Page 73 of Hot Intent

“Speaking of which, who’s shooting at you?” He turned fully to face her and met her gaze directly for the first time.

“They were shooting at me?” she echoed blankly.

He nodded once, tersely. “I gave the bastard a clear shot at me and he didn’t take it. The sniper was definitely targeting you. Probably thinks he killed you, too.”

“Umm, is that good?” she tried.

“It is good. Gives us a window to figure out who in the hell sent someone to kill you before they come after you, again.”

“They’ll come after me again?” she squeaked.

He made a ‘don’t be stupid’ face at her. Okay, she deserved that. If she were under orders to kill someone and realized she had failed, she would go back to finish the job, too.

She sighed. “Unlike you, I don’t have a long list of enemies eager to do me in.”

“Do you have any enemies at all?” he asked a shade derisively.

“Actually, no. I mean there were a couple bitches in high school who hated my guts for no apparent reason, but I highly doubt any ex-hormonal-teen-girls are climbing on rooftops and taking pot shots at me after all this time.”

“This is serious,” he snapped.

“I’m being serious. Nursing students don’t run around making mortal enemies.”

“Apparently, you do.”

“This isn’t about Dawn, again, is it?”

“Doubtful. I called your dad while you were sleeping. He said there’s been no unusual activity up their way. He had a couple of your brothers come over to the house to beef up security around Dawn for now.”

Wow. That was actually pretty thoughtful of him. So unlike him in his current asshole-ish frame of mind. “Uhh, thanks,” she mumbled.

He shrugged and said briskly, “Attempt not to use your left arm or move it. The bullet passed through just above your left lung and below the shoulder joint. You were lucky the guy didn’tuse a hollow point round. The exit wound in your back is only a few millimeters larger than the entry wound, so I’m guessing he went with a Teflon-tipped bullet. Which means we’re looking at a pro. Snipers prefer hard-tip shells—they fly truer.”

She seriously did not care what type of bullet had nearly killed her. At the moment she was less interested in Alex’s spy self than his doctor self. “What did you do to fix my shoulder?” she asked.

“Cleaned the wound, mostly. Had to cauterize a small artery and then stitch it all up. You really were incredibly lucky.”

Yeah. Incredibly lucky that a surgeon with experience treating gunshot wounds happened to be a few yards away from her when she got shot. Incredibly lucky that he had actually turned around and came back to help her. Incredibly lucky that he kept a crash pad nearby and usually traveled with a wide array of medical gear in his luggage.

“Thanks for saving my life, Alex.”

His answer was quick. Sharp. “Don’t thank me. I only came back because I thought the sniper was using you as bait. I needed him to take another shot so I could get a position fix on him.”

Seriously? She stared at him in disbelief.

What a jerk.

But after that reflexive reaction, she paused to actually consider what he’d said, tilting her head to study him. Was he being honest, or was he just covering up the fact that he’d cared enough about her to come back for her?

God, he was harder to read than ever. She was really getting tired of that emotionless shell the real Alex was hiding behind.

“Now what?” she asked.

One corner of his mouth turned up reluctantly. She supposed it was just like old times for her to ask him that.

He answered, “Now, I do some poking around. Figure out who wants you dead.”

“What kind of poking around?”

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