it." The bigger man grinned, but Emilia didn't share his amusement. "She's such a pretty little thing. I don't mind helpin' out.'" "Stay away from her. She has nothing to do with our business." As they returned to their car, Emilia pushed a little space between her and Justin, though he latched on to her coat and prevented her from moving too far away. Then she remembered something, and called out, "Wait! You never said. What was your message?" The little Big Man answered. "Mr. Blue is grateful for everything you did to help Mickey and Mr. Grant here. If something should come up in the next day or two — a medical emergency, for example — we'd like to know that we can count on you." "I'll treat anyone who comes through those ER doors." "You don't understand, ma'am." He started to take a step back toward her. But when Justin stiffened beside her, he gave a deferring nod and opted to keep his distance. "Mr. Blue is expecting you to make a house call."

Chapter Ten

"I hate to ask, but how does Billy Blue know someone's going to need medical assistance?" "You won't have to go," Justin insisted, sipping his coffee. Emilia took a bite of bacon from the early morning breakfast they were sharing at Pearl's Diner in the City Market District. "You didn't answer my question." With the rising sun just canceling out the last shadows of the night, Justin couldn't help but let his weary mind wander to how the cool morning light picked up glints of amber in her dark hair. "If Billy intended to hurt someone, he wouldn't bother inviting a doctor to patch things up." Justin reached across the table and covered her hand where it rested on her glass of milk. "I do think he's expecting some trouble, though." To Justin's surprise, Emilia laced her fingers through his. "I can't just drop my job to become some mobster's personal physician. I like working in the ER. Most nights," she amended honestly. "There are some cases that frustrate me, some that break my heart. But I know I'm making a difference. I'm helping good people who need someone to care." Justin didn't bother to ask if she thought he fell into that group, now that she knew he was a cop. And since he'd discovered that she was the sister of a cop, he understood she would never intentionally reveal his secret. He felt a little bit of worry in the unconscious massage of her fingers. "He can't make me help him, can he?" He rubbed his thumb across the soft skin at the back of her hand. It was such a simple touch, holding hands. But with an electric heat arcing between them, there was nothing simple about what Justin was feeling. "I won't let that happen." For a moment, Emilia seemed as taken as he was by the erotic differences between his big hand and her smaller, capable grip. In the next moment, she'd turned his wrist and pushed up the sleeve of his black sweatshirt. "How's your arm?" She'd felt something, too, and was slipping back into doctor mode to help keep her distance. Justin let her retreat. But he didn't let go. "It stopped throbbing a couple of days ago. You do good work, Doc." He caught himself before she could correct him. "Doctor." She lifted her dark brown eyes and Justin couldn't look away. "Why don't you try Emilia?" He repeated the word, savored it. "Emilia. It rolls around the tongue. It's a pretty name." Now he just needed her to loosen that hair and put on some civvies to complete the transformation from Dr. Rodriguez, ER supervisor, to Emilia — the almost-shy beauty who graced his breakfast and haunted his fantasies. ***

Justin was still holding her hand when he walked her back to his car. "You have your break the same time every night?" "Unless I'm in the middle of treating a patient." "Fine. I'll be there to walk you to your car." He unlocked the passenger door. "You will not." "It's not up for debate. I owe you something. And if watching your pretty little backside is the way to pay you back, then I'm gonna do it. Now you either get a security guard to walk you out, or I will." Pretty little backside? She was too intent on making her point to process the compliment. "Your friends wouldn't be interested in me if you hadn't made me a part of this mess in the first place." "Fine. It's my fault. I accept the blame." He closed the door after her, and climbed in behind the wheel. "But even without Tweedledum and Tweedledee following you, it isn't safe to walk around by yourself in a deserted parking lot at four in the morning." The phone rang in Emilia's purse. She huffed at his chauvinistic, yet sensible promise. She wasn't ready for a relationship, was she? Certainly not under these circumstances. Not with this man. "Dr. Rodriguez." She snapped the greeting with more force than she intended. And instantly regretted it. "Emilia?" Teresa sniffed back a sob. "What's wrong?" She instantly had Justin's attention. Emilia braced herself for whatever had upset her sister so terribly at this time of morning. "I need a place to stay. The police evacuated my dorm about an hour ago." "Why?" "Someone found a bomb."

