Crossing the Line

For the briefest of moments, their gazes wed.

His eyes glinted as if he knew exactly what she looked like stark naked and he approved. The intimate suggestion in his stare caused Elle’s knees to weaken.

Nature had packaged him in a hard, muscular frame. He was meaty but not bulky. At once both supple and strong. His hands were big and square, his fingernails manicured. Nothing odd there; lots of surgeons babied their hands. Then she spied something that completely rattled her. There, at his wrist, from underneath his Rolex, curled the hint of dark-blue ink.

A tattoo.

Talk about out of place.

Who was he really?

The look that passed between them was succinct and yet weighted with a meaning she couldn’t begin to unravel.

She felt heavy and light at the same time.

Elle’s cheeks tingled. She was blushing!

God, how embarrassing.

What was happening to her? One minute she’d been minding her own business, doing her job as the nursing director of the E.D. and the next minute this sharp-dressed, broad-shouldered stranger had her locked in some emotional chokehold.

She didn’t trust a man who could make her feel so breathless with just a look.

Not one little bit.

Chapter 2

AS MARK ESCORTED HIM from the emergency department, Dante couldn’t help swiveling his head for one last look at the feisty red-haired nurse.

She glowered, hands on her hips, watching him go.

Her eyes narrowed. The woman didn’t like him. But could he blame her? He’d messed up her disaster drill, and in the process he could very easily have blown his cover. He’d already made her suspicious.

Not good.

Dante could tell from the way she’d scolded him that she thought he was a bulldozing hothead, and he’d given her plenty of reasons to draw that conclusion. He’d have to be more careful. He threw her the most disarming grin he could conjure before turning his attention back to Mark. Behind him, he heard her snort indignantly. He wasn’t winning her over that easily.

“The medical staff is waiting in the doctors’ lounge,” Mark was saying. “We’re throwing you a little welcome party.”

Ah crap, he hated this sort of political meet-and-greet, but he knew it was necessary. Suck up to the old guard if you want to fit in, and he had to fit in to gain their trust. He’d done it well enough in college. He could do it again.

“Who’s the redhead?” Dante asked, the words popping unexpectedly from his mouth.

“Redhead?”

Dante jerked his thumb in the direction of the emergency department.

Mark wrinkled his nose and his smile disappeared. “Word to the wise, steer clear of Elle.”

“Any particular reason?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“She’s my ex-wife.”

“For real?”

“We were married for five years.”

Surprised, Dante tightened his chin. Elle wasn’t Mark’s typical type. She was solidly built for one thing—wellrounded hips, sturdy legs, the generous look of a true earth mother. She also had quick, intelligent seashore-blue eyes. Unless his college roommate’s tastes had changed, Mark went in for thin, leggy, big-breasted blondes with wide eyes and a minimum of brain power.

Dante resisted the urge to look back down the hallway again. “What happened?”

“Things happen. People change.”

“Bad breakup?”

Mark shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

She’s available.

It was the wrong thought to think. He should have been wondering what had caused their breakup, but it was too soon to ask probing personal questions of Mark. Tread lightly and trust no one. It was, after all, his lifelong motto.

He had to forget the redhead. The fact that she’d rattled his concentration bothered him almost as much as the rattling itself. He was not a man easily swayed from his objective.

It was the memory of his sister and the filthy alley where her body had been found that had him steeling his mind, clenching his fists. She’d overdosed on heroin, but the medical examiner had found that her death was not accidental. Ligature marks on her wrists had told the tale. She’d been tied up and forcibly injected. She’d been murdered and Dante had never forgiven himself for not protecting her.

As part of his penance, Dante would do whatever it took to bring the bastard responsible for putting Rapture in the underground drug pipeline to justice, and if Mark was that bastard, then so be it.

“Here we are.” Mark pushed through the frosted-glass double doors marked Doctors Only.

Behind the doors was a collection of well-heeled doctors mingling in an atmosphere of opulence. This room, with its designer draperies, Persian rug, a marble waterfall and chic modern furniture, was a far cry from the sparse, functional doctors’ lounge at the county hospital in Dallas where Dante had done his internship.

