"Just drive." Worry crept into her mind when he leaned against the seat and put his head against the rest.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm always all right." He grinned, but she saw the stress around the edges. He was in pain and bleeding. As far as she knew, the bullet could have broken his arm or perforated a vein.

Using his right hand he eased his cell phone from his pocket. He punched numbers, then put the phone to his ear. "It's me." His voice was low and rough. "I need sanctuary. Code one. Level blackjack."

He listened for a minute, then without speaking closed the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.

"Who was that?" Jess asked.

"Cavalry." He pointed to a gravel lane. "Turn around. Head north."

Jess turned into the lane, then backed out and turned the car around. "Where are we going?"

"Church."

"Back to Father Matthew's church?"

Madrid shook his head. "I've already involved him enough. There's an old mission an hour to the north. A safe house set up by the MIDNIGHT Agency."

"I thought you quit."

He lifted his shoulder as if to shrug, but winced instead. "This is unofficial."

Jess glanced at him. A sheen of sweat covered his face. His mouth was set in a thin, taut line, his eyes dark and gla.s.sy with pain. "I hope they have first aid supplies," she said.

"We'll find out when we get there." Closing his eyes, he leaned against the seat.

IN THE SIX YEARS he'd been with the MIDNIGHT Agency Madrid had been forced to function countless times in extremely uncomfortable situations. This time, however, the pain radiating from his shoulder to his fingertips was far worse than mere discomfort.

By the time they pulled into the weed-riddled parking lot of the tiny mission, his tolerance had worn down to a thin veneer. He could feel the pain pulsing through his system with every beat of his heart. He was sweating and irritable and a h.e.l.l of a lot more shaky than he wanted to admit. He didn't know if the bullet had gone clean through or if he was going to have to talk Jess into digging it out. The thought sent a wave of nausea washing over him.

Even though the abandoned mission was half a mile from the coast highway, he had Jess park beneath the canopies of a grove of cedar elms so the car couldn't be spotted via police helicopter.

"You look terrible," she said as she shut down the engine.

"All the women tell me that." He tried to smile, but didn't think he managed. He was too worried about whether or not he could make it inside on his own power.

The clock on the dash read 3:00 a.m. It was too dark for him to a.s.sess the wound, but he could feel the blood beginning to clot, causing his shirt to stick to his skin. d.a.m.n, he hoped it wasn't as bad as it felt.

Grimacing, he reached for the satchel and removed a tiny flashlight. "Let's go inside and see what accommodations the MIDNIGHT Agency has provided." He shoved open the door.

"Maybe you ought to let me help you."

"I'm fine," he said, and got out of the car.

Madrid wasn't exactly sure what happened next. One moment he was walking toward the single-level stucco mission. The next he was on his knees, clutching his arm, trying not to throw up.

"Madrid!" Jess rushed to him and knelt at his side.

Vaguely he was aware of her putting her arm around him. She was warm and soft against him. She smelled like sandalwood, only sweeter. Through the pain he was aware of her breast brushing his shoulder. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to a woman, and the feeling was d.a.m.n nice.

Slowly the nausea subsided and the dizziness leveled off.

"How bad is the wound?" she asked after a moment.

"Anytime a piece of lead penetrates skin, it's bad," he growled.

"Can you make it inside?"

"Unless you're a h.e.l.l of a lot stronger than you look, I don't think I have a choice."

She usurped the flashlight. "I can handle the light."

A groan escaped him as he heaved himself from the ground. Jess put her arm around his waist and draped his uninjured arm around her shoulders. He didn't let himself think about the pain or dizziness as they wobbled toward the mission.

"We go in the back," Madrid said between gritted teeth.

"Okay." Jess shoved open a rusty wrought-iron gate and set the beam on a gravel path that led to a courtyard. Madrid barely noticed the defunct fountain that had once been grand. At the rear of the mission she tried the door, found it locked.

"What now?" she asked.

He looked around, spotted a nice-size stone that had once been part of a flower bed, then realized he wasn't going to be able to bend over to pick it up. "We break the gla.s.s." He motioned toward the rock.

Jess scooped it up.

Madrid took it from her and in a single smooth motion shattered the pane nearest the lock. Shoving his hand inside, he fumbled around for the bolt, flipped it and pushed open the door. The odors of mildew and old wood met his nose as he stepped inside.

"Home sweet home," he said.

"Please tell me there's electricity."

"That would be way too convenient." He handed her the flashlight. "We'll be lucky if there are candles."

They had entered through what had once been a kitchen. A wooden table with peeling paint and four mismatched chairs stood in the center of the room. Madrid pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. Vaguely he was aware of Jess moving around, the beam bobbing off to his left.

"I found supplies!"

He looked up to see Jess approach, her arms full, and smiling as if she'd just won the lotto. Madrid stared at her, taken aback by the hard tug of attraction. d.a.m.n, he wished she wasn't so pretty. He'd always been attracted to pretty things.