Chapter Eleven Though gloves separated them now, already it had become the most natural thing in the world for Emilia to fold her fingers into Justin's sure, easy grip. "You're not just a regular cop, are you?" she whispered against his shoulder. She'd watched how Justin spent as much time studying the heating and air circulation apparatus behind

Bingham Hall as he did scanning the faces in the crowd of students, faculty, emergency personnel and curiosity-seekers gathered behind the cordon tape. Even with his shoulders hunched a bit against the north wind, he stood nearly a head taller than almost everyone else. He used that height to an advantage to observe whatever he wanted. But Emilia couldn't help but feel that she was better protected down at her level from whoever might be observing them in return. Justin nodded toward Teresa, who stood a few feet away, hugging the blanket from his car around her coat and pajamas. "Let's just keep the 'C' word to ourselves, okay?" "Fine." Emilia studiously chose her words. "My brother's specialty is homicide investigation. He trains new undercover recruits, too. You're…?" "Bomb squad." He squeezed her hand. Offering comfort? Or seeking it? "That's my team clearing the building." "I'm sure they're fine." "Yeah. They know their stuff." "But you're still worried." Emilia sandwiched his hand between both of hers. It wasn't a question. She'd seen that same stoic look at the hospital, in the faces of family members who were trying to keep a stiff upper lip for the sake of their friends and loved ones. "Our team's been fractured for a little while. I feel like I should be there." Justin finally pulled his focus from the crime scene and potential suspects and turned his attention down to her. After a momentary hesitation, he bent down and pressed a kiss to her temple before extricating his hand from hers. "Stay with Teresa. I'm gonna go check things out." Be careful. The words formed on her lips, but she didn't say them out loud. Justin was already sifting his way through the crowd, and she wasn't ready to think about what her concern — not just for his safety, but for his feelings — might mean. Before she gave another thought to where that impulse to tip her head and turn that friendly peck into a real liplock came from, Emilia stepped over to her sister and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "You're sure you want to stay here and watch?" Teresa barely looked away from the antlike scurry of armored police in and out of the building to offer Emilia a nod. "Why would someone do this? What's the point of endangering sixty college students? It's not like any of us are rich enough to pay a ransom. If we had that kind of money, we wouldn't be living in the dorm." "I think bombs are about power more than money." Emilia wasn't sure where her conviction came from. "One person wants another person to be afraid." She scanned around the crowd. "Or in this case, whoever set that bomb and placed the threat is probably getting a major rush at seeing how many people have come to watch his handiwork." Teresa leaned back against her big sister's protective arms. "Do you think he's watching us right now? That he's getting all jazzed up to see how many people are paying attention to what he's done?"

"Maybe." Emilia hugged Teresa tighter, trying to dispel the goose bumps running across her own skin. Maybe it was just the power of Teresa's suggestion, but Emilia suddenly felt as though she was being watched. That even hidden away at 5'2" someone — the bomber himself, perhaps — had spotted her in the crowd, and was very pleased to see that she was afraid.

Chapter Twelve "What the hell are you doing here?" Michael Cutler ducked behind the questionable camouflage of the armored TAC van and nailed Justin straight in the eye. "Does the concept of keeping a low profile mean anything to you?" Justin's eyes kept scoping their surroundings even as he inclined his head to whisper to his team commander. "Emilia's sister lives in the dorm. We came by to see if she was okay." Cutler frowned. "Who's Emilia?" A beautiful woman who has become important to me a lot more quickly than I ever could have imagined. "She's the ER doc who worked on Mickey Two Toes and stitched me up." "And?" Cutler was fifty years old. He'd buried a wife he'd loved and had divorced one he hadn't. He had an idea of how a woman could get into a man's blood, screw up his priorities and distract him from his job. Apparently, Justin was showing some of the symptoms. He shrugged. "She's a friend. I'm keeping an eye on her." "Anything I need to know about?" Justin breathed out a slow sigh. "We had a situation when I was in the ER, waiting to talk to Mickey. A couple of Billy Blue's men mistook us for a couple. Now he thinks we're a group package. He made some weird request about recruiting her to treat a future patient." "That doesn't make any sense. Is he planning on a hit?" "He's planning on taking over all of K.C. if we don't stop him. And he'll use anyone to do it. That's why I'm looking out for her. It's my fault she's involved at all in this." Enough about his messed-up way with women. "So what's the situation here? Is it Mickey Two-Toes simple? Or another Markon bomb?" The captain nodded. "This one's complicated. I think you're on to something with the second bomber theory. I wish I knew if he was working for TNT, too, or if he's a solo act." Justin looked toward the building, wondering if he'd be able to spot the tricks of the trigger and wiring before anyone got hurt — or killed. But Cutler cut off that line of thinking. "I know you're anxious to get in the game. But we've got this one covered. You find me that supply pipeline. That's your job." "Yes, sir."