“Here he is,” Mark called out to the gathered contingency. “Our newest plastic surgeon and my old college roommate, Dante Nash.”

There was a polite smattering of applause. Someone gave Dante a new scalpel and told him to cut the cake that read in neon-blue buttercream icing, Welcome to Confidential Rejuvenations, Dr. Nash.

He felt like rolling his eyes at the pomp, but in the spirit of cozying up to his new colleagues, he forced a grin. Unsheathing the blade, he then made a precision slice right through the middle of the N in his last name.

Someone else handed him a flute of champagne. He felt awkward as hell standing there with a glass of Dom Perignon at nine o’clock in the morning, but he had to act as if he expected such treatment. He forced himself to take a sip.

Mark took him around the room, introducing him to the people gathered.

Dr. Jarrod Butler was the chief of staff. He had a lanky build and a leisurely way of speaking that reminded Dante of Gregory Peck’s classic role of Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. Dante guessed Butler was in his early sixties; he was the most senior person in the room.

The chief of surgery, Wilson Covey, was a few years younger than Butler. He had the square, muscular build of a boxer and wore his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back off his forehead. He had a broad smile and a booming voice that seemed more suited to coaching basketball than practicing medicine.

Together Butler, Covey and Mark co-owned Confidential Rejuvenations. Dante had already met Butler and Covey during his initial interview. Both doctors hailed from a long line of money, and they looked the part. Dignified, impeccably dressed, well-mannered and reserved. They wielded a subtle but undeniable power. What Dante hadn’t been able to figure out was how Mark had managed to swing a partnership with these guys.

Beyond those three, there were thirteen other doctors in the lounge, five women, eight men. They held a variety of specialties, particular to a private facility like Confidential Rejuvenations, ranging from psychiatry to substance abuse to antiaging. They were dressed like celebrities in their high-end fashions and designer suits. Clothing targeted at impressing their discerning clientele. The most memorable of the group was a fellow surgeon, a young Latina woman named Vanessa Rodriquez.

Vanessa possessed a firm handshake, cautious eyes and a penetrating way of looking at him as if she knew exactly who he was and what he was trying to hide. Her stare was unnerving because he could not peg her. Her nails were perfectly manicured, her makeup as flawless as a runway model’s. The woman was a beauty with her raven hair and sultry black eyes, but Dante had a thing for redheads. In spite of the care this woman took with her appearance, there was something about the defensive tilt to her shoulders that told him she wasn’t entirely comfortable in this group.

Did she have a past she was trying too hard to deny? What was her background? Why was she, at her age, working at a cushy place like Confidential Rejuvenations when she would get so much more experience at a county hospital? The questions intrigued him. He was going to keep a very close eye on Dr. Rodriquez.

She held out a slender hand. He noticed she wasn’t having any champagne. “It’s nice to have you here, Dr. Nash. And it’s encouraging that we’re attracting such distinguished talent, especially after what’s been happening.”

“Excuse me?” Dante raised an eyebrow. “What’s been happening?”

She looked surprised. “Mark didn’t tell you?”

“About what?” He’d been there less than an hour and already he felt the energy of a dozen hidden secrets.

Vanessa shot a glance at Mark who was deep in conversation withWilson Covey. “That was unfair of him not to tell you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’ve been some…” She paused a moment before finishing with, “unusual occurrences around here lately.”

“Unusual occurrences?”

She shrugged and gave him an enigmatic smile.

“Are you always this cryptic?” he asked. “What’s the big mystery?”

She ducked her head, lowered her eyes. “I work at Confidential Rejuvenations. As our motto goes, ‘You do it, we keep it strictly confidential.’”

“That’s the motto?”

Dr. Rodriquez shrugged. “If you have questions, you should talk to Mark. Anyway, welcome aboard. It was nice meeting you, but I’ve got surgery in thirty minutes.” With a wave of her fingertips, she was gone.

Twenty minutes later the welcome reception began breaking up as the doctors wandered off to make morning rounds.

