Shoot to Thrill Read online

  “Now you’re catching on.”

  They smacked name tags to their chests, and Rainie reluctantly followed Gina into the overcrowded ballroom. Sets of tables with two chairs, each labeled with a number, were packed into half the room, while the attendees sipped drinks and chatted in the other half waiting for the proceedings to start. The noise was deafening.

  Rainie’s pulse crept up. She hated chaos and disorder, situations she couldn’t control.

  “So, who do you fancy?” Gina asked, leaning in close to her ear, visually sizing up the male prospects like she was scanning the sale racks at Macy’s.

  Rainie sighed and nervously glanced over the crowd, trying to spot a man, any man, whose looks intrigued her enough to make her want to take a chance. But all she saw were the familiar doctors, residents, interns, and admin staff she saw every single day at the hospital. Oh, maybe not the exact same people, but they might as well be. The men circling around the room like well-dressed sharks had the same polished, professional appearance; the same polished, professional smiles; and undoubtedly the same polished, professional come-on lines that were eventually used on every nurse in the hospital under the age of forty.

  Okay, fifty.

  Seriously contemplating an escape strategy, she skimmed her gaze back to the entry door. Where a man was just walking in.

  Whoa.

  Rainie’s exit survey stopped dead in its tracks.

  Well, maybe not that man. He didn’t look the least bit polished. And he was well over twenty-five. His rumpled navy suit and dark five-o’clock shadow looked more like they belonged to a burned-out police detective than a doctor—she knew the type well from dealing with cops daily in the ER. He looked hard. Jaded. No-nonsense. Dangerous.

  And intriguing as hell.

  Her pulse started doing the Snoopy dance. Not a good thing. This was exactly the kind of man a control freak such as herself should avoid. But just like her high-risk job, the type also held a kind of fatal attraction.

  What was a man like that doing at a medical professionals singles night? And yet he wore a name tag, and you had to have a hospital ID to get in. Police liaison maybe? Military field medic?

  Towering over the rest of the crowd by a good six inches, the man had thick, sable brown hair that still bore evidence of a recent wet-combing, which hadn’t done much to tame its waves or unruly length. Not military, then. She couldn’t see much below his shoulders, but they were broad enough to fill out his bad suit to capacity and then some.

  Interestingly, he seemed even more uncomfortable than she felt.

  His hooded eyes roamed over the room like he was looking for something, or someone, specific. And caught her staring. Her pulse did a few more dance steps. Oh, no. She wanted to look away. Knew instinctively she should look away. But for the life of her, she couldn’t.

  Instead of continuing his survey, he stared back until she felt her face flush.

  That’s when he started walking. Toward her.

  Oh, Lord.

  All this time Gina had been chatting away, pointing out this man or that. Finally she noticed she was being ignored.

  “You’re not being very—” Her friend’s words halted with a small gasp.

  “Ho-boy. I think I’m in trouble,” Rainie muttered, watching with rising trepidation as the man came closer and closer. Or was that excitement she felt thrumming low in her belly?

  What on earth was she dreaming of? Unfortunately, she had a pretty good idea.

  Gina read her illicit thoughts and her jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding,” she hissed in her ear, scandalized. “That guy? He looks like a serial killer!”

  “I think he’s sexy as hell,” Rainie murmured without thinking, then glanced at her friend in consternation. Had she really said that aloud?

  “Do not take him home, Lorraine Martin.”

  Apparently she had. “You know me better than that, Geen. But maybe a drink . . . here at the bar.”

  “But,” Gina protested, “that wasn’t the idea, either, Rain. You need more than just a drink, girl. This is your chance to find someone safe and take him upstairs. Someone like a nice—”

  “Boring doctor?” She shook her head. Not a chance. She might be a lonely chickenshit, but she wasn’t desperate. “No, thanks. Besides, so what if I have a drink with him? You know I can take care of myself,” Rainie reminded her. It was true. After dealing with the crazies who populated the experimental drug program she was in charge of in the ER and seven years of studying self-defense, she was more than capable of fending off unwanted advances of any variety. She did so frequently.

