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He nodded. “Yankee Hill Road. It’s safe there. They look out for me.”
“Good.” She reached down to pet Smudge. “I want the two of you warm tonight.”
When she thought the conversation was over and he’d head out toward the downtown shelter, he suddenly turned and snatched her hand, giving it a hard squeeze. “Watch yourself, Polly-girl. Them ghosts know your name.”
Polly’s hand was trapped in his grip. “What?” Of course, there were no ghosts around her. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d expressed himself in the form of a metaphor. Was he trying to warn her about something in the only way he knew how? “Did you hear something, Gerald? Have you seen someone suspicious? Someone following me?”
“Smudge tells me all kinds of things. He knows who to trust.” Gerald released her hand and turned toward the hospital’s sliding glass doors with a faraway look. “And who to run from.”
Smudge gave a small, sudden growl, his gaze fixed down the hall before he dropped his head again. Polly peered over her shoulder but saw no one focusing on her, no one even glancing her way.
Was there anything that wouldn’t spook her today?
Shaking off the disturbing sensation, she forced a smile. “Take care of yourself, Gerald,” she managed to say, giving his arm a final squeeze before stepping back inside and hugging her sweater more tightly across her chest. “Don’t forget to take Smudge to the vet’s office.”
“I won’t.”
She watched as he shuffled into the cold, the small dog trotting loyally beside him. For a long moment, she stood in the doorway, the chill nipping at her cheeks through the glass, her eyes scanning the sidewalk and the distant parking garage.
Nothing. No shadows creeping forward. No stranger lurking behind a pillar. Just Gerald and Smudge disappearing into the pale afternoon light.
Had the old man actually heard someone outside the ER bay? Had he seen something suspicious on his way into the hospital? Could Gerald himself have been watching and following her? Or was she letting his imagination feed into her own?
Polly exhaled shakily and stepped back inside, the warmth of the hospital closing around her like a blanket. But she was still shivering.
Maybe the double shifts and lack of sleep were finally getting to her, and she could no longer discern reality from Gerald’s stories and the supposed warning from his dog. She hated that sudden prickle of unease, that flicker of suspicion aimed at a man who had never been anything but gentle with her. Guilt squeezed her chest tight, leaving a bitter aftertaste she couldn’t quite swallow.
As she turned down the hallway and walked past the break room, where her favorite mug used to be, she couldn’t shake the sense that something—or someone—was just out of sight, watching.
And she doubted it was any kind of ghost.
DANIEL LEANED AGAINST the hood of his truck, the cold slicing through his coat and seeping into his shoulder like a burning knife. He pulled his stocking cap lower over his brow and shifted, trying to ease the tightness where scar tissue pulled across his neck and face.
Beside him, Pirate sat alert, his purple-and-gray knit sweater snug around his broad chest. Even with his empty eye socket and silly eye patch, Mrs. Maynard had declared the sweater made Pirate “handsome as sin.” Daniel didn’t think the dog needed any help in the charm department. Too bad some new clothes couldn’t transform him into something handsome, too. Not that he needed to impress anybody—especially not a shy nurse with gorgeous blond hair and troubled green eyes.
He and Pirate were at St. Luke’s Hospital for other reasons.
They needed something to do besides sitting at home alone, stuck inside his head, reliving—and regretting—the past.
Polly Cooper had shown him kindness, even when he’d been too much of a grump to deserve it. He owed her something in return for doctoring his wounds, spoiling his dog and smiling at him like a ray of sunshine in his dark world.
He had a bone-deep need to protect, which was probably why he was still beating himself up over the loss of his teammates. He hadn’t gotten the job done then—no matter how many superior officers, doctors, and shrinks told him there was nothing he could have done in an ambush attack like that, especially when he was so gravely injured himself. He needed to prove to himself that he was still a Marine—still a man who could get the job done.
Pirate’s one eye watched the sliding hospital doors with unwavering focus. Daniel understood that single-mindedness. His own peripheral vision was shot since the blast that took his left eye. The prosthetic looked real enough, but it didn’t change the fact that he saw the world in a narrow tunnel now—head always turning, always scanning, never fully at ease unless he knew Pirate was right there on his left side.
He tugged gently on Pirate’s leash, and they set off on a slow loop around the open-air parking lot before heading for the parking garage, looking for Polly’s car. The dog’s tail swished low, nose to the ground, the sweater stretching and shifting with each step. Daniel’s breath rose in white clouds as he tracked every movement around him. A patient or visitor in a puffy coat hauled a wheeled bag behind her and loaded it into the trunk of her car. Two orderlies shared a cigarette break near the dumpster. A lone maintenance worker scattered rock salt over a slick of ice by the garage entrance. A pair of nurses came out, chattering loudly about their plans to hit a bar and hopefully run into the brothers they’d met there the week before. The sun had set a few hours ago, but the main areas of the medical complex were lit up like it was still daylight.
Everything looked normal. Safe.
He should be home, not freezing his ass off, not lurking in the shadows like some lovesick teenager. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should get a job—hell, even something part-time to keep him occupied. He didn’t need the money unless he decided to blow a wad in Vegas or buy himself something frivolous like a yacht or mansion. His military pension and hazard pay, plus what he’d inherited from his late parents and had invested, meant he’d never have to worry about bills again.
Money wasn’t the problem.
Daniel shifted his weight and winced as pain sparked up the side of his neck and across his scalp. The cold always triggered it, a reminder that some wounds didn’t close cleanly, didn’t ever stop aching.
He scrubbed his free hand over his jaw, feeling the rough, uneven edges of his scars, even through his gloves. Did Polly see him as a man—or just a patient, a project to fix? Did she pity him? Was she revolted by his appearance but too nice to let it show?
He shouldn’t want her, shouldn’t yearn for the warmth of her hands, the softness in her eyes when she looked at him and didn’t flinch. He wanted to protect her, but was he the right man for that job? He had the skills—more than most—but did he have the right?
