Kit shifted on her feet, hating how easy it had become to imagine the worst. Cmon, guys. Pick up.
Her home number rang three times. Four.
A crackle of static buzzed in her ear, and the line went dead.
Limited call, my ass. Kit jiggled the disconnect button, trying to get a dial tone again. Operator? Op?
Every light on the floor went out, plunging her into darkness. Kit grabbed the edge of the counter, anchoring herself in the sudden, disorienting abyss. What the heck?
Almost instantly, a hum of disembodied voices and quick movement rolled down the hallways from the patients rooms. But they sounded far away from the bubble of black silence that engulfed her in the lobby.
An uneasy fear quickly replaced her frustration. Hello?
Shed welcome any answer from the phone or the nurses station. But, blinded by the instant night, Kit didnt know where to turn. Which distant voice to call to.
Wheres that backup?
Ten-second delay.
Check every patient.
Why does this always happen at night?
Critical systems are still online.
Kit curled her toes into her boots, staying put out of the staffs way. She clutched the dead receiver to her chest and held on, counting off an eternity until those ten seconds passed and the backup generators kicked on.
two one-thousand, three one-thousand
A breeze swept across the back of her neck, raising goose bumps beneath her ponytail. Someone was right here.
Before she could turn around, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. In the same instant a strong arm looped around her waist and dragged her back against an unyielding chest. Kit screamed behind the muzzle and twisted in her assailants grasp.
Shh. Be still, a deep voice grated against her ear.
Still? Like hell.
Kit threw down the phone and clawed at the glove. The leather was soft, supple, warm. But the hand inside wouldnt budge. Protests rang inside her ears but found no outlet. Had the mugger in the Chiefs parka followed her to the hospital? Was this surprise attack his way of keeping her from saying anything to the police?
Man, had he picked the wrong cookie to mess with.
She kicked at an instep, braced her foot against the wall and tried to shove him off balance. His arm slipped, then grabbed again, hooking beneath the swell of her breasts. When he fought to regain his hold on her, he palmed one feminine mound and squeezed. Even through layers of a sweater and glove, Kit lurched at the contact, alarmed as heat bloomed beneath his way too personal grasp. The man cursed and jerked his hand away. A surer grip tightened around her jaw, stifling any cry for help. Then, just as she thought she might wiggle her way free, the vise of hard arm and harder body lifted her clear off the floor. He carried her forward a step, pinning her between the counter and the wall of his chest.
I said be still. The lips that brushed the warning against her neck startled her into silence as much as the mans alarming strength did. His hips cupped her bottom, his thighs pressed into hers. His moist breath burned a path behind the shell of her ear. Kit held her breath. Oh, God. What did he want from her? What did he I wont hurt you, the gravelly voice promised. I just need you to listen.
Understanding the unspoken bargain that cooperation was her best deterrent against more unwanted gropes and her only chance at freedom, Kit nodded.
Suspended in the darkness, deprived of sight, Kit could do little but absorb the impressions of heat and masculinity that bombarded her senses. He wasnt the same man whod attacked Helen. There was no trace of an accent in his unusual voice. He wore a tailored leather coat, not a parka. He was too tall to be the muggers sidekick. And while he could have been the third man whod thrown her up against the wall, she was beginning to think this guy had a different purpose beyond intimidation. The men in the alley had been more than willing to hurt her. And though there was something disturbingly intimate about being pressed shoulder-to-thigh against a stranger in the darkness, this man made no effort to take advantage of her vulnerable position.
That wasnt the only detail she noticed.
With every deepening breath, Kit inhaled medicinal soap and leather, along with the odd scent of roses. Though shadowy in form, there was no mistaking the reality and substance of this man. He was lanky. Long-limbed. Solid. The crisp chill of winter clung to his coat, but his mouth radiated a heat against her skin that was dangerously enticing. The beeps of distant monitors chirped in the distance, but it was the gravelly husk of his low-pitched whisper that commanded her attention.
Thank you for taking care of Helen.
Helen? He knew Helen? Kit mumbled the question against his hand.
I will repay my debt to you.
Her toes touched the floor as he released his grip on her. Kit sucked in a deep breath and worked the stiffness from her jaw. What debt? Who
No. Dont turn around. A large palm at the center of her back seared her to the bone. The heat of that firm, commanding touch was enough to hold her in place. Dont.
Kit pressed her lips together and peered straight ahead into the darkness. A chill swept in and raised goose bumps beneath her sweater as his hand left her. Hadnt ten seconds passed yet? Or had she lost all track of time the instant her vision had failed her?
I dont want your money. Who are you? The heat was gone. He was gone. Wait. Ignoring his order, Kit whirled around.
Ten.
Emergency lights flickered on, bathing the lobby and hallways with a greenish glow. Kit blinked until her eyes adjusted to the eerie twilight. Hey. What happened to Tall, Dark and Creepy? Mister?
She thought she caught a glimpse of black stealing around the corner. The sweep of movement was longer and more flowing than the white coats and colorful uniforms of the nurses and staff. Kit hurried after it. Wait. Tell me about Helen. The hospital needs to know her last name and address.
By the time she skirted the corner, the shadowy figure had vanished. No way.
The dead-end hallway was empty. The door to a utility closet stood ajar and Kit peeked inside. Nothing.
Almost nothing.
She squinted as a small box on the closets back wall caught her eye. Kit touched it with her fingertips, then flinched from its ticking pulse. It was some sort of timer linked to an electrical conduit. Was it just an unlikely coincidence that this door stood open? Was that box part of the backup generator system? Or had the man with the ruined voice done something to the power grid? Why? Surely not just to cop a free feel and thank her for being a good neighbor to Helen.
Helen.
With suspicion thumping her heart against her chest, Kit ran back the opposite direction, past the warning call of the attending nurse, back to the ICU rooms. Helen?
The white-haired woman still lay in her bed, unmoved, unconscious. But there was something different, something out of place. Kit zeroed in on the unexpected spot of color on the white blanket.
What is going on? Kits whisper fogged the viewing window.
Instead of wiping it clear, she pushed open the door and went inside the chilled room for a closer look. A single pink long-stemmed rose lay next to Helens hand. The familiar scent and suspicious timing told Kit that he had brought the flower, and that the dark, powerful scrawl on the card tied to the rose was his.