Cutler twisted his mouth into an expression that was almost a smile. "Now get out of here." Justin was gettin'. "Take care of that girlfriend, too. I don't want any more casualties on my watch." "She's not my…" Justin didn't finish the protest. Maybe he wished Emilia Rodriguez was something more special than a forced ally. He scrubbed his gloved hand across the top of his head, trying to rub out the distracting thought. He needed to be thinking with his head, not his zipper. The captain was already on his radio with his men inside the building when Justin spotted Emilia. A wary urgency kicked through his veins, speeding his pulse with concern. She was leading Teresa by the hand, zigzagging through the crowd, her eyes darting to each person she passed. She was searching for someone. For him? Didn't matter. Justin was already moving toward her. "Emilia?" He caught her by the shoulders. He spared Teresa a reassuring glance before taking note of the stiff set of Emilia's expression, the pallor beneath her wind-whipped cheeks, and the trembling he felt beneath her hands. Damn. He'd only been gone five minutes. Five minutes too long. "What's wrong?" He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, trying to instill his warmth into her. Finally, he had to cup the side of her jaw and cheek to get her to stop fidgeting her gaze and look him in the eye. "Doc?" "Maybe I'm crazy. But I think somebody's watching us."

Chapter Thirteen "I remember my college days." Emilia kept her voice low as she handed Justin a mug of decaf coffee. Recovering from her early morning scare, Teresa had sacked out on the couch in Emilia's apartment. "Staying up all night. Catching catnaps the next day. And still feeling fresh enough to take a big exam and stay up late again the next night." The walls in the home she'd once considered cozy seemed to close in to tiny proportions as Justin filled up the space with his long strides and repeated checks of the parking lot below and door locks. He took a sip of coffee and peeked through the blinds one more time to get a glimpse of whatever lay beyond the glass. Emilia had all but admitted she was scared, and Justin had gone into full protector mode like he had in the hospital parking lot. Her paranoia must have been draining on him, as well. She'd made a fool of herself, getting spooked by her imagination. A lot of people had been in that crowd. Any one of them could have spared her a cursory glance, and suddenly she was being stalked! So much for being a self-sufficient professional woman. Maybe a former patient recognized her from the hospital. Or she reminded someone of a sister. It was just fatigue playing with her brain. She'd worked a twelve-hour shift, gone out to breakfast and spent the

morning wondering why some sicko had such a fascination with bombs. She could almost feel each individual cell in her body yawning for sleep. "How I envy the energy I used to have." Justin twisted the blinds shut again. "Yeah, but I bet you were up studying instead of partying." Emilia paused, midswallow, then gulped the warm liquid down her throat. "What if I was?" He eased the evidence of nerdism with a smile that reawakened several dozing cells. "Relax. I think smart women are very sexy." Was that a blush? Emilia turned away as her cheeks grew hot. "Nobody thought I was sexy back then." Heck, nobody thought she was sexy now. Or maybe she just hadn't dated enough men over the past few years to learn whether or not her status had improved. She didn't hear him move up behind her, and she let out a startled yelp when he reached around and took the mug from her hands. Teresa stirred on the sofa and Emilia covered her mouth in apology. But Justin had something in mind as he put a shushing finger to his own lips, took her by the hand and led her into the hallway towards the front door where they could speak more freely. "College boys look for the obvious signs of a sexy woman," he whispered, his green irises sparkling with a hint of mischief despite the shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes. "I know because I was one of them." He cupped her cheek and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips, taking the sting from his teasing. "But a grown man sees the whole package. The eyes. The hair. The lips." He touched each feature as he spoke and Emilia almost believed he was somehow turned on by the shapeless hospital greens, support shoes and worn-off makeup that greeted her in the mirror at the end of every shift. "The brains and the mouth with attitude don't hurt, either." It was the sweetest compliment she'd ever received. "Thanks." "You work tonight?" Emilia nodded. "I'll be there to walk you to your car at dinner. Maybe you'll even let me take you out." A huge yawn seemed to catch him by surprise as he unhooked the security chain on the door. "But only after I get home and catch a few hours of shut-eye." Emilia shook her head. Justin's words had sparked a little of that attitude he admired. She re-hooked the chain. "A man as tired as you doesn't need to be driving. Or else you'll wind up in my ER." Taking him by the hand, she led him down the hall. "C'mon."

