The target had been a good distance away from the shooter, but he’d taken a direct hit to the torso. Ellie had no idea how bad the wound was, but she thought, if she could stabilize him, he’d make it to the OR.

The ambulance crossed the grassy area of the park in no time and stopped a few feet away from the downed man. Two paramedics leapt to the ground. Ellie recognized them: Mary Lynn Scott and Russell Probst. Russell opened the back doors and pulled out the gurney while Mary Lynn reached for the large, orange trauma bag and rushed forward, sliding to her knees beside the victim. By the time Ellie reached the scene, armed agents had surrounded him. One knelt on the ground talking to the man, trying to keep him calm, while two others stood over him.

An agent, taller than the other two and much more muscular through the shoulders, blocked her view. He barely glanced at her as he brusquely ordered, “You don’t need to see this. Go back to your soccer game.”

Go back to your game? Was he serious? Ellie was about to protest when one of the paramedics looked up, spotted her, and shouted, “Oh, thank God. Dr. Sullivan.”

All three agents looked at her skeptically and then slowly stepped aside so that she could get past. Mary Lynn tossed her a pair of gloves, and Ellie pulled them on as she knelt down beside the man to assess the injury. Blood saturated the man’s shirt. She gently lifted the compress Mary Lynn had pressed to his shoulder, saw the damage, and immediately sought to stem the bleeding. While she gave orders to Russell and Mary Lynn, she kept her voice steady. The patient was conscious, and she didn’t want him to panic.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

She made it a point never to lie to a patient. That didn’t mean she had to be brutally honest, however. “It’s bad, but I’ve seen much worse, much worse.”

Russell handed her a clamp, and she found the source of the bleeding. The bullet hadn’t gone through but had made quite an entrance.

Once Mary Lynn had gotten the IV line in, Ellie nodded to her to begin the drip.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she began packing the wound.

“Sean . . . Sean . . . ah, hell, I can’t remember my last name.” His eyelids began to flutter as he struggled to stay conscious.

The agent kneeling behind him said, “Goodman.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sean said, his voice growing weaker.

“Can you remember if you’re allergic to anything?” Mary Lynn asked.

“Just bullets.” Sean stared at Ellie through half-closed eyes. “Are you a doctor?”

“Yes,” she said, flashing a smile. She finished packing the wound and leaned back on her heels.

“Dr. Sullivan’s a trauma surgeon,” Russell explained. “If you had to get shot, she’s the one you want operating on you. She’s the best there is.”

“Okay, he’s stable. You can take him,” Ellie said as she peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the plastic container Mary Lynn opened for her.

Sean suddenly grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “Wait . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want to marry Sara. Am I going to see her again?”

She leaned over him. “Yes, you will,” she said. “But first you’re going into the OR to get that bullet out. Now sleep. It’s all good. The surgeon will take care of you.”

“Who’s on tonight?” Russell asked.

“Edmonds and Walmer,” Mary Lynn answered.

Sean tightened his hold on Ellie’s arm. “I want you.” He didn’t give her time to respond but held tight and forced himself to stay awake as he repeated, “He said you’re the best. I want you to operate.”

She put her hand on top of his and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

She stood and stepped back to get out of the way so that the paramedics could put Sean into the ambulance but was stopped by something solid. It felt as though she’d just backed into a slab of granite. The agent who had told her to go back to her soccer game was blocking her exit with his warm, hard chest. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, then let go. When he still didn’t get out of her way, she stood her ground pressed against him.

“Dr. Sullivan, do you want to ride with us?” Russell called out.

“No, go ahead. He’s stable now.”

Russell swung the doors shut, jumped into the driver’s seat, and the ambulance was on its way.

Ellie turned to the agent who had been kneeling with Sean. “Was anyone else hurt?”

The granite wall behind her answered. “Not hurt, dead.” He was very matter-of-fact.

“They weren’t ours,” another agent explained. “They were wanted men.”

She turned around and came face to shoulders with the most intimidating man she’d ever seen, and that was saying something considering the monster chief of surgery she worked under. This man didn’t look anything like him, though. The agent was tall, dark, and scary, with thick black hair and penetrating, steely gray eyes. His firm square jaw was covered with at least one day’s growth of beard, maybe two. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours, a look she knew all too well.

Ellie’s heart skipped a beat. The man could scare the quills off a porcupine. But, oh God, was he sexy! Ellie gave herself a mental slap. An intimidating man who was built like a monument and could melt iron with his menacing glare—this was what she was attracted to?

The agent who had been kneeling stepped forward and put out his hand. “I’m Agent Tom Bradley. Sean Goodman’s my partner.” He introduced her to the agent on his left and then to the man in front of her. “Agent Max Daniels.”

She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the OR.” She didn’t wait for permission, but turned and ran back to the hospital.

Thirty minutes later she was dropping the bullet she’d retrieved from