Reckless (16 page)

It seemed to take an unreasonably long time
for him to come upstairs. She grew restless. Her feet itched and
she shifted her weight back and forth from one to the other.

Finally the door moved and Toni braced
herself. It opened. Her finger touched the knob on the top of the
can. Carl came through with Nick's arm anchored over his shoulders.
Nick's head was bowed.

Toni saw the scarlet blood dripping from his
pant leg. His head came up. He met her horrified stare, and she
could see the pain on his face. The hairspray can fell to the
floor, forgotten in her rush to pull his free arm around her and
help Carl get him inside. “To the bedroom,” she instructed, and she
and Carl half carried Nick there and clumsily eased his huge body
onto the edge of the bed. She released him long enough to tear the
covers back, then grabbed him again and eased him down onto the
bed.

“What the hell happened?” She tried not to
look at Nick's face, at the pallor of his skin, and the lines
etched at the corners of his mouth. Hooking a finger into what she
presumed to be a bullet hole in his pant leg, just below the belt
he'd twisted around his thigh, she tore the fabric wider.

“It's nothing. A graze,” Nick ground out. He
wasn't lying flat, but holding his head and shoulders off the bed.
She could hear the effort he made to keep his voice normal, and the
way he struggled to breathe deeply and regularly. The man couldn't
admit to weakness at all, even with a quart of blood soaking his
clothes. He was infuriating.

“He was shot,” Carl finally answered.

She realized it had been a stupid question.
Of course he'd been shot, what else? A mottled chasm in his flesh
still pulsed blood. She couldn't see the wound well until she
cleaned some of the blood away.

Her gaze pinned Carl. “Prop his feet on
pillows—they ought to be elevated. Get the wounded leg higher.
It'll slow the bleeding.” She got off the bed. “Take his shoes off,
too.”

Carl's quick nod assured her he'd do what she
asked. She ran into the bathroom, dug into the medicine cabinet and
gathered everything she thought might be of use: gauze pads and a
roll of gauze, a tube of antiseptic ointment, some Ibuprofen
tablets, adhesive tape. She carried all of it into the bedroom,
dumped it on the nightstand, then rushed back for a basin of warm
water, a washcloth and a bar of soap.

She was faster than Carl—then again, the poor
man was shaking so hard it was amazing he could stay upright
himself. She hurried into the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey
she'd found there before and a small glass. As she headed back, she
glanced out the wide-open bookcase door. A little shudder passed
through her. Could the one who'd shot Nick have followed them? She
closed the door and raced back to the bedside.

She had to swallow hard before she could
speak. All of this was almost too much. Seeing that much blood,
knowing it was his... She twisted the cap from the whiskey bottle
and poured with an amazingly steady hand. Leaning over him, she
supported Nick's head and held the glass to his lips with the
other.

“Hell, I'm not dying.” He took the glass from
her and swallowed the contents. Toni poured another shot as soon as
he'd emptied the glass. She handed him some pain reliever to
swallow with it this time.

“Will you quit with this, Toni? I'm all
right.”

“Shut up and drink.” Fear for him made her
voice sharp. “And then you can quit this macho bull and lie down.
It's a strain to sit up and you know it.”

Again Nick downed the whiskey. But he didn't
lie down. Toni sat on the bed and tore the pant leg completely off.
Then she began washing the blood away from his thigh. Carl had
Nick’s leg propped on four pillows, and had tightened the belt. The
blood flow had slowed to a trickle.

“Carl, go close the door,” Nick said,
watching her, “before my bird decides to fly the coop.”

She didn't pause in her removal of the blood
with the wet, soapy cloth. “I already closed the door. I was afraid
you might have been followed. Didn't want whoever did this to walk
right in and finish the job.” She dipped the cloth and squeezed,
continued washing, repeated. God, there was a lot of blood.

“Your mistake,” Nick said slowly. “I was shot
by a cop. If he had followed me, he'd have been your ticket
out.”

“I figured that out all by myself,” she
replied. “And if I'd wanted out, Nick, I wouldn't be here. Don't
kid yourself about that. I could’ve been out of here days ago if I
wanted.” She'd removed most of the blood by now. The bullet's path
had dug a furrow along his outer thigh. He was lucky it hadn't been
fractionally more to the right. It could've cost him his leg. She
took the whiskey bottle and removed the cap again. “Another
shot?''

