Midnight Run. Linda Castillo

for Christmas last year. Working off the cork, she snagged a good-size tumbler from the cabinet, and walked back to the living room.

      “Ah, a little brandy for the soul,” he said. “That ought to do nicely.”

      She set the bottle and glass on the coffee table and looked down at him. “That wound is serious, Jack. If it gets infected you could find yourself seriously ill.”

      “Careful Landis, or I might think you still care about me.”

      “Like you said, Jack, I’ve always had a weakness for strays—even when I know they’re likely to bite.” She poured two fingers of the amber liquid into the glass.

      “More,” he said.

      “You just want to kill the pain, not put yourself into a coma.” But she filled the glass to the halfway mark and handed it to him.

      “I hate to waste the expensive stuff on a gunshot wound.”

      “Go ahead. I haven’t exactly been celebrating much lately.” She tapped out three aspirins. “These will help.”

      Never taking his eyes from hers, he tossed back the aspirin, brought the glass to his lips and drained it in three gulps. Landis watched, fascinated as he shuddered, then set the glass back on the table.

      Leaning against the sofa back, he closed his eyes. “Give this a minute to kick in, will you?”

      She looked down at her scant first aid supplies, praying she could get through this without making the wound worse than it already was.

      “Okay. Let’s get this over with.” Grimacing, he unbuttoned the shirt, wincing as it came down over his shoulder.

      Careful not to get too close, Landis peeled back the bandage he’d applied after his shower. The moment the wound came into view her stomach did a slow-motion somersault. She wasn’t squeamish, but the sight of the bruised flesh and gaping wound made her feel light-headed. “I’m sure this isn’t what you want to hear, but I flunked basic first aid.”

      “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.”

      A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “From the looks of you, I’d say the jury’s still out on that. Maybe you ought to sit down. That floor’s hard as hell, and I don’t have the strength to pick you up.”

      “I’m not going to pass out.”

      He didn’t move as she rounded the sofa and set the peroxide and antibiotic cream on the end table. “Hold this.” She handed him the gauze. “And be quiet. I need to concentrate.”

      Unable to avoid it any longer, she looked closely at the wound. It was no longer bleeding, but the gash was deep, the flesh jaggedly cut. She could only imagine how painful it was. “Hand me a section of gauze,” she said.

      He opened the wrapper and held it out for her. “Am I going to live?”

      “That depends on how much pain you can take.”

      “On a scale of one to ten, it’s already a nine.”

      “So we’ve got some room to work with.” Saturating the square of gauze with peroxide, Landis drizzled it over the wound. His quick intake of breath told her it stung, but he didn’t flinch. She repeated the procedure several times until the peroxide stopped foaming. As gently as possible, she applied some of the antibiotic ointment.

      “Hurt?” she asked.

      “No worse than the day you walked out of my cell for the last time.” A fine sheet of sweat coated his forehead. “On a scale of one to ten, that was definitely a ten.”

      Her hands stilled, but she didn’t look at him. A day didn’t go by that she didn’t remember the look on his face when she’d left him standing in his cell, looking like the ground had just caved in beneath him. Aside from burying her brother, it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

      “This isn’t a good time to dredge up the past, Jack.”

      “Another hour and I’ll be gone. We won’t get another chance.”

      She felt his gaze burning into her, but she focused on the bullet wound, realizing with dismay the mass of damaged flesh was easier to look at than those accusing eyes of his. “Maybe that’s best for both of us.”

      “Maybe it’s time you looked a little deeper. Maybe it’s time somebody put Duke in prison for what he did to Evan. For what he did to us. For God’s sake, Landis, what we had…”

      The tube of antibiotic cream slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Exasperated, she cursed and dropped her hands to her sides. Her heart pounded, and she couldn’t keep her mind from racing with the possibilities of what he was saying. “Damn it, Jack, if you want me to get your shoulder bandaged, you’re going to have to shut up.”

      Turning his head slightly, he glanced down at the wound. Landis didn’t miss the slight paling of his face. “I’m going to need some more of those aspirin.”

      She hesitated, knowing she was going to cause him real pain when she tried to join the jagged edges of the wound. “You need stitches, Jack. I’m not sure I can butterfly this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

      “Ah, come on, Red. You’ve already ripped my heart out. This ought to be a breeze.”

      She glanced sharply at him, but his eyes were closed. He had an incredibly sensuous mouth for a male, and she suddenly remembered how many times that mouth had kissed her, how good he was at it….

      He shifted slightly, and the shirt fell open the rest of the way. Her eyes did a slow, dangerous sweep, skimming over his magnificent chest, the dark sprinkling of hair, and the rounded pectoral muscles. The towel was knotted just below his navel and she could see the flat stretch of his belly, the thickening of hair…

      “Your hands don’t look too steady, Red.”

      She jolted, jerked her gaze back to his. “Bullet wounds make me nervous.”

      “Maybe it’s the convict making you nervous.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      He stared at her, making no move to close the shirt, one side of his mouth curved into a knowing smile.

      Struggling to keep her hands from shaking, she withdrew three long sections of first aid tape from the dispenser. She then placed a sterile gauze pad over the wound. Sweat moistened her forehead as she stretched the first piece of tape tightly over the gauze, effectively pulling the edges of the wound together.

      Jack winced and cut loose with a curse. “Jesus…”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Hurry up,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

      Holding her breath, she secured the second length of tape, trying in vain to ignore his groan of pain. Oh, dear God, when was Aaron Chandler going to arrive?

      By the time the bandage was in place Landis was shaking all over. A dime-size stain of fresh blood marred the gauze. The injury would leave a tremendous scar, but at least it wouldn’t get infected. Sighing with relief, she stepped away, aware that her legs were rubbery.

      Jack slumped against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed. He cradled his left arm as if it were broken. His face was pale and drawn and his strong jaw had finally stopped clenching. She watched him for several minutes. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. His hands, which had been fisted in pain, relaxed. The furrow at his brow smoothed out. At least he wasn’t hurting anymore.

      Surprising herself, she raised her hand and touched his lean cheek the way she’d done a hundred times in the months they’d been involved. The stubble of his beard felt rough and unfamiliar beneath her fingertips. She could smell his clean, masculine scent. Memories stirred uncomfortably inside her. She stared at him, remembering, hurting, regretting and