Free Hostage by Kay Hooper Page B

kitchen area.
    “Did I thank you for digging that bullet out?” he asked, watching her.
    Her expression remained serene when she glanced at him. “A couple of times, but you were pretty out of it, especially after I gave you something for the pain.”
    “What?” He was curious and not a little uneasy.
    “Morphine. Out here, we have to be prepared for just about anything; it’s a long hike to my Jeep, and a longer drive to the nearest doctor or pharmacy. I have an EMS-grade first-aid kit here, and I’ve quite a bit of training, so I cleaned the wound and sewed you up after I got the bullet out. You shouldn’t have much of a scar. I have penicillin but didn’t want to give you any until you were awake and could tell me if you were allergic. An awful lot of people seem to be these days.”
    “True. But I’m not allergic to anything, far as I know.”
    “Then a shot to protect against infection would be a good idea. That bullet did a fair amount of damage, and the wound wasn’t exactly clean.”
    He could recall falling down once or twice in his haste to get away just after being shot, escape being more vital at the time than rigging a makeshift bandage. “You’re probably right.”
    I’m not out of it now. Thank you, Callie, for patching me up. Taking care of me.
    “Don’t mention it,” Callie said, without turning.
    Luther waited a beat, then said matter-of-factly, “So how long have you been a telepath?”
    * * *
    HOLLIS HADN’T EXPECTED to sleep much, but she had in fact napped at least an hour before dinner, eaten in a slightly drowsy state her hostess seemed to view with awe and her host with wavering suspicion, and then fallen into bed after a hot shower she’d expected to keep her awake rather than make her even more sleepy.
    She had the vague memory of DeMarco covering her up—even though she wasn’t at all sure where in the process he had joined her—and saying he’d leave the connecting doors open in case she needed anything. She also had the uneasy suspicion she had sleepily invited him to join her.
    She woke up alone, the pillow beside hers smooth and bearing no imprint of a head.
    It always took a few moments to get her eyes working properly if she’d been really out; it was, according to her doctors, an aftereffect of the truly groundbreaking surgery that had given her back her sight nearly three years ago. In any case, things were always blurry in a weird, shape-shifty sort of way for several seconds. It had been disconcerting to get used to, but once she had, Hollis seldom gave it a thought.
    Once she did get her eyes working on this particular morning, she realized dawn wasn’t far away and that she felt amazingly rested. She was relieved to see that she had at least managed to get herself into pajamas after her shower—or, at least, she hoped she was the one who had done that. At any rate, she smothered a wry laugh when she realized they were her flannel kitty pajamas.
    Very sexy.
    Not.
    Without turning on the lamp by her bed, she could still see the room quite well, so she elected not to turn on any light; it might wake DeMarco before he was ready, and despite the fact that he never showed it, he must have been nearly as weary as Hollis had been. Possibly more so; they’d had barely a weekend off after the last difficult, grueling case.
    Besides that, ever since Bishop had partnered them—and even before then, actually—DeMarco had seemingly appointed himself her watchdog, and though he tended to be unobtrusive about it in public, she was never surprised to feel him suddenly take her arm or mildly suggest they could both use some rest.
    She sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around her raised knees, not really looking at the extremely large and luxurious bedroom she’d been allotted. Instead, her gaze was on the open door that led to the equally spacious sitting room separating this bedroom from DeMarco’s.
    She hoped to God she wasn’t broadcasting. Bad enough the man