Chapter Fourteen "You've got a spare bedroom in this little place?" Justin asked, shamelessly ready to follow the sweet sway of that butt wherever it might lead. "No." The significance of what Emilia was saying actually sent a frisson of adrenaline through his system,

waking him with a new energy. He could go another thirty hours without a wink of shut-eye if that subtle flowery scent of hers was leading him where he hoped. "Twin beds?" Maybe he'd better not get too excited. She opened the door to her bedroom and pushed him inside, quietly closing the door behind them. "No." Justin's mouth went dry as he took note of the one — lone, single — full-size bed. Antique from the look of things, with lots of hand-stitched quilts and pillows. Not suitable for his size or randy intentions. Justin tried to accept the kind offer for what it was. "I can bunk on the floor." But Emilia turned the lock on the door with an intriguing click. Her hands swept across his back in the imitation of a caress as she slipped his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it onto a chair. "You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. We both need our sleep. In a bed that won't leave us with a crick in our neck." Maybe it wasn't just kindness. Justin turned and cupped his hands beneath her elbows, pulling her a step closer. "Doctor's orders?" "Yes." Her fingers came to rest on his biceps. "Promise to be a gentleman?" "No." He couldn't resist. When the flood of rosy color dotted her creamy skin, Justin dipped his head and kissed her. Oh yeah. Her lips parted beneath his with a soft gasp and invited him inside. He did his damnedest to hold back, to keep the kiss from turning into something they were both too exhausted to finish. But he didn't protest when she stretched up on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. She didn't protest when he reached down to grab her bottom and lift her up into his growing heat, easing the strain on both their necks, and pulling her small, but perfectly proportioned breasts flush against his harder chest. Emilia was hot and sweet, like the Latin heritage that flowed through her veins. She was easy on the eyes, a delight to the brain, a mind-blowing combination of shy forays and uninhibited responses — and she was beat. When she yawned against his mouth, Justin took no offense. As the heat in his body rightly cooled, a deeper warmth filled him inside. He kicked off his boots, swung Emilia up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He pulled back the covers and laid her on the flowered sheets. Then he tucked her up to her chin and climbed in beside her. He gathered her close in his arms, quilts and all. After pulling the band from her hair, he massaged the tension from her scalp, loving how her cooing sounds of pleasure relaxed him, as well. Maybe he didn't need to feel quite so guilty about getting her involved with Billy Blue and his friends. Emilia possessed an amazing resilience and a giving nature that could only come from her own inner strength.

"You're good," she sighed against his chest, snuggling closer. "This is much better than college." Justin grinned. Much better. "I won't guarantee I'll be a gentleman the entire time I'm in your bed…" His brain was feeling drowsy again, though his body still hummed with interest at the soft weight of the woman sprawled against him. "But I promise we'll get a few hours of sleep first."

Chapter Fifteen The pounding at Emilia's apartment door woke him. Justin rolled out of bed, pausing only long enough to pull on his jeans, grab his gun and take note that Emilia had already left the bed where they'd made sweet, crazy love to each other to climb into the shower. "Damn." He didn't know which bothered him more: the fact that he'd slept so soundly when he had bombs and gangs and somebody spying on Emilia to worry about, or seeing how neatly Emilia had remade her side of the bed, masking how quickly and completely they'd come together after a few hours of sleep. "Emilia! Teresa! Open up." Setting aside both sweet memories and bitter speculation, Justin threw open the door and stalked down the hallway. Teresa was a step ahead of him, fully dressed, carrying a dripping coffee pot and a dish towel in her hand. "Hold up," he ordered, snagging her by the arm and pulling her behind him. The grin that lit her perky young face only made him scowl. "What?" The man outside pounded again. "Emilia!" Justin checked the peephole, saw the KCPD badge hooked to the man's belt and frowned. If this was official business, the detective hadn't announced himself. Cautiously, Justin unhooked the chain and the dead bolt. He had his Glock in hand when he reached for the doorknob. Teresa's smile vanished. "You don't need a gun!" Justin held up a hand to hush her as he opened the door. "Who are you and what do you want?" The man outside merely blinked his eyes to take in everything. The half-naked man, the gun… "Oh, my God."

…the shower-soaked woman wrapped in nothing more than a towel dashing out of the bathroom. As noisy and insistent as the man had been a moment ago, he was calm now. Eerily so. Not the kind of calm that told Justin when a bomb had been successfully neutralized. This calm filled the air with a sense of foreboding that told Justin trouble was about to change his world. That's when he recognized the eyes. The color was different, but the shape was the same. Oh hell. "I'm A. J. Rodriguez. Emilia and Teresa's brother. You and I need to talk, amigo." ***

