From the Heart

blurred. “A bullet’s a bullet,” he muttered. Feeling the warmth of her blood on his hands, he swallowed. A line of sweat ran down his naked back. “Damn it, Jess, what were you trying to do, jumping out that way? I knew what I was doing.”
    “Terribly sorry.” Her head lolled a bit as she tilted it backand tried to focus on him. “How rude of me to intercept a bullet with your name on it.”
    “Don’t get cute now,” he said between his teeth. “If you weren’t bleeding, I swear, I’d deck you.” He wanted to hold her and was terrified she’d dissolve in his arms. His throat was dry from the rawness of his own breathing as he forced himself to treat her arm as an object, not part of her. When he’d finished binding the wound, Slade held her steady with one hand. “You probably saw that move on one of your stupid movies. Is that why you threw yourself at the gun?”
    “No.” She felt as if she were floating as he started to lead her to a chair. “Actually, Sergeant, it was because I thought he would kill you. Since I’m in love with you, I couldn’t allow that.”
    He stopped dead at her words and stared down at her. When he opened his mouth to speak, he found he couldn’t form a sound, much less a word. His hand dropped away from her uninjured arm.
    “I’m really sorry,” Jessica said in a thick voice. “But I think I’m going to faint.”
    The last thing she heard over the buzzing in her head was a stream of curses.
     
    Jessica floated toward consciousness to a blur of white. She felt as though her body were drifting, apart from her mind. Even the steady throb in her shoulder seemed separate from her. The white dimmed to gray, then gradually lightened again until she focused on what was a wall. Perplexed, she stared at it.
    With an interest dulled by medication, she shifted her gaze. All the walls were white, she noted. There were horizontal blinds at the window that showed hints of night between their slants. The blinds were white, too, as was the bandage around the arm that didn’t feel like part of her. She remembered.
    Letting out a sigh, she focused on a blue plastic pitcher and a clear plastic glass. Hospital, she thought with an absent grimace. She hated hospitals. A face bent over her, obscuring her line of vision. Amber eyes studied pale blue. They were nice enough eyes, she decided, in a round smooth face with a hint of jowl. She spotted the white coat and stethoscope.
    “Doctor,” she said in a whispery voice that made her frown.
    “Miss Winslow, how are you feeling?”
    She thought about it seriously for a moment. “Like I’ve been shot.”
    He gave a pleasant chuckle as he took her pulse. “A sensible answer,” he concluded. “You’ll do.”
    “How long . . .” She moistened dry lips and tried again. “How long have I been here?”
    “Just over an hour.” Taking out a slim flashlight, he aimed the beam at her right eye, then her left.
    “It feels like days.”
    “The medication makes you sluggish. Any pain?”
    “Just a throb—it doesn’t feel like my arm.”
    He smiled and patted her hand. “It’s yours.”
    “Slade. Where’s Slade?”
    His brow creased, then cleared. “The sergeant? He’s spent most of his time pacing the corridors like a madman. He wouldn’t wait in the lounge when I ordered him to.”
    “He’s better at giving orders.” Jessica lifted her head off the pillow, letting it fall back again when the room whirled around.
    “Lie still,” he told her firmly. “You’ll be spending a little time with us.”
    The line appeared between her brows. “I don’t like hospitals.”
    He only patted her hand again. “A pity.”
    “Let me see Slade,” she demanded in the best authoritative voice she could muster. Her eyelids threatened to droop and she forced them open. “Please,” she added.
    “I don’t think you take orders any better than he does.”
    “No.” She managed a smile. “I don’t.”
    “I’ll let him come in, a few minutes only.” Then, he thought as he studied her eyes, you’ll sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
    “Thanks.”
    With an absent nod, he murmured something to the nurse who entered.
    * * *
    Slade paced up and down the hospital corridor. Dozens of thoughts, dozens of fears, raced through his mind. A headache pulsed behind his right temple. She’d been so pale—no, it was just shock, she’d be fine. She’d been unconscious through the ambulance ride. It was better that way—she might