  “I know, but—”

  “I’ll be fine, Gina. Go. Before I change my mind again and run screaming for the exit.”

  After a short hesitation her friend murmured, “Fine. Take your walk on the wild side, sweetie. But call me first thing in the morning or I’m sending the police.” Then she melted into the crowd.

  By now the stranger had threaded his way through the crush, and he came to a stop directly in front of Rainie. Her heart was beating like a bass drum.

  His gaze drifted slowly down her too short, too tight, and too revealing dress, then drifted back up again, pausing at her breasts. Her nipples zinged in response, tightening to hard points. Which of course he noticed. He didn’t smile, but his blue eyes darkened to a stormy grey as he watched them.

  Her flush deepened, along with her consternation. “Look, I—”

  “Would you like a drink?” he interrupted, the query amazingly calm and civilized, considering she felt like she was about to faint.

  This was definitely not a good idea.

  “Have we met?” she asked, playing for time, because she knew damned well they hadn’t. She glanced down at his navy blue lapel. His name tag read Dr. Nathan Daneby.

  Her eyes popped—Nathan Daneby?—and rocketed back up to his face. Astonishment plowed through her. “You’re Dr. Nathan Daneby? From Doctors for Peace?”

  A shadow of alarm skittered across his features. “You know me?”

  “Yes! Well, no. I mean, not personally, but everyone knows your name. Okay, maybe not everyone, but I do.” All the nervousness whooshed out of her, replaced by excitement. “I’ve been an admirer for years. I’ve followed your career ever since the war, when you saved those villagers in Afghanistan. That was so amaz—” She halted in midsentence, wincing in embarrassment. “Sorry, Dr. Daneby. I’m babbling. I’m sure you didn’t come here to meet groupies.”

  His alarm morphed into something else she couldn’t quite pin down. He made a choking noise. Putting a finger between the knot of his striped tie and the collar of his white shirt, he tugged like it was strangling him. “Actually, I’m seldom recognized in the States. In fact, never. This is a first.”

  She cleared her throat. God, she was so blowing it. He was going to walk away any second. And amazingly, for the first time in living memory, she didn’t want the man to leave.

  “S-so, um,” she stammered. “Then why are you here? In New York, I mean. And, um. Here. At this”—she gestured vaguely, mortification creeping back up her neck—“um, thing.”

  Surely, he wasn’t here to find a date. Dr. Nathan Daneby was famous! Well, sort of. In certain circles. Like among nurses who read National Geographic in the lounge and day dreamed about having the courage to venture outside a ten-block radius of home without being paralyzed by fear.

  What would it be like to have Nathan Daneby’s daring adventures? She couldn’t even imagine.

  He stepped closer and lifted his hand toward her. It was large, strong, and unmanicured. A hand that obviously wasn’t afraid of hard work. For some reason that made him even more attractive.

  She could smell him, too. Musky, dark, and exquisitely masculine. All him; no cologne, no shampoo, no minty breath. Just pure man.

  Would he notice if she leaned in just a little and inhaled?

  Extending his forefinger, he lightly tapped the name tag stuck on the minuscule bodice
of her strapless dress, then traced the pad of his finger slowly, God so provocatively, along her name and profession. The pebbled tip of her breast sang with a long jolt of electricity that streaked straight to her center.

  “I imagine I’m here for the same reason as you, Lorraine Martin, nurse practitioner.” He bent down close to her hair. “But I’d prefer to stay under the radar, if that’s all right with you.”

  His finger lingered on the slope of her breast. Suddenly she ached for him to slide it down under her dress and touch her nipple. Cup her naked—

  Good Lord! What was going on with her? She hadn’t reacted this strongly to a man in years. If ever. Her face was on fire.

  “Absolutely,” she said, striving to keep her voice steady despite the wildly inappropriate thoughts skidding through her mind.

  “So about that drink . . . ?”