"I worked for Cutler a few years ago, until I took a bullet in the shoulder during a drug bust. He still a pain in the ass to work for?" "He's tough enough. I respect him." "So do I." Justin wasn't fooled by A.J.'s trip down the memory lane of shared experiences at the department. He was being sized up to see what kind of yahoo bastard would dump a dying man at his sister's hospital door, get her involved with an explosives smuggling investigation, take her to the site of a Bravo Tango, throw her into the middle of a turf war between gangs — and then have the audacity to sleep with her. Even though he stood half a foot taller than A.J., there was something about the whole overprotective big brother you-slept-with-my-sister vibe that made Justin a little uneasy about sitting in a booth at Pearl's Diner and sharing a cup of coffee with the man. "I hear you had a hard time getting into your undercover role," A.J. prompted. "I can give you some pointers." Justin swallowed the dregs of his coffee and laid a five dollar bill on the tabletop. Didn't look like he was going to get a chance to ask A.J. what made his oldest sister tick. "It's my first assignment. I'm learning as I go." "Just don't make a mistake where Emilia's concerned." Nope. Didn't sound like A.J. was going to offer any pointers when it came to falling in love with his sister.

Chapter Sixteen What had she done? Feeling more out of sorts than she had in a long time, Emilia waited inside the corridor leading to the employees' parking lot. Maybe she could stomach hospital food for dinner just one night, and never venture into the darkness.

He was out there, in his cool, black-and-white muscle car, waiting for her. Good guy that he was, no matter how badly she'd botched the morning-after thing, Justin Grant was going to see her safely to her car in the middle of the night. She'd only known him a few days, had kissed him twice. All right, to be fair, she couldn't remember any man ever kissing her like that — the kind of kiss where she lost all inhibitions and boldly gave everything he asked for and more. Maybe that counted for several kisses on the average scale. He'd been gallant; he'd been annoying. He'd put her in danger and he'd made her feel absolutely safe. And she'd never wanted to have a man make love to her more than she'd wanted Justin inside her body. Holding her, praising her. Laughing with her. Making her moan with need and sigh with pleasure. Oh, Lord. She was getting herself all hot and bothered and out of sorts again, just by thinking about the time they'd shared in her bed late yesterday afternoon. "Get a grip, Doc," she chided herself. "Don't you mean Doctor?" Emilia snapped her gaze up to Justin's. "My brother didn't beat you up, did he?" She shook her head and turned away, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. That was the best she could come up with? Nothing about how are you feeling tonight? No, thank you for doing the whole guard dog thing? Not one hint of was-making-love-as-scare-the-pants-off-you-wonderful-for-you-as-it-was-for-me? Justin linked his fingers with hers and urged her to face him again. He arched one golden brow and answered in a calm, I-survived-your-brother-just-fine tone. "We had coffee. We talked business. And I wish like hell that you'd been there to wake up next to this afternoon." "What?" Dazed by the husky admission, Emilia could only stare as he freed her ponytail, spilling the waves down around her shoulders. "I'm sorry if I scared you, or if I said something, or didn't say —" "Shh." Emilia brought his head down for a kiss, silencing him much the same way he'd quieted her that first night. Justin didn't need much encouragement to wrap his arms around her and lift her onto her toes to deepen the kiss. Emilia slid her fingers up into his hair, rubbing her palms against the ticklish strands. Then she skidded her lips across his sandpapery jaw and nibbled on his ear the way she'd discovered made him shivery with goose bumps. "I'm the one who should apologize for running away to the bathroom. It's just that we jumped from A all the way to Z so fast, and I needed some time to think. There were things to consider. Teresa was there. My schedule. Your work and —" He caught her face between his hands and captured her mouth again. "We'll go slower this time, I promise. We'll stop on every damn letter of the alphabet if you need to." He kissed her once, reigniting the fire between them. "Just give me a chance." He kissed her again, making her feverish for more. "Give

us a chance to turn this accidental…whatever it is between us…into something real." Justin's mouth stilled over hers, giving her a split-second warning before she saw the two hulking shapes of men behind him. "Isn't this romantic?" Emilia sank back onto her heels, chilling with anger at the determined way Justin blanked the emotion from his eyes and turned to position himself between her and Billy Blue's henchmen. "Yeah, I'm all warm and fuzzy inside," the other one answered. "C'mon, Dr. Rodriguez." The shorter of the two, the one with the expensive coat, reached around Justin and snatched her wrist. Justin's big hands were there immediately, prying them apart. "Get your hands off her." The pistol in his belly was there immediately, too. "No!" She circled around Justin herself, forcing the bigger man to pull the gun back beneath his coat. "What do you want?" "Emilia —" "We told you earlier this week," the littler man explained. "Tonight you're on call."

