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the size of it. She lay upon the examining table, still pale but not unnaturally so. Her fiery hair needed combing. She'd have a fit if she could see the way the brutally shortened locks curled about her face. She looked too young to have been shot in the line of duty. Too innocent to have lain with him on a hotel bed only the day before and driven him to the point of madnessso close to the denial of everything he'd lived his life believing. |
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He should leave her now. She'd be safe in Isadora. Safe with her own people. Franklin would take her to the cabin, and no one could find her there. She'd be too ill to get into troubleat least for the time it would take Chris to draw the danger away from her. They wanted him, after all. He could make them leave her aloneat least until she regained the strength to fight back. |
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But he found he couldn't leave her. He had no guts, no spine. He couldn't walk away from her while she lay unconscious, and he had no guarantee whoever wanted him dead would stop with him. Though Dr. Franklin looked capable enough, he was no match for the man or woman who pulled the strings in this game. Though Chris didn't know yet who stood behind the threat, he felt in his heart that evil lurked behind a smiling facade. The person who stalked them was someone he knew. The one who had discovered their hiding place at the hotel would find them againmore easily than they could ever dream. Until Chris eliminated such a possibility, D.J. wouldn't leave his sight. Though he'd spent the last eighteen years honing his mind and body into a weapon for his own protection, |
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