Free Dangerous Passion by Lisa Marie Rice Page B

and Grace spoke at the same time. She laughed, a soft little huff.
    Ben slanted him a glance, then focused back on Grace. He was a good doctor, the best. Drake had to back off. She was covered with cuts and scrapes, there was going to be some discomfort while Ben cleaned her up.
    But damn, he hated to think of her hurting. Hated it.
    “So…” Ben had sterilized tweezers and was working on something in her hand. “Back to my question. What’s your name? I need to work on my bedside manner, or so everyone tells me, so I need to have a name to do that.”
    “Grace,” she said softly, then sucked in a breath. Ben stopped immediately. “Sorry. No, that’s fine. I don’t mean to be a wuss. Grace Larsen.”
    “Uh-huh.” Ben had that distracted voice that meant he was intensely concentrating on what he was doing. “And what do you do, Grace Larsen?”
    “I’m an artist.”
    “Artist, huh? I…see.” Ben’s hands stilled and he shot Drake a look. He knew what was in the study. He concentrated again on her, cleaning up the side of her face. He peered closely at her temple, gently lifting her hair away. “What happened here? Someone grind something into you?”
    “You could say that.” Her voice turned dry. “A gun muzzle. It wasn’t fun.”
    “No, I bet it wasn’t. The sights tore your skin. I don’t want to put stitches in, though. I’m no plastic surgeon and you’re too beautiful for me to mess your face up. But you might want to have that looked at later. I’ll put in butterfly stitches. How we holding up, boss?” Ben raised his voice without looking over at him. “I’m wrapping this up.”
    Grace peered around Ben to look at him and he saw her eyes widen. “Listen, I’m fine now. Go to him, please.”
    Ben carefully placed the last butterfly stitch and looked at Drake, who was holding himself up by sheer willpower.
    Ben scrubbed his hands carefully but fast, snapped on new latex gloves and came to him, holding a big syringe.
    “Okay, my man, it’s your turn, and it’s about time.” He cut away Drake’s shirt, looked carefully at the wound without touching it. “Ricochet,” he said finally, “you lucky bastard. If the force hadn’t been almost spent by the time it made its way into your tough hide, you might have been a goner. As it is, it’s shallow and it’s going to be easy to get out. You got a free one there, Drake, my man.”
    Ben was carefully filling the big syringe with anesthetic.
    “Not very much anesthesia,” Drake said. “I don’t want to lose the use of my shoulder and arm.”
    Ben looked at him, shocked. Drake nearly smiled. It took a hell of a lot to shock a trauma surgeon.
    “You’re crazy. I can’t stitch up a bullet wound if it’s not completely numb. You can’t hold still for me. We’re not out on the Afghani plains, Drake, we’re in midtown Manhattan. Cleaning bullet wounds requires probing and debriding. It’s going to fucking hurt if I don’t pump you full of anaesthesia.”
    “No.” Drake kept his voice firm, but only through a huge effort. “Just the bare minimum.”
    He couldn’t lose the use of his shoulder and arm, not even for an hour. He had no idea how far his security had been breached. Every instinct he had told him that he was safe here, but there had to be a mole and he could be close by. The thought of Grace in danger while he had lost the use of his arm and shoulder was too frightening even to contemplate.
    “So how the hell am I supposed to work on you if I’m fucking hurting you?” Ben asked in exasperation.
    Drake closed his eyes and went away.

Four
    It was just amazing to watch. Before the doctor could inject the anesthetic, this man, this Drake, as everyone called him, simply closed his eyes and…disappeared. It was as if he put himself into a deep sleep—actually it looked like more of a coma, though he remained sitting upright—in a second.
    “What—what happened?” she asked. Her voice sounded shaky.
    Ben looked up at