Chapter Seventeen "Where are you taking us?" Emilia sat in the back seat of the navy blue Lexus, wedged between the thug with the new coat and big gun, and Justin. The other creep drove them around so many corners and through so many alleys and side streets that she'd lost track of what direction they were going. But then, maybe that was the point. "The hospital expects me back after my dinner break. If I don't show up, they'll call the police." New Coat reached inside his pocket and shoved a cell phone at her. "Fix it so they don't call." Justin's long, strong thigh pressed into her from hip to knee. She interpreted the subtle rubbing against her leg as a silent sign of encouragement. She slid hers back and forth, returning the favor. She dialed the ER's personnel desk. She could do this. She could lie. The gun pointed to the middle of her gut said she had to. Several minutes later, with the hospital convinced she'd come down with some sort of flu at dinner, they pulled into the parking lot of a remodeled sports bar known simply as Nathan's. Apparently, men with guns who manhandled women dressed in hospital scrubs and a lab coat were a common sight at Nathan's. No one, not one customer or waitress or bartender, gave her more than a cursory glance as New Coat dragged her past the bar into a rear hallway.

What kind of people came to this place? Who were these thugs who commanded such fear? She tried to catch Justin's eye to get some answers, but a short, skinny man with blue hair and an ostentatious taste for gold jewelry came out of the last door to greet them. Emilia tried to twist free, but New Coat's bruising grip didn't budge. "This is Grant's girl?" Mr. Blue Hair asked. "She's the doctor we arranged for you." This was her patient? Beyond an overindulgence in alcohol that stained his nose and cheeks, she detected no noticeable signs of injury or illness. "There's nothing wrong with him." The man who introduced himself as Billy Blue grinned at her apparent stupidity. "I have a weight I've been carrying around my neck for far too long." Then take off four or five of those stupid chains and let us go! He patted her cheek as he pushed past her to a black, padlocked door. Emilia flinched away from the contact and watched him pull out a key attached to one of the chains. "In here, Doctor." He inserted the key into the lock. "Justin, you'll want to see this, too. The supplies you ordered are here." What were they going to do? Lock them inside? The instant Billy pushed the door open, the smells hit her. Emilia crinkled up her nose and turned away. The acrid sting of sulfur. The moldy scents of clay and darkness. She heard the wheezing next, followed by the bone-deep rales of a cough that desperately tried to do some good. A patient's suffering called to her, but the black walls and bare light bulbs and murderous intent of the room made her hesitate. "Justin?" She felt him at her back, his chest and thighs butting against her, shielding her, urging her forward. "It's okay, babe. I'm right behind you." With Justin's reassurance, Emilia stepped inside. This locked-up hovel was the size of an office, but the window and walls had all been painted black, and the walls had been lined with shelves to convert it into a glorified storage closet and prison cell. She felt the tension harden in Justin's muscles as they looked about. But she didn't need to be a bomb squad cop to recognize what was on the shelves — sticks of dynamite, blasting caps, spools of wire, bricks of clay that she guessed to be another type of explosive. It was a mini-warehouse. The warehouse of illegal bomb parts Justin had been looking for. "Oh, my God." Emilia gasped. Sitting at a worktable in the middle of all this potential death and destruction, chained to his chair, pale from disease and stooped from age, sat a thin old man. "Let me introduce you to my grandpa. He taught me everything I know about the business." Billy Blue laughed. "Your job, Dr. Rodriguez, is to keep him alive for one more day. And, oh, make sure his hands are steady — and that he can travel. Tomorrow's the big day."

Chapter Eighteen "This man needs oxygen. Antibiotics. An X ray. He needs to get out of this damp, dusty air. I can't treat him here." Justin watched Emilia pace the confines of the small room. She was getting inured to the business end of Big Guy's gun following her back and forth. She was steaming mad about the conditions in which Billy's grandfather, Nathan Bingham, had been forced to live. But Justin hadn't for one moment forgotten the danger she was in. The pieces of his investigation were falling into place. Mickey Two-Toes had been a decoy bomber — the same way Billy and his pals expected him to be. The car bomb they wanted him to create for use against the Westside Warriors was nothing but a distraction, keeping KCPD's eyes averted from the true bomber. The real genius behind the bomb at Markon Pharmaceuticals was chained to a chair and surrendering to an advanced case of emphysema. No doubt Bingham — a longtime hit man and lieutenant in former mob boss Jericho Meade's organization — had specifically placed the bomb at Bingham Hall to send out some kind of message to the police. He might be long-forgotten, but he wasn't dead. And if Emilia couldn't keep him alive long enough to complete Billy's grandiose plan — to plant a bomb in the heart of downtown Kansas City and the First Cattleman's Bank — then Billy and his boys would have no trouble killing her, as well. "You got everything you need yet, Grant?" Big Dumb Guy's impatient voice was beginning to grate on his nerves. But, since Justin didn't have the Superman skills to take out three well-armed mobsters and a legendary explosives expert without risking harm to Emilia, he bit his tongue and played his part. He zipped his duffel bag and slipped the explosives that were about to become evidence over his shoulder. "I'm ready. I'll have the bomb in place by tomorrow morning." "Good." Billy Blue unholstered his gun and gestured toward the door. "Now, I hate to part you two lovebirds, but…" He laughed — that juvenile, want-to-be-a-man laugh that said a lot about what motivated Billy's quest for power. "Who the hell cares? Tomorrow marks the official beginning of my reign over this city, and if anybody asks any questions, the blame will fall on Mickey, those Westside idiots, and you, Grandpa." Nathan Bingham, whose wispy white hair was a stark contrast to Billy's blue spikes, sat as though half conscious when his grandson gave him a cruel hug around his fragile bones. "Take good care of my grandpa. He taught me everything I know about running a city. After tomorrow, nobody will question who the top dog is around town." Billy waved the key in front of Emilia. "We men have business to take care of. But I'll lock you in with the old man." He leaned closer, using even his meager height to intimidate her. But Emilia tipped her chin, clearly unimpressed. With a huff, Billy turned away and ushered the rest of them out the door. Justin planted his feet and used the same over-the-top advantage in height to stop Billy in his tracks. "Let her go. You heard her — she can't do the old man any good here."

