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  “Lana….” The words left his mouth and he crumbled.

  Chapter Nine

  She hated hospitals, with their stench of desperation and their forcibly cheerful staff. “You’ll let me see him. Now.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Lana couldn’t see much under the heavy-duty tinted goggles, but the cop at Mac’s door didn’t seem impressed. “Our orders state no visitors.”

  Wojo had threatened certain death should anyone come near Mac’s recovery room. The surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder hadn’t lasted long but nobody knew how fast a hero healed.

  She’d been in the ER when Wojo made the order, barking instructions as if he’d never left his desk. She didn’t know how he constructed the minor miracle of everyone leaving the Rook long enough for her to emerge as Lana. In the ensuing chaos, nobody questioned why she appeared beat to shit.

  The past six hours had been nothing but a blur, the heat roaring back through her veins and suffusing her with fire.

  “Just tell me he’s all right.”

  “I’m unable to release that information.” Stone hard voice, cold, hard facts. She’d been able to bully her way past the nurses, refusing to spend another minute in the hospital bed.

  The cop at Mac’s door wasn’t as easy.

  “I have to see him. Now. This instant.” Fists clenched against her sides, she fought the urge to blast the door, and tried to use her brain instead. She was just Lana here. Not the Night Rook.

  “You can stay in the room if you think it’ll be safer. Or call Wojo, right now. I’m going in. Back off or—”

  “I think it’ll be safer if you let her.”

  She might have pushed the guard out of her way—Lana had no idea, but she was finally in Mac’s arms, breathing his scent, reveling in his one-armed embrace.

  She heard rather than saw his wince of pain. Calling herself ten times an idiot, she ran cautious fingertips over his side. “How bad is it?”

  The doc who looked her over refused to talk about Mac, citing the requisite HIPPA privacy bullshit.

  “I should be asking you that.” His voice was coarser than its usual rough edge. Gentle fingertips caressed her cheek before lightly tracing her bandaged shoulder.

  She would’ve shrugged if pain didn’t blaze throughout her torso. “Bullet passed through. They’re saying I got lucky and can’t figure out how I’m able to get up so soon. Bet they won’t say that again when my parents get here and give me hell for it.” And she gave in to the urge to rub her face against the solid ridges of his chest. “Couple weeks of rest, then rehab. Now it’s your turn.”

  He led her forward until her knees rested against the side rail of the bed. God knew she remembered what that cold metal felt like. This time, she didn’t mind his hand guiding her with its quiet strength.

  A gentle tug had her sitting down on the mattress—a good thing, since the adrenaline waned away.

  “Bullet missed a lung. Good thing my kind heals fast.”

  She nodded at the silent unsaid question, her hand resting in his. Damned if it didn’t feel right, laying there, his large palm curved around hers. “The cop at the door. Wojo put up a guard because your power hasn’t come back.”

  “To keep reporters out.” The warmth of his hand left her for a moment, and a soft weight of a pillow slid behind her neck. “It’s back, twenty-four hours, on the dot. The wound’s healing nicely. The doc who stitched me up had a bum leg. He asked if he could take some samples.”

  Funny tone in his voice, surprise, amusement. “Samples—as in skin or blood? You let him?”

  “Yeah.” He waited, as if expecting her to berate him for it then said, “I’ve been poisoning myself for the past three years. Didn’t think I’d see a day when I wanted the power back. Maybe it’ll help him….” Mac took a quiet breath. “I bet Avalon will have a field day with ratings. I’m surprised there weren’t reporters breathing behind your back.”

  “Wojo scared them shitless. And actually….” With her good arm, Lana fished out a pen out of her jeans pocket. “She swore she wouldn’t say a word about me. Besides, Williams gave her plenty for good ratings.”

  “You trust her?”

  She thought for a long moment and put the pen back in her pocket. “Yes.”

  A long stretch of warm silence.

  “So if this healing thing comes with power, why do you think I still can’t stand the light?”

  She felt rather than saw that sad, small smile. “Maybe because it was still building in your system. And the surgeries—”

  Lana guessed his meaning. “The surgeries only made it worse.”

  “Will you be okay with that?”

  “I’ll have to be.”

  He killed the overhead lights without moving.

  “That’s not very hero like,” she said and shoved the goggles off to finally see him.

  “When you’re better, you can kick my ass.” The bed dipped when he settled in beside her. Two heroes beat to shit after a hellish day.

  Lana leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “What if we partner up? Do this thing together?”

  “What thing?” Tired voice, his shoulder comforting and strong.

  “Superheroing.” Somehow the word came out funny, and Lana couldn’t help but snort. Maybe the meds the doctors shoved into her veins had some sort of a timed release. “Help people. Save the innocents.”

  “The innocents.” He made a humming noise, his heartbeat slow and steady. “I have a job lined up, you know. Wojo wants me to run the dojo while he sorts out the department.”

  “So it’s a money thing.” She poked him in the ribs, lightly, so very lightly. “There’s this fund called Friend of the City. I bet I could get them….”

  His chest shook with a quiet laugh.

  It hurt, but the next elbow shove was harder. “What?”

  “Nothing. Let’s just say you’re sitting next to the Friend of the City. No more elbows,” he muttered and pressed her to his side to stem the next round of violence.

  She waited to be pissed. Maybe she was still high on meds because she couldn’t summon up any anger. Instead, she snuggled into his scent. “So you were always there. Helping. Why?”

  “I love you.” He gave another a soft laugh, his lips against her hair. “I just love you, that’s all.”

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Jayden Alexander is a space pilot, a ninth degree black belt in three styles of martial arts, a computer hacker, a mountain climber, a jazz singer, a weightlifter, a superspy with a talent for languages, and an evil genius.

  All in her own head.

  In life, she is a web developer and an author of kickass, action-packed romances, possesses a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do and blue belt in Aikido, loves jazz piano, can bench-press about twenty pounds—with effort, speaks Russian, is scared to death of heights, and, when not plotting murder and mayhem, enjoys steamy romance novels, sexy spy thrillers, murky mysteries and movies where things frequently blow up.

  You can visit Jayden at:

  jaydenalexanderauthor.com

  The Other Brother

  Photographer Melodie Carr moved to New York City to escape the death of her fiancé in Iraq. Struggling to come to terms with it ever since, she sees a call for photographs for a calendar to benefit family members of fallen heroes, and is eager to help out.

  Unfortunately, she doesn’t know any men that fit the profile. Not until Patrick Brogan—her late fiancé’s brother—turns up in New York. Seeing him brings up all kinds of memories, but she’s determined to push them aside and persuade him to take part in the calendar. But is that all he’ll take part in?

  The Marquis and the Mistress

  Lord Simon James Winston, seventh Marquis of Breckinridge, can have anything he wants, except the woman he loves. After Chandra, his lover of two years, spurns his marriage offer, he does his best to forget her. When friends discussed the services of Madame Eve one night over cards, it seems like just the thing
to get him over his heartbreak.

  Mrs. Chandra Mallory wants nothing more than to marry her lord, but deep-hidden secrets threaten to destroy that dream. On a whim, the widow calls on the services of Madame, hoping a night of passion can help her move on.

  Can one evening heal past hurts and concerns and help a marquis and his mistress realize true love is always worth the chance?