“Come on,” Mark inclined his head toward the back exit. “I’ll show you to your office.”

Dante set down his champagne glass and followed Mark out into the corridor. He was ready to get to work.

They left the hospital proper and took the flagstone path to the physicians’ offices at the back of the property. Inside the clean, glossy building Mark introduced him to the perky young receptionist named Hailey. She looked barely out of high school, had a subtle tattoo of a blue butterfly on the inside of her wrist and she blushed when Dante shook her hand.

“Here we are.” Mark stopped outside the fifth office on the left and handed Dante a key. He clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t tell you how good it is to have you at Confidential Rejuvenations. Feels like old times.”

“It’s great to be here,” Dante said. It wasn’t a lie. It was great to be so close to catching the low-life scum who was poisoning people with dangerous designer street drugs.

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Mark said. “If you need anything, just ask Hailey. I’ve got rounds, but I’ll be back at noon and we can grab some lunch and do a little reminiscing about our football glory days at UT.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Mark closed the door after him, leaving Dante alone in the office that was three times the size of his office in Quantico. He ran a hand along the polished mahogany desk, spun the leather swivel chair, thickly padded and handstitched. His feet sank into the opulent Karastan carpet patterned in a burgundy, black and beige paisley. He walked over to flip the special-order wood blinds covering a wide picture window behind the desk, and his gaze traveled to the built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases, chock-full of medical tomes, lining two of the four walls.

The place was too cushy, too plush. A doctor could get very soft here. Dante curled his lip in distaste. Was that what had happened to his ex-roommate? Had he gotten so accustomed to living the good life that greed had driven him to start producing Rapture?

You don’t know for sure that Mark is involved. It could be anyone. Covey, Butler, Dr. Rodriquez, the orderly named Ricky, even Elle.

Dante fisted his hands. He didn’t know the answer for sure, but he was going to find out. He remembered Mark’s hunger for the finer things in life. They’d both grownup with similar backgrounds—absent mother, abusive father, oldest sibling. And they were both high achievers, striving to escape the dire circumstances they’d been born into. But where Mark placed high values on material possessions and grandiose titles, Dante valued ideals like honor and integrity.

And revenge.

It was true. Revenge was a stronger motivator than either honor or integrity. If he wasn’t so determined to put Furio Gambezi behind bars for Leeza’s death, he wouldn’t be undercover, lying about who he was. Spying on people who assumed he was their friend.

The two sides of Dante’s personality warred.

The humanitarian part of him was disgusted at how low he’d stooped. But another part of him, the bloodthirsty side, realized the end did indeed justify the means. When Gambezi and the scum who was supplying the gangster with Rapture were off the streets, countless lives would be spared. For that goal, the cost of Dante’s integrity was a small price to pay. He couldn’t lose sight of it.

Still, he found betraying his own ideals hard to live with. He crossed to the window and opened the blinds, hoping that a glimpse at nature would soothe the battle going on in his head.

Hands jammed into his pockets, he stared out the window to where the verdant field trailed off into a copse of oak and pecan trees. The sky had become overcast since he’d been inside; he remembered the weather report had called for an afternoon drizzle. It had rolled in early from the Colorado River, bringing a gray but compelling dampness.

Better get to work. You’ve got to make this look convincing.

Just as he was about to turn from the window, one of the hospital’s side exit doors opened and a woman stepped out.

The flare of auburn hair immediately seized his attention. He took a deep breath. Elle Kingston hesitated on the back porch. Dante noticed she held something clutched in her hands, but he couldn’t tell what itwas. Furtively she glanced first to the right and then to the left, looking guilty as sin.

Suspicious behavior.

What was she up to?

He narrowed his eyes, watching as she hunched her shoulders against the drizzle and scurried across the lawn. She paused at the edge of the forest, looked over her shoulder again and then quickly disappeared into the trees.

ELLE SLIPPED INTO the forest, the four cans of almost expired infant formula that she had boosted from the newborn nursery cradled in her arms. Fear pushed her heart rate higher. Anxiety had her biting her bottom lip.