But Billy became a braver man when the two BDG's fell into place behind him. "I think you miss a subtle point here, Justin. By keeping her here, I know you'll do your part exactly the way I instructed. Once I'm satisfied with your work, I'll hand you the key." Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. If he blew the car bomb, innocent people could get hurt. If he didn't blow it, Emilia would pay the price. That elusive sense of calm was as far out of reach as his chances of scooping her into his arms and running out of here now would be. Hostages and bombs were never a good mix. Justin pulled himself to his full six-foot-three inches of height and looked across the room, filling his eyes with all the love he could find inside him. Green eyes met brown and made a promise. "I will come back for you. Do your job. Do whatever they say. I will come back." She nodded, and he wondered if the glaring lights and dim shadows of the room had played a trick on him. Did Dr. By-the-Book really mean what those beautiful brown eyes were saying? Or was that just wishful thinking? "I'll be here, Justin," she vowed.

Chapter Nineteen "I saw you." Nathan Bingham's raspy, breathless voice whispered through his chest into Emilia's stethoscope. "What?" She pulled away. His weak heart sounds and short, irregular breaths made her doubt she could pull him through another twenty hours under conditions that would be appalling for a man in perfect health. But she'd made him as comfortable as possible. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" "I saw you at the college. You and your man." Every word was a painful gasp. "Billy likes to watch when I put on a show for him. Twenty-four years old and he still thinks like a kid." Emilia sat on the table, facing him. "Did you see how frightened we all were? I lost my father in an explosion. Yesterday, I could have lost my sister, too." "I'm seventy years old. I've killed a lot of people. Done it for money. Done it for revenge." A fit of coughing racked his frail body, leaving him unable to speak for several minutes. But, as though sensing last chances and final breaths approaching, he pushed himself a little more upright and continued. "But my greatest crime is that boy. Letting him grow up to become the monster he is." What was she supposed to say to that? She was locked in a room with a murderer, and instead of feeling fear or loathing, all she felt was pity. What a waste. "Your man's a smart one. I saw it in his eyes. He can neutralize my bomb. He's a cop, isn't he?" Emilia had to stand up and walk away. She'd probably just confirmed his guess, but she wouldn't say the words to betray Justin's cover. Nathan's breath wheezed out and almost didn't catch again. "I saw how much he loves you, too."

Emilia spun around. "What?" How could this man, this shriveled-up man who was more dead than alive, possibly say such a thing to her? Because it was true. She'd known Justin a week. It made no sense for feelings to develop so quickly, so deeply. But she knew it was possible. Because she loved him, too. Nathan pointed a gnarled finger at her. "Allow me one last shot at redemption, Doctor." "How? How can you possibly atone for the things you've done?" "Those boys are stupid. I taught him everything he knows about the business. But I didn't teach him everything I know. They lock me away in this room. Leave me with all the supplies each time a shipment comes in." On a last burst of strength, he pointed to an outlet on the wall. "A man has to have his hobbies." Emilia examined the outlet and wires running from it. It looked like an extension cord at first, but as she followed the device around the room, she discovered a whole lot more was going on. "Is that a…?" Nathan nodded. "A bomb. This whole building is rigged to blow. I'll do it tonight, when those three boys close the bar to celebrate a victory that hasn't happened yet." "Tonight? Um, I have a slight problem with that." He pointed to the bricks of plastique with his eyes. "I'll show you how to blow the hinges. You get out of here and be with your man. Oh, and tell him he'll have to defuse the bomb at the bank. I won't be around to show him how."

