Free Crossfire Christmas by Julie Miller Page B

he wasn’t about to get her more involved with the mess that was his life right now than she already was. “It’s complicated.”
    “Oh, I understand complicated. Why didn’t you tell me you were a cop?” She leaned with him to keep them face-to-face when he tucked his empty weapon into the back of his jeans. “I would have helped you. I wouldn’t have put up such a fuss. I thought you were a fugitive from the law—a drug dealer or a hit man. I was thinking of ways I could disable you long enough for me to get away. I almost sewed up a dirty wad of gauze in your wound to create a sepsis. If the pain and discomfort didn’t slow you down, the resulting blood infection would eventually kill you.”
    She had plans to sabotage his injury? “Did you do that?”
    “No. I took an oath to help people, not hurt them.” So she had the brains to think like a survivalist, but she lacked the killer instinct to ensure her freedom by whatever means were available to her. That still gave him a slight edge over her because she had a heart and a conscience that restricted her actions, while he was willing to do whatever was necessary to complete his mission. “You should have told me the truth instead of bullying me. I grew up with cops. I understand the dangers they face. My brother’s a cop. My sister Emilia is married to one.”
    He’d snatch that magazine of bullets right now if he didn’t think the room would start spinning again at the sudden movement. Nash didn’t like feeling weak like this. He didn’t like having his secrets exposed. And as much as he appreciated her resourcefulness, he didn’t like that his hostage had turned the tables on him. He blinked her chocolate-brown eyes into clearer focus and let his gaze sweep down the clingy lines of her sweater and jeans. Nice. He’d been aware of those breasts and hips from the moment he’d pinned her body beneath his in the snow. But the rosy pink lips, adorned with nothing but accusation and shine, made him hungry for something more than food.
    Priorities, Nash.
He corrected the errant thought that warmed his blood. A man in survival mode didn’t have time for fantasies like wondering what a woman would taste like beneath his kiss. At least she hadn’t taken his gun or stolen another one from his go bag to aim at him. And he’d just have to take her word that she hadn’t booby-trapped his wound to hasten his death. “What are you, a pickpocket?”
    “I’ve developed certain skills over the years,” she explained. “I’m the youngest of five children. I never could outmuscle AJ or outsmart Emilia and my sisters. So I developed a knack for being sneaky. I’d pocket a piece of a jigsaw puzzle or steal a couple of Mama’s cookies so I could make sure I had my share of whatever they were doing before they were done.”
    Nash tapped his left front pocket, still trying to get his brain up to speed on the shifting situation. The cell phone was still there, nestled right next to the promised land. Could he have slept through her taking it off him? Had she already called 911 or turned him in to the brother or brother-in-law at KCPD she kept throwing at him? “How long have you been loose?”
    “I waited a couple of hours until I was sure you were in a deep sleep. Then I crawled to the bathroom, got the scissors out of my sewing kit and cut myself free.” She lifted her hand to the tiny pink welts and bruising that dotted her cheek. “I didn’t realize how bad it would hurt to pull tape off my skin. The rest were easier.”
    “I tried to tape it to your clothes, not your skin.” Feeling a pang of remorse for her getting hurt interfering with his annoyance, Nash instinctively reached out to touch his fingertips to the spot. A muscle quivered beneath the brush of his fingers, and her cool skin warmed. “I’m sorry.”
    “I wasn’t exactly cooperating when you were restraining me.”
    “It’s my fault, Peewee. Don’t apologize or make excuses.” What