Guilty Secrets. Virginia Kantra
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didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.
“Did you two have kids?”
Enough was enough.
Nell pushed her plate away and leaned her elbows on the table. “You said this wasn’t a job interview.”
“It’s not.”
“Really? Because all these personal questions sure sound like you’re interviewing someone for a girlfriend position. And I’m not interested in applying.”
Reilly sat back and signaled for the check. “Do you mind telling me why?”
“You can’t accept I’m simply not attracted to you?”
Unexpectedly, he reached across the table and caught her hand in his. His fingers wrapped around her wrist. His gaze sought hers. Nell forced herself not to pull away, not to show any reaction at all. But he had to see the color that crept into her face. He had to feel her pulse thrum under his touch. His thumb stroked the soft inner skin of her wrist.
He released her abruptly and smiled. “Nope. I won’t accept that.”
Jerk.
“Fine,” Nell said crossly. “There are still those ethical considerations we talked about. You are writing about my clinic. It would be awkward, at the very least, if we became personally involved. But the biggest reason is that my work demands all my energy. I simply don’t have time for a relationship.”
Not now, when her bag was bulging with data that could destroy her and her clinic.
And not with him. The last person she needed screwing up her it’s-all-under-control life was a hardboiled reporter who saw far too much and asked way too many questions.
“That’s reasonable,” Reilly said.
Some of the tension leached from Nell’s shoulders. She even smiled. “I’m glad you agree.”
“I didn’t say I agree,” he corrected. He dropped a bunch of bills on the waitress’s tray. “I said it was reasonable.”
The predatory glint in his eye made her nervous.
The March moon was a clear, cold disk in the sky, its white light lost in the orange glare of the street lamps. Frost glittered on the concrete and tinseled the windshields of the cars lining the curb. Nell’s breath escaped in puffs as they walked.
And walked.
Joe set his jaw. His ankle had started throbbing before they even reached the restaurant. Ice and elevation, the doctors said. Yeah, right. Like Nell wouldn’t have noticed if he’d stuck his foot in her lap during dinner.
He slung an arm around her shoulders for support. She was slight and strong and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Her hair tickled his cheek.
“Warm enough?” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said crisply, not turning her head. “Put your hands in your pockets if you’re cold.”
Despite the pain in his ankle, Joe bit back a grin. “Yes, Nurse Dolan.”
She shot him a sharp look and kept walking.
Hell. Sweat broke out on his upper lip. He had to slow down.
Joe made a show of digging in his pockets. “Mind if I smoke?”
Nell slowed her steps to match his. “Not if you don’t mind my reciting statistics linking smoking to lung cancer, heart disease and emphysema.”
“Go right ahead.” He stopped. Thank God. Balancing his weight on his left leg, Joe shook out a cigarette. His third today. He cupped the end and lit it, dragging the blessed smoke into his lungs. Heaven.
Nell narrowed her eyes at him. “You really should quit.”
Joe exhaled slowly, savoring the rush of nicotine. “I’m cutting out one vice at a time, thanks.”
“Really?” She arched one eyebrow. “What have you given up today?”
She was teasing. Maybe even flirting. He couldn’t tell. But her question howled through his soul like the wind through a ruin.
Joe shivered, shaken by the memories of the past twelve months. His mother’s worried eyes. His brothers’ bafflement. His boss’s frustration.
What had he given up?
Too damn much.
He shook out the match and stumped along, forgetting for a moment to disguise his limp. “I was going to go without sex tonight,” he said. “But if you want to change my mind, sweetheart, I—”
Instinct stopped him. Instinct or some habit of observation honed in war zones across Eastern Europe and the Middle East.
Three young toughs loitered in the block ahead of them, beside the line of empty cars. Joe was too far away to make out their gang colors, but he recognized the aggressive confidence in their moves, the casual menace of their posture. Trouble carried itself the same, in Chicago or in Gaza.
Their symbols were anchored on the right: caps tilted, a pocket inside out, a buckle worn to the side. That meant their gang, whatever it was, was affiliated with the Folks nation. Joe tried to recall what his brother Mike had told him about the Folks, back in the days when the Reilly brothers talked easily about everything. More spread out than their rival nation, the People, gangs in the Folks were quick to defend their territory lines.
Automatically, Joe looked for an open business, a bodega, anyplace with lights. Witnesses.
Nothing.
Hell.
He put a hand on Nell’s arm, mentally calculating the distance back to Flynn’s. He’d never make it. Could she? He registered the exact moment the boys spotted them, saw the nudge and the shove, felt the stirring of their interest like something nasty poked with a stick.
He and Nell should cross the street. Now.
Too late.
The toughs uncoiled from their stoop and sauntered toward them. Two walked abreast, blocking the sidewalk. One slid between the parked cars to the deserted street, cutting off escape in that direction.
Joe felt the anger cruise through his veins. Anger and fear. The taste of it was sour in his mouth. He wasn’t carrying a lot of money. He didn’t care much about his life. But the woman with him…
He crushed his cigarette underfoot, damning his unsteady balance, and put Nell firmly behind him.
The gang members prowled closer, making no attempt to be silent or subtle. Light gleamed from their chains, their belt buckles, their eyes. Joe shifted his weight to take their attack.
And then Nell’s clear voice piped behind him, “Benny? How’s your mother? Are her bunions still bothering her?”
The two boys in front of Joe stopped, confused. Nell stepped forward, smiling, and took Joe’s arm.
“Benny’s mother works in retail sales,” she explained. “So she’s on her feet all day. She was in a lot of pain when she first came to the clinic.”
She smiled again at the taller of the two toughs blocking the sidewalk, holding Joe’s arm tight against her breast so he couldn’t swing, couldn’t move without hurting her. He could feel her heart pounding against his arm.
“How is she?” she asked again, her tone relaxed and solicitous. “Are those new shoes helping?”
The young man looked down at the sidewalk and over at his friends. “Yeah,” he said finally. “She’s doing okay.”
“Good,” Nell said. “You tell her to come see me if she has any more problems. She can come after work. We’re open until seven Mondays and Thursdays.”
The gangbanger shuffled his feet. “Yeah. Okay.”
“You’ll