Chapter Twenty Justin was bleeding again. But he ignored the pain and floored the Chevy, using his horn to clear traffic and get to the Cattleman's Bank in record time. The car bomb had been so noisy and distracting that Billy and the BDGs hadn't even noticed A. J. Rodriguez and the band of undercover detectives from the Fourth Precinct moving in. While the gang had holed up in a nearby restaurant to watch the fireworks, the police had swarmed the building. But they hadn't gone out without a fight. While most of the thugs had wisely surrendered, two had slipped out the back…forcing a chase. Already inside, Justin had been the first to run after them, and along with two other officers, had caught them — but not without a price. The fresh wound on his arm was deep. He should be in the ER. He wanted to be at Nathan's Bar, freeing Emilia. But he needed to be downtown with Cutler and his TAC team. Justin's sense of calm was as impossible to hold on to as the belief that he and Emilia had something real going on, something long-term. But she probably couldn't

wait to get back to her by-the-book life, far away from the danger and unpredictability he'd brought into her world. As he screeched to a halt, and donned the protective gear from his trunk, he had to trust that A.J. would get Emilia safely away from Nathan's Bar. His heart might have been there, but Justin's job was here. Bingham wouldn't have made this bomb simple. Justin wasn't about to trust that this device had been neutralized until he'd seen to it himself — until he felt that calm, and knew that the case was closed. ***

"This was too easy." Justin stood beside Mike Cutler and stared at the frozen clock they'd detached from the explosives packed inside a computer on the second floor of the bank. "Bingham never relies on just one triggering device." Justin's calm just wouldn't kick in. Billy Blue's reign of terror over Kansas City wouldn't end until this final bomb was neutralized. "Bingham's in too bad of shape to waltz into a building this size and make a delivery to the second floor undetected," he continued. "And Billy doesn't have the know-how to engage the device without Grandpa." "Right." Justin was scanning, pacing. "Bingham would have had to come in a wheelchair. Where would he have access to set up his bomb?" "And not get noticed?" "Hell." Justin snapped his fingers, already running toward the stairs. "Handicapped john. Keep an eye on that clock and your radio open." Within three minutes Justin had located the secondary triggering device. He found the red wire and digital watch inside the automatic hand-dryer in the handicapped bathroom. The damn thing was ticking. Two minutes, thirteen seconds. "I've got a countdown again!" Cutler yelled over the radio. "Clear the building. Now!" "No, sir." Damn if he was gonna let Billy win. Justin had long since tossed his goggles and helmet. He'd paused only long enough to mop his arm to keep the blood from his wound from dripping onto his hands as he worked. Unscrew this. Pull here. Cut there. Justin blinked his eyes clear of sweat. He positioned his snips around the last red wire. "If this doesn't work out — tell Emilia I love her." "Grant!" Justin squeezed. ***

"I'm a doctor. Let me through." Battle-ax voice firmly in place, beautiful brown eyes watching him every step of the way. Emilia. In one piece. There was a God. Justin pushed himself up from his seat on the back of the ambulance. "Did A.J…? Are you…?" She pushed him right back onto his bottom and walked straight into his arms. Her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him before he got his I love you out. He wrapped her up in his embrace — loving her hair, her scent, her mouth — loving her attitude, loving her. When she came up for air, he wasn't ready to let her go. But Emilia had a few procedures she needed to take care of first. "Let me see your arm." He dutifully cooperated while she probed the cut. "You're going to have matching scars." "But if you're the doc who stitches 'em up, they'll be neat and pretty, right?" And then she was hugging him around the neck again. "Dammit, Justin, I don't want to see you in my ER every week." "What about when I come to take you to dinner?" She gave him a painless smack on the shoulder. "I'm serious. When I knew you were inside, defusing that bomb, I thought…" Okay. He was the stronger one here — physically, at any rate. He pushed her away just far enough to find out what could bring tears to her eyes. "Thought what?" "That I hadn't told you I love you. That I didn't want to lose you the way I lost my father. But I can't imagine you doing any other kind of work when I know you're so good at it." Justin wiped the tears from her cheeks, then kissed each spot. "The work I do is dangerous." He'd never lie to her about that. "But I love it." He'd never lie to her about this, either. "About half as much as I love you." A miraculous sense of calm settled over Justin. It was more than knowing the bomb threats were over and no one was going to get hurt. The calm came from holding Emilia in his arms and knowing that loving her was one thing he'd gotten absolutely right.

The End