He shook his head.

Toni took a folded towel and slid it beneath
his thigh, then she tipped the bottle up and rinsed the wound in
whiskey. She felt his body stiffen, heard the air he sucked through
his teeth. Carl turned away, clapping a hand to his mouth.

Toni used a gauze pad to absorb the
blood-colored whiskey that ran from the gash, down the sides of his
leg, and prepared to pour a bit more over the wound. She glanced at
Carl. In another minute he'd be puking. “You two must’ve left a
blood trail right up to that cliché bookcase door. Maybe you ought
to clean that up before your boss shows up to check on you.”

“Yeah, right. I hadn't thought of...” He
stopped and glanced at Nick. “If you guys don't need me.”

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Toni told him.
“He'll be fine, and I can handle this alone.”

Carl's relieved sigh filled the room. He
sought Nick's nod before he turned and left them alone.

Toni rinsed the wound again, then began
pulling the edges together and taping them to hold them tight. “I
know it hurts,” she told him. “You ought to have stitches, but
tape’ll have to do. Just hold on and I'll get it over with as fast
as I can. If you want another shot, for God's sake say so.”

He said nothing. She finished closing the
wound, coated it in ointment and then several pads, and then
wrapped gauze around his entire thigh several times and taped it
down.

He was still sitting up, and his expression
was peculiar when she sat back again, and looked him in the eye. He
seemed puzzled, as if he couldn't quite fathom what she was doing.
She hoped he hadn't lost a lot more blood than she realized, as she
slowly released the belt and watched the white gauze, waiting
for—half expecting— a red stain to appear. It didn't.

“It will be okay,” she said. “We'll have Carl
get some more bandages and some antibiotics if he can manage it.
You don’t want to risk infect—” She stopped short when his hand
shot out to encircle her wrist. He was staring intently, frowning,
not angrily, when she looked up.

“The door was wide open, Toni. Why didn't you
leave?”

She shook her head. “That has to be the
stupidest question I've heard in a year.”

“Not from where I stand. I saw the hair
spray, the little pack you had ready. You were planning to
run.”

“That was before I knew you’d got yourself
shot.”

“What difference does it make?”

She looked at him and frowned. “I couldn't
leave you like that. You needed me, for God's sake. You think I
could just turn my back and walk out and leave you bleeding all
over the floor?”

“Plenty of people have.” He let his head fall
back to the pillows.

Toni heard the double meaning behind the
remark, and again she saw beyond the facade of toughness to the
real hurt inside him. “Not me, Nick,” she told him softly. “I don't
walk out on people—not even when they deserve it.” She got up and
carried the basin of blood-tinted water into the bathroom to pour
it down the sink and rinse it clean. She refilled it, grabbed a
clean cloth and returned to the bed.

“You’re talking about what I said to you
before I left.”

She nodded, trying not to feel again the hurt
his words had inflicted.

Carl's voice from the doorway reminded Toni
of his presence. “Bloodstains are all taken care of.” His anxious
eyes never left Nick's face. “I still think you should go to a
hospital.”

“I told you it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, well, I'm spending the night just to
be sure.”

“You can't do that, Carl. We're
acquaintances, don't forget. We start acting like bosom buddies
and—''

“I thought you two had known each other for
years?” Toni's question brought a sudden wariness to both men's
eyes. Nick's gaze held hers, tired but unwavering. Carl looked at
her, then away, then back again.

“Maybe—uh—Nick and I ought to discuss this in
private, if you don't mind, Miss—”

“It's Toni. I suppose you want me to believe
you're another one of Taranto's hired killers? Shouldn't you just
grab me by the hair, shove me through the door, call me a few
choice names and threaten to kill me if you catch me listening? You
probably don't realize it, but I've seen the way Taranto's men
conduct their business. I don't believe the words ‘If you don't
mind, Miss’ exist in their limited vocabulary.”

“Don't ask her to leave, Carl. She'd just
press her ear to the door anyway.”