She set the supplies on the table. Digging into a box, she removed two candles, lit them, and yellow light illuminated the room.

"Looks like there's food in here, too," she said.

"What about a first aid kit?" Every MIDNIGHT Agency safe house would include something for emergencies.

"Check." She took the red-and-white kit from the box. "There's also a flashlight, bottled water." She went still. "A pistol."

"Must be our lucky day." But he hoped they weren't going to need it.

Her gaze met his. "Will we be safe here?"

"For tonight. The Agency is meticulous about choosing its safe houses. You can bet this place isn't on the map or tax roll."

"What exactly does this agency do?"

"The things no other agency will touch."

She thought about that for a moment. "Serious stuff."

"Yeah." Because it was best she didn't know any more than she already did, Madrid changed the subject. "I need to take a look at this wound. Get it cleaned up." Gingerly he worked the jacket off his shoulders.

"Maybe we ought to get you to a hospital."

"No can do."

"Madrid-"

"If you're not up to it, I can do it myself."

"I don't think you're in any condition to do much of anything."

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. "Look, if it's bad we'll do what we need to do. For now, let's get it cleaned up and see what we're dealing with."

A sigh of resignation shuddered out of her. "I'm a waitress. I don't know anything about treating bullet wounds."

He managed a smile. "Yeah, but you're a quick study."

Chapter Nine.

Up until two days ago Jess hadn't so much as seen a bullet wound, let alone get shot at, sustain one herself or administer first aid. Angela's murder had changed everything. She wasn't squeamish; she'd treated her own bullet wound just days before. But treating someone else's was a completely different endeavor.

Next to her, Madrid draped his jacket over the back of his chair and proceeded to remove his shirt. In the yellow glow of the candles she saw wide shoulders and a broad chest covered with a thatch of dark hair. She swallowed hard as his washboard abs came into view. He was muscular, but not overdeveloped. She knew it was silly considering the circ.u.mstances, but she'd never seen such a magnificent male body.

She didn't know if it was the utter maleness of him or the thought of treating a potentially serious wound, but she began to tremble. She could feel the hot zing of nerves running through her body, making her knees weak, her fingers twitchy. Not a good reaction considering what she was about to do.

She picked up the first aid kit, opened it, closed it, then repeated the action. When she ran out of things to do, she turned back to Madrid.

He'd settled into the chair. Leaning against the back, he might have look relaxed, if he hadn't been cradling his left arm. Jess didn't want to do this. She didn't want to treat him or look at the wound. But with nowhere to turn, nowhere to go, no one to call for help, she knew she didn't have a choice.

Pulling up a chair beside his, she sat and peered at the wound. The blood looked black in the candlelight. The surrounding skin was beginning to swell, but there was too much blood for her to a.s.sess the wound fully.

"There's probably alcohol in the kit."

She started at the sound of Madrid's voice. She glanced at him to find his eyes already on her. Gathering the jagged remains of her composure, she reached for the kit. Sure enough, a dozen or so alcohol packets were nestled inside next to a roll of sterile gauze and a suture kit.

"Pretty extensive first aid kit," she muttered.

"Practical for our line of work."

She tried not to think about that as she opened a package and carefully disinfected her hands.

"Your hands are shaking."

"Yeah, well, bullet wounds make me nervous."

With his good arm he reached out and touched her. "We're safe for now," he said, misinterpreting the cause of her shakiness. "We've got a few hours. Try to relax."

"That's only part of it, Madrid." She motioned toward the wound. "It looks bad, and I'm not very good at this. I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll let you know when it hurts."

"If you don't pa.s.s out first."

"I'm not going to pa.s.s out, okay?"

"Like you have any control."

Grimacing, he turned his arm so he could get a better look. "Did the bullet go in and out?"

She'd been putting off looking at it, but she had no choice. "There's some swelling. I'll need to wipe off some of this blood."

He handed her an alcohol packet. "Do what you can. Don't worry about hurting me. I'm okay."

But would he be okay once she started probing the wound? Taking the swab, she took a deep breath and dabbed at the b.l.o.o.d.y skin.

Next to her, Madrid sat stone still, watching. "No exit wound," he said. "See if you can feel the bullet."

Jess palpated the area as gently as she could, jerking her hand away when he hissed out a curse. "Sorry."

"Dig it out."

She looked up to find his gaze already on hers. In the dim light she could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The grim line of his mouth. "Madrid..."

"Infection will set in if you don't." He paused. "Come on, Jess. It's not deep."

Her own wound hadn't been nearly as bad. It had bled a lot, but the bullet had grazed her. Still, hers had gotten infected and could have become extremely serious if Madrid hadn't given her antibiotics.

"Madrid, you need to see a doctor."