Dead Aim(26)

“I want to push you off this mountain.”

“That would only give you temporary satisfaction. I'm sure you can think of a more long-term goal.” He glanced back at her as he opened the door. “It might help you to know that the dominoes are falling in your direction right now.”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I have to make reparations. I have very few codes I live by, but you stumbled onto one of them. It means I have to figure how to give you what you want and still keep you alive.”

He was gone before she had a chance to question him. What was he up to? Did he expect her to believe he was having twinges of conscience because he was responsible for this wound? She would be an idiot to be that gullible. He was a kidnapper and a paid thug and she didn't know what else. He was ruthless and cold and without—

Yet she did believe him. She didn't know about the twinges of conscience, but he was a complicated man and his moral structure was probably also convoluted. Most strong people had to have some sort of rules to guide their lives. Maybe the fact that she'd been hurt had tapped into some humane reservoir beneath that cool surface.

Or maybe not. Maybe he was trying to find another way to control her.

There was only one way to find out. Challenge him. Test him.

Jesus, she didn't feel strong enough right now to challenge a Muppet.

So get over it. Move.

She slowly, carefully, sat up.

Her shoulder throbbed and her head swam with dizziness.

Get to the bathroom. Wash your face.

Yeah, sure.

She held on to the nightstand as she got to her feet.

Darkness.

It passed within a minute or two, but she still stood there waiting for her strength to come back. She took deep breaths and tried to focus on something besides the desire to fall back on the bed.

The sketch pad Morgan had tossed on the footstool when he'd gotten to his feet. It was lying sideways on the hassock, but she could tell that it was a sketch of a face.

Vulnerable. Frail. Troubled.

It was Alex's face.

Was that how he saw her? Well, he had a few things to learn. She was neither weak nor vulnerable. She could feel the energy flow through her as the adrenaline kicked in. She let go of the nightstand and moved determinedly toward the bathroom.



She was back in bed and flipping through the pages of Morgan's sketchbook when he came into the room carrying a tray.

“Invasion of privacy.” His tone was light as he set the tray down on the nightstand beside her. “I could sue.”

“When all these sketches are of me? I don't think so.” She looked up with a cool stare. “You must have been very bored.”

“You weren't the most entertaining company. I had to keep myself occupied.”

“This isn't me.” She closed the sketchbook. “You've made me . . . weak.”

He shook his head. “There's nothing weak about you. It's not uncommon for a subject to see what they fear in a portrait.”

“I'm not afraid. I see what you've sketched.”

He flipped open the pad to the first sketch. “You're ill; you're without defenses.” He pointed to the line of her mouth. “But there's strength here. And do you see the tension in the jawline? Determination. You wouldn't let go even when you were feverish. You were a very interesting subject.”

He was too close. He wasn't touching her, but she could feel the heat of his body and she instinctively tensed. “And you didn't feel in the least guilty for sketching me when I was helpless?”

He smiled. “You know what a ruthless bastard I am. I take what I'm given.”

“And also what you're not given.”

“True. But I never thought of you as helpless.” He took the pad from her and handed her a small plate. “So stop brooding and eat your ham sandwich.”

He'd taken a step back, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was idiotic to be this physically aware of him. It must be because she had been hurt and his power and presence were in such sharp contrast.

He smiled. “I thought you'd prefer finger food to spilling soup down your chest in front of me.”

She did prefer it. She was feeling clumsy and vulnerable enough without— She had a sudden thought. “I'm wearing your shirt. How did I get it on?”

“Me.” He sat down in the chair and put his feet on the hassock. “It wasn't in the doctor's job description and I didn't want to offend him. I'm sorry if it upsets you.”

“It doesn't upset me. That's the least of my worries.” She bit into the sandwich. “I was just curious.”

“I should have known better. A woman who can hot-wire a car wouldn't let a little thing like nudity bother her.”

“There are too many ways a person can be naked besides the physical.” She tapped the sketch pad. “This bothers me more. You . . . intruded.”