She glanced at Nick again. He sounded
drained. He looked worse. Pale, shaky.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm stressed out.
Look, if you want to talk, fine. But Nick, you really ought to
rest. You lost a lot of blood—”

“Go home, Carl. I'll be fine.”

“If it starts bleeding again, what're you
gonna do?” Carl demanded. “The door's locked, you can't leave a
phone in here. How could she even get help for you?”

Toni felt a shiver go through her. “He's
right, Nick,” she whispered.

“He can't stay.” Nick's eyes looked puffy and
leaden. He was obviously wrung out. He shouldn’t waste his energy
arguing. Still, Toni knew it would be stupid for her to stay alone
with him, with no way to summon help in an emergency. Nick sighed
loudly. “Carl, punch the combination into the door before you pull
it closed. That way the lock won't engage. If something happens,
Toni can go downstairs and call an ambulance. Okay?”

“And if Lou's got the phone tapped?”

“I'll tell him it was just a hooker. He'll
buy it. I know him.”

Carl glanced uneasily at Toni. “And if she
decides to take a walk?”

“I won't.” She saw the doubt in Carl's eyes.
“For God's sake, you guys are the ones claiming to be coldblooded
killers, not me. I said I'd stay and I will.”

Carl glanced at Nick. Nick shrugged. “You
heard the lady.”

He sighed hard. “I'll go. But I damn well
don't like it.”

“Duly noted, Salducci. Now get the hell outta
here.”

She didn't miss the affection in Nick's eyes,
and once again her certainty that he was no criminal outweighed her
doubt. In fact, she didn't believe either one of them was working
for Taranto. She'd never come across a gentler man than Carl.

He left, albeit reluctantly. Toni scrutinized
Nick's face from her perch on the edge of the bed. “He cares a lot
for just an acquaintance.”

“Don't miss a trick, do you?”

She sighed at the tautness in his voice.
“It's odd, but I'm not entirely comfortable with the door unlocked.
I can't tell the good guys from the bad guys.”

“You don't want to tell,” he replied.

“You're wrong about that.”

He dropped his gaze. “If you hear anyone
coming, pull the door open and close it again. The lock will take
automatically.” He closed his eyes, then forced them open. “If you
leave tonight, Toni, take my gun with you. Get on the first flight
out of the country and—”

“I am not going anywhere. What is it with
you? Don't you trust
anyone?
” His lips tightened into a thin
line. “You don't, do you?”

“No. I don't.”

She looked at the floor, then at his face
again. “Is that why you won't tell me the truth?”

“Are you still fantasizing? Look, I need to
get some sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

It was frustrating the way he kept her
guessing. Still, he had admitted to a weakness rather than discuss
whether he was or was not being honest with her. Maybe that should
tell her something. “So sleep then.”

She leaned closer to him and unbuckled the
strap that held his shoulder holster around his body. He stiffened,
and his eyes flew open again. “Easy, big guy. I'm only trying to
make you comfortable. You can't go to sleep as you are.”

He relaxed and let her take the holster from
him, gun and all. She put it aside, then began unbuttoning his
shirt. “Just how 'comfortable' are you planning on making me?”

“Still have a sense of humor, I see.” She
helped him sit up a little and tried to ignore the feel of his firm
biceps as she pushed the material down them and eased his arms from
the sleeves. She refused to look at his chest. She wasn't lying to
herself anymore. There was a strong physical attraction here. But
just because she admitted it to herself didn't mean she had to give
in to it.

She eased him back onto the pillows, and then
tore the outside seams of his trousers so she could remove them.
They were ruined anyway. He watched her without comment. “Brace
with your good leg,” she told him. “Lift your hips just a little.”
When he complied, she slid the pants from beneath him. He wore
white boxers underneath. She kept her eyes averted and grabbed up
the clean cloth from the basin of soapy water. Deftly she washed
the remaining blood from the length of his leg and patted it dry
with a clean towel. She took the whiskey-and-blood-dampened towel
from beneath his leg and swiped the wet cloth over the back of his
thigh. “Almost done,” she told him, taking the basin to dump it
again. “Then I'll let you sleep.”

When she returned, it was with another clean
washcloth.