Free Crossfire Christmas by Julie Miller

no problem hurting people, but it’s not my job or my nature to intentionally inflict any harm.”
    “Oh, yeah? Who was going to knee me a half hour ago?”
    Guilty. She silently thanked him for the reminder she needed to clear her head of her confusing feelings. “I’ve got isopropyl alcohol in the bathroom.” She thumbed over her shoulder to the hallway. “Is it all right if I go and get that?”
    Charles the Bully simply nodded.
    She returned with a bowl of soapy water and a bottle of rubbing alcohol and went to work cleaning and sterilizing as much of the wound, needle, thread and paring knife she’d brought from the kitchen as she could. At his bidding, she’d turned her dresser mirror so that he could watch her work with the knife behind him. It was the reflection of jaded suspicion she spoke to now. “This isn’t standard procedure. And these conditions are far from sterile. What if I make it worse?”
    His gaze met hers in the mirror. “Trust me, darlin’, I’m as tough as I look. You can’t make me hurt any worse than I already do.”
    “The sooner you’re fixed up, the sooner you’re out of my life, right? Even though I know your name and can describe your face, I’ll be a free woman again? You won’t hurt anyone else?”
    Those golden eyes, seemingly lit from within, offered her an unexpected reassurance. “You’re not who I’m after, darlin’. You’re not the one who needs to worry about me.”
    So who was he after? Who should be worried about the toughness and the single-minded determination and all the guns she suspected were in that bag? Charles was big, strong, wounded, armed and serious as a heart attack. Whoever he was after
should
be afraid. She’d been a fool for not minding her tongue and risking his anger, for thinking for even one minute that she could run away or leave him behind or talk him into letting her go before he was done with her.
    Shivering again, though with something more unsettling than the cold of her damp clothes, Teresa dropped her gaze to the broad expanse of his back. She opened the antiseptic spray and doused the injured shoulder. “This is only a topical anesthetic. When I cut through the skin, it’s going to hurt. If you cry out, the neighbors will hear. I don’t want anyone calling 911 and getting caught in the middle of another shoot-out with you.”
    “I won’t cry out.”
    She didn’t know whether to admire or fear a man with that kind of control. In the end, she reminded herself that what she felt didn’t matter. As a nurse, she simply did her job and took care of the patient, no matter what it might cost her emotionally.
    Teresa patched him up the best she could. She cleaned and bandaged the wound on his left thigh, as well. An hour later, she had an exhausted man, dressed in little more than gauze and tape and the fresh jeans he’d pulled from that bag, sitting on the edge of her bed. He was flexing the fingers of his left hand. Although it still pained him to raise his arm, he was getting some feeling and use back in the hand, making him twice as dangerous as the one-armed thug had been. Per his instructions, she dumped the ruined clothing and medical supplies into a trash bag and picked it up to carry it out to the kitchen to dispose of later.
    “You got any duct tape, Peewee?” he asked, slowly pushing to his feet. He towered over her, even in his bare feet, reminding her who was in charge. Teresa meekly nodded. “Bring it when you come back. Once you’ve cleaned up and put on some dry clothes, I’m tying you up in case you get any idea about escaping while I catch a few hours of sleep.”
    Forget
meek.
Hadn’t she been cooperating? She tilted her face up to his. “You don’t have to restrain me. I promise I won’t try to go anywhere but the kitchen and bathroom.”
    “Either I tie you up or you’re sleeping in this bed with me tonight.”
    The bald statement shocked her, and maybe not entirely in the way it should have. So what