Please, please, let the baby be okay, she prayed.

Worried that she might have been seen, Elle cast one more glance over her shoulder, looking back from where she’d come.

In the foggy drizzle, the five-story hospital built of stylized red stone looked positively gothic with its witch’s hat turrets, black slate roof and gingerbread trim. The guarded wrought-iron gates, privacy hedges and trellises twined with English ivy only added to the air of mystery.

Neighbors called it a fortress. Pleased patients dubbed it a sanctuary. Texas Monthly had christened Confidential Rejuvenations a place where celebrity secrets go to die.

At times like this, with gray weather enshrouding those stony walls, the place made Elle feel exquisitely sad at the thought of all those people with so much to hide.

The thing of it was, in spite of her occasionally mixed feelings about Confidential Rejuvenations and the work they did here, she loved her job. And she was concerned over the strange goings-on of the recent weeks. First there’d been the media leaks, then the arson in the laundry room. After that, several items had gone missing. Strange things like a ham from the kitchen, crutches from central supply, a crate of bleach from the janitor’s closet.

Taken one by one, the occurrences were nothing more than criminal mischief, but added together, it didn’t seem like a coincidence. Elle was beginning to wonder if someone was purposely trying to sabotage the hospital. The idea that someone was intentionally doing harm to the place she loved angered her.

She shook off her fanciful thoughts. There was no time for this. She had to make this quick. She had less than an hour left on her lunch break.

Resolutely she pushed deeper into thewoods. After several minutes of hiking, she passed the meditation sanctuary tucked away in a grotto of trees. The overgrowth of vines crawling across the walkway leading to the structure told her no groundskeepers had been up here to maintain it in a very long time. Patients seeking solitude rarely visited this sanctuary since they’d built a bigger one down by the river. More often it was used illicitly for romantic trysts by patients and hospital staff alike. Elle narrowed her eyes as she walked past, wondering if anyone was inside. But the windows were tinted, keeping passersby from peeking in.

The grounds of Confidential Rejuvenations encompassed over a hundred acres, most of it covered by the thick grove of indigenous trees that ran parallel to the river. Walking paths extended throughout the forest in several directions, but Elle diverged from the beaten trail.

Instead, she ducked under the branch of an aged oak and stepped over a moss-covered fallen log, keeping her eyes to the ground. Several minutes later, she saw what she was searching for—faint footprints in the mud.

Yes. It had to be near.

She crouched, studying the undergrowth, looking for any signs of the baby. Growing up with brothers and a father who hunted, Elle had learned through osmosis a tracking trick or two. She set down the bottles of formula and moved deeper into the undergrowth.

“Where are you little guy?” Elle cooed and pushed aside the thick carpeting of monkey grass slicked with fine beads of rain. “Come out, come out wherever you are. I might not be mama, but I’ve got food.”

Then she heard a twig crack loudly on the path she’d abandoned.

Startled, she rocked back on her heels, hand to her throat, pulse pounding, and jerked her head around. Peering through the newly budded leaves, she stared at the broad-shouldered man silhouetted in the tunnel of trees.

She recognized him immediately as he stood there looking very out of his element in his tailored silk suit. His intense, dark eyes drilled into her as if he could see deep down inside to all the things she tried so hard to hide—her fears, her insecurities, her doubts, the dark secrets she told no one, not even her best friends.

The little hop of sexual excitement catching low in her belly took Elle by surprise.

“Looking for something?” asked Dr. Dante Nash, his voice as cool as well water.

His presence threw her off balance and Elle hated being in a defensive position. She rose to her feet.

“You followed me,” she accused.

“I did,” he admitted without the slightest hint of apology in his voice.

“Why?”

Tree branches separated them. Dante on the path. Elle ankle-deep in the undergrowth, studying him like a cautious child peering from around her mother’s skirt. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel—interest, attraction, compulsion and possibility.

He shrugged. “Curiosity.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you spying on me?”

His smile was slight and didn’t reach his light brown eyes. She found herself wondering when was the last time the man had genuinely smiled, and then Elle wondered why she was wondering.