  Don’t do it! her good sense yelled inside her head.

  “Sure,” she said aloud.

  “Here?”

  His low-spoken query was rife with meaning. Her pulse went crazy in her throat.

  Could she? Should she?

  My God, she couldn’t believe she was even considering leaving the hotel with him. She who was always so careful. So aware of her personal safety. So cognizant of the many perils out there waiting to snuff out your life at any second without rhyme or reason. This man was a virtual stranger. One who fairly vibrated with danger. A man who belonged to a world so different from her own that it gave her vertigo just thinking about it.

  No! No! No! Don’t do it!

  Still, the refusal wouldn’t come out. Which was so totally out of character she wondered if some alien being had taken over her body.

  Talk about hormones trumping intelligence.

  But Nathan Daneby wasn’t a stranger, she argued with herself. Not really. And she’d love to ask him about his exciting work. To talk about his amazing travels and adventures. And maybe . . . yes, maybe even more than talk, if she could get up the nerve to accept what his stormy eyes were blatantly promising.

  More breathtaking excitement than she’d ever experienced in her life.

  After all, when would a woman like Lorraine Martin ever get another chance to know a man like him?

  So, with a thundering heart, she took that last step off the cliff of uncontrolled madness. And said, “Why don’t we get out of here?”

  NATHAN Daneby’s storm blue eyes took on an unmistakable glitter. The harsh angles of his face seemed to grow sharper, the rough shadow on his jaw darker. He still wasn’t exactly smiling, but there was no doubt that he was pleased with her response. For a split second he looked as though he was going to lower his mouth to hers and kiss her.

  But he didn’t. “Let’s,” he murmured.

  Taking her hand firmly in his, he led her through the throng to the coat-check to fetch her wrap. When a photographer stopped them at the ballroom exit to snap their picture together, he bowed over her hand and pressed his lips linger ingly to her palm.

  She almost melted.

  “I’ll get a cab,” he said when they emerged from the lobby into the warm August night.

  “No!” She blushed when he gave her an inquiring look. “No need. I know a nice place a couple blocks away,” she said, and shook off the irrational tingle of fear that snaked over her arms at the thought of getting into a taxi.

  His look narrowed. “Are you afraid? Of me?”

  She swallowed. “I, um, I don’t like cars,” she explained, feeling a bit foolish, and turned to continue walking.

  Around her, the sounds and smells of the city filled her senses with the comfort of familiarity. The waiters and bar-tender at the Green Man bistro were also familiar, so she’d feel safe there. Perhaps it was a false security, but she refused to let the irrational fear take over her life completely.

  “Which didn’t answer my question.”

  She smiled gamely over at him, took in the concerned look on his face, and shook her head. “No. I’m not afraid of you, Dr. Daneby. I wouldn’t have come if I were.”

  “Please, call me Kick.”

  “Kick?” She’d never heard him referred to by that nickname before.

  He shot her a lopsided smile. “Don’t ask.” He slid his arm around her shoulders as they walked. “I’m glad you’re not afraid. I promise there’s no reason to be. I only want . . .”

  She glanced up when his words trailed off. “Want what?”

  All at once he turned and pulled her into his arms. “This.”

  She gasped in surprise as he lifted her into a kiss.

  “Oh!”

  But her gasp melted into a low moan as his tongue took advantage and slid past her lips. He tasted so incredibly good! He deepened the kiss, taking away her ability to think.

  She put her arms around his neck and leaned into him. He stumbled a little, and without lifting his mouth, turned and pressed her against the smooth marble of the hotel wall they were walking past.

  “Open more for me, baby.”

  A groan rumbled through his chest when she willingly obeyed. His kiss was hot and hard and thoroughly sinful. He kissed like a man used to taking what he wanted. A man who wasn’t afraid of anything. A man strong enough to banish her own fears just through the sheer strength of his presence.

  Suddenly, a nearby door smacked open with a loud bang.

