Secret Agent Affair. Marie Ferrarella

of air. “You just get to the hospital.”

      Tania took a step back. She glanced down at her clothes, checking herself over to see if any of the blood had gotten on her. Miraculously, it hadn’t.

      Losing no time, Marja made her way to the kitchen for some clean towels and a basin of water. “I said you can go,” she called. “You don’t want to be late,” she added.

      Tania glanced at her watch. “I’m already late,” she answered, seeming hesitant to leave. Tania shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Look, I really do have to go. I told them I’d fill in for Michaelson,” she said. “But let me call Jesse.” She began to take out her cell phone. “He can be here in ten minutes and he’ll stay with you until you finish being the Good Samaritan.”

      “No,” Marja protested from the kitchen. In less than a second she was back in the room. Water sloshed out of the basin as she came. “No, let Jesse sleep,” she insisted, putting the basin down on the coffee table.

      The cell phone remained in Tania’s hand. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “All right, I’ll call Byron, then.”

      That was equally unacceptable. She wasn’t about to put anyone out on her account. Besides, she could take care of herself. The fact that she was petite and young had nothing to do with her ability to defend herself if need be. “No.”

      “Mike. Tony.” Tania offered up the names of their other two brothers-in-law, both of whom were detectives associated with the N.Y.P.D. Marja firmly shook her head at the mention of each. Tania frowned. “All right. Dad, then.”

      Marja’s eyes grew huge. “No! Especially not Dad. You call Dad about this and you’re a dead woman.” There wasn’t a trace of humor in Marja’s voice.

      “Better me than you.”

      “I’ll be fine,” Marja insisted, depositing the towels beside the basin. Placing both of her hands to her sister’s back, she steered and then pushed Tania toward the front door. “Really.”

      Tania looked far from convinced.

      But defeated, she surrendered. Temporarily. “I’m going to call you every fifteen minutes,” Tania declared, stepping out into the hallway. “And you’d better answer.”

      Marja nodded, already retreating into the living room. “I promise.” And then she stopped for a second. “And, Tania—”

      “What?”

      “I’m sorry I hurt the car.” There was a dent in the front bumper. It was minor, but there, and she knew how Tania was about her possessions.

      Tania waved her hand, dismissing the words. “Yeah, whatever.” She looked back into the apartment, at the body on the sofa. “Just be careful.”

      Marja grinned. “Always.”

      “Ha!” It was the last word Tania said before she closed the door behind her.

      Marja turned her attention back to the unconscious, wounded man on the sofa. Moving quickly, she made her way through two of the bathrooms. Between the two, she collected all the things she was going to need to remove the bullet from his side and then sew up his wound.

      As a graduation present, her parents had given each one of them an old-fashioned doctor’s black bag. It was there that she kept the kinds of instruments for digging a bullet out of the man’s side. She grabbed hers out of her room.

      After depositing everything on the coffee table, Marja pulled on a pair of gloves and got down to business.

      They’d dropped him face-down on the sofa. She rolled him over, then pushed open his shirt. Very carefully, she peeled back the T-shirt beneath it. A solid wall of abdominal muscles met her gaze. She hadn’t expected that. He looked a little small for a body builder, but perfect enough to be among their number.

      “Who are you?” she murmured under her breath. Curiosity had her glancing at his left hand. No ring. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wife somewhere, beside herself with worry.

      “He’s a patient, not a man,” she reminded herself. But a torso like that was difficult to ignore.

      Taking several cotton swabs, she soaked them in alcohol, then started to clean the area around his wound. The moment she touched the swab to his skin, she saw his muscles contract. The next second he grabbed her wrist. Hard.

      It took Marja a full minute to push her pounding heart back out of her throat. Her eyes shifted to his face. He was most definitely awake. And scowling like dark storm clouds over the prairie.

      “Welcome back.” Marja did her best to sound flippant.

      Taking a breath, trying to get his bearings, Kane released the woman’s wrist. His eyes moved quickly around the area. It wasn’t familiar in the slightest. Where the hell was he?

      His eyes shifted back to the woman sitting on the edge of the sofa. There was something white and wet in her hand. “What happened?”

      Setting the swab aside, Marja looked at him. She almost wished he was still unconscious. This next part was going to be a lot more painful for him awake. “You fainted.”

      Kane sneered at the mere suggestion. “Men don’t faint.”

      Oh God, he was one of those. Macho with an extra doze of testosterone. She should have known the second she caught a glimpse of his abdominal muscles. “You passed out,” she rephrased, then waited. “Better?”

      He shrugged. The movement caused him more than a small amount of discomfort. He felt as if he’d gotten hit by a truck. No, wait, a Mustang. Her Mustang.

      “Better,” he rasped. And then he saw the array of things on the table. He honed in on the scalpel. “You planning on using those on me?”

      “Unless I can get you to change your mind about going to the hospital, yes.” Maybe if she was lucky, he’d pass out again.

      Kane shook his head. The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. “No hospital.”

      She didn’t think so. Though she knew nothing about him, she had a feeling he was as stubborn as hell. But then, most men thought they knew best—even when they usually didn’t.

      Going over to the liquor cabinet, she found a partially empty bottle of whiskey. Tony had brought it over the other week to celebrate something. At the moment, she couldn’t recall what. Crossing back to the sofa, she offered the bottle to him. “This is going to hurt,” she said simply.

      But Kane declined the drink. As far as he was concerned, he was still on duty, still needed a clear head. Alcohol made people stupid. It had certainly evaporated his uncle’s brain.

      “Go ahead,” he ordered.

      Well, he wasn’t a coward, she thought. Faced with having a bullet dug out sans anesthetic, most men would have grabbed the whiskey with both hands.

      Picking up the scalpel, Marja inserted it into the wound. She kept one eye on her patient as she began to slowly probe the wound, listening for the sound of metal on metal. His face reddened. She looked for something to distract him.

      Coming up empty, she finally asked, “Why don’t you want me to take you to a hospital?”

      Kane took in slow, small breaths, struggling not to tense up. Trying to focus on her question, he gave her an excuse he thought she’d believe.

      “I’m between jobs. How easy do you think it’ll be—” sweat was oozing down his brow as she probed deeper “—to get one if they look into my background and see that I was shot? I—” he took a deeper breath, as if that could somehow stand between him and the fiery pain “—don’t want to have to deal with a lot of suspicious, annoying questions.”

      She raised her eyes to his for a second, pausing. “Like why were you shot?”

      “Yes,