“Why?” he asked. “Are you up to something that would invite spying?”

Oh, he was good, answering a question with a question, turning things around on her. His cagey manner made her bristle. Mark had been equally adept at evading her questions.

“No,” she denied, realizing just how defensive she sounded.

He glanced at the baby bottles she’d settled on the ground at her feet. “What’s that all about?”

She stepped in front of the baby bottles, blocking his view. Her gaze tracked over him, over the fine lines of his suit, growing damper every minute he stood in the drizzle. She was getting wet as well. She could feel her unruly hair growing frizzier by the second. “I really don’t think it’s any of your concern.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dante said. “Looks to me as if that baby formula came from the supply closet of Confidential Rejuvenations.”

“What if it did?”

“That’s theft in anyone’s book. Are you a thief, Elle Kingston?” His eyes locked with hers and he never looked away.

It was damned disconcerting. A buzz of sexual energy sizzled down her neck.

“What are you?” she snapped. “A cop?”

For a moment so brief she was sure she must have imagined it, a look of uneasiness passed over his face. He moved closer, pushing the soggy tree branches out of his way, and with each step toward her, Elle’s heart beat harder and her breath grew more shallow. He stopped within an arm’s length of her and she quelled the sudden urge to reach out to run her fingers over his strong, commanding jaw and fit the tip of her finger into the cleft at his chin.

“Mark’s been talking to me about buying into Confidential Rejuvenations,” he said. “It’s in my best interest to know if the hospital has a big problem with employee theft.”

“The formula expires in two days. It would be thrown out anyway.” She didn’t owe this man an explanation, so why was she giving him one?

“Who’s the formula for?”

Good grief, why wouldn’t he just go away and leave her in peace?

But he just kept staring at her, one eyebrow quirked up on his forehead, that irritating half smile hanging on the corner of his too-tempting mouth.

She glared. “Don’t you have patients to see?”

“Nope. It’s my first day. No patients yet.”

“Then go unpack your stethoscope or something.”

“Already unpacked.”

She glowered at him.

He shrugged. She could tell he was enjoying jerking her chain. “I was bored,” he said. “Following you seemed like more fun than staring at the four walls of my office.”

“And I’m busy.”

He glanced around at the forest. “Doing what?”

“That’s none of your business, Dr. Nash,” she replied tartly.

“What are you hiding, Nurse Kingston?”

The seductive way he said her name sent flames of lust licking through her belly. This was ridiculous, the way her traitorous body was reacting.

“Nothing,” she denied.

“No?”

She shook her head.

“Then why are you outside in the rain, while your hair goes wild all over your head?”

“I’m a water nymph in disguise,” she retorted.

His smile broadened and for the first time it reached his eyes. A real smile. “I can see that,” he murmured. “So much fiery red hair.”

He closed the short distance between them until the toes of his sleek black Gucci shoes, dotted with water sprinkles, were almost butted up against her white leather nurse’s clogs. The dark flicker in his eyes sent alarm bells ringing inside her as he reached up to finger a strand of her frizzed-out locks.

She gulped, unable to find her voice, not knowing what she would say even if she found it. He was the most enigmatic man she’d ever met, and he made her feel that if she were to peel back the complicated layers of his personality, she could dig endlessly and never find his true center.How did a woman ever learn to trust a man she couldn’t know?

I dunno, how come you trusted Mark?

Because she dumbly loved too easily, loved too hard. But no more. Shewas done with opening her heart too fully, too soon. She was finished with blind loyalty. From now on, she was going to be cautious and cynical and distrustful.

Dante’s fingers lingered at her hair. “No secrets at all, water nymph? Nothing you want to get off your chest? Nothing to confess?”

She could scarcely think. The heat from his body, the fragrance of his captivatingly masculine cologne mixed with the musky scent of damp forest rattled her brain.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, his hot, laser-sharp gaze puncturing hers. “A smart woman like you, who knows how to keep other people’s secrets, is bound to have a few secrets of her own.”