  In a single, lightning-fast motion he tore his lips from hers, jumped away, and whirled. Whipping a large gun from the back of his waistband, he aimed it at the door. A giggling couple spilled out through it. Just as quickly, the gun disappeared again under his jacket. If she’d blinked, she might have missed the whole thing.

  But she hadn’t.

  She stared at him, confusion welling through her.

  He had a gun!

  But Dr. Nathan Daneby hated guns. He always made a big deal about that in all the magazine articles. A ban on weapons of any kind was also one of the main tenets of Doctors for Peace, the organization he worked for. They forbade their members from carrying them. Ever.

  Which meant . . .

  This man—couldn’t be Dr. Nathan Daneby.

  But . . . But . . .

  Oh, shit. Rainie’s knees threatened to buckle. She reached behind her, fingers scrabbling against the cold marble of the wall, searching for purchase. Oh, shit.

  Seven years of martial arts were no match for a bullet.

  The man—whoever the hell he was—swore low and harsh, cursing at the sidewalk as the couple hurried off down the street without even seeing them.

  Real fear started to trickle through Rainie’s limbs.

  She tried to sidle away from him, but her high heel caught on a grate in the pavement. In a blur, he spun back to her. She froze.

  For a long second he regarded her in taut silence.

  “You aren’t Nathan Daneby,” she managed to croak. Her voice broke on the false name.

  He didn’t move. Not a muscle. But there was a light sheen of sweat forming on his brow. It wasn’t that warm out. “No,” he finally said.

  A whimper came from her throat, sounding a lot like desperation. “Then who are you?”

  “Seriously, you don’t want to know.”

  Now, there was the truth. “You’re right,” she said, and straightened away from the wall, forcing steel into her spine. “And I’ve changed my mind about that dri—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She blinked. Panic dissolved the steel. “Please move aside,” she bluffed. When he didn’t, she lurched sideways. “I’m leaving now.”

  He swiftly closed the gap between them and grasped her upper arm. His grip was like iron. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

  Dread swirled through her veins. Oh, God. This was really and truly happening. “Let go of me, or I’ll scream!” She yanked frantically at her arm.

  “No,” he calmly said, banding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her flush to his side. A second later, the barrel of his gun dug painfully into her ribs
. “You won’t.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Willed herself not to scream anyway. She would not panic. Panic would not help.

  Deep breath, let it out slowly. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, the words thready with blind terror. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t—”

  “Follow my orders,” he said, “and nothing will happen to you. Understand?” The gun retreated a fraction from her ribs.

  A trickle of hope warred with the deluge of terror. Deep breath.

  I will be fine.

  I will be calm.

  I will be safe.

  She looked up at the imposter, trying desperately to judge his sincerity. Was it just a trick to lull her into compliance? His pupils were black and dilated, and the sable hair falling over his forehead was dark with sweat. Almost as though—

  A wave of shocked recognition coursed through her. My God! He was . . . Suddenly, she understood. She was a nurse, with free access to the hospital supplies.

  She should have known.

  “You want drugs, don’t you?”

  His brows flared. “No!” A breath jetted out and he scowled fiercely, making her jump. “No. That’s not what I need from you.”

  His storm blue eyes bored into hers, and panic reared up anew, stronger than ever. She’d been so sure. If not drugs, then . . . “What do you want from me?”

  She felt the cold caress of the gun barrel under her breast.

  “Just one thing,” he growled. “Take me to your apartment.”

  TWO

  THE man called Pig woke up with a start.

  The redhead had come to him again. She was a real redhead, you know. Not one of those bottle-job wannabes. He knew for sure, because she was naked.

  She was always naked in the dreams.

  That’s what was so damn frustrating. She was always naked, but she only ever wanted to talk. Just talk. Jesus help him. All this time. Endless days and nights—at least he assumed they were days and nights—and she had yet to let him touch her. It had to be years now. At least a year. Two. Maybe even three. Who knew? When everything around you was black, black, black, time ran together into one long, fucking stretch of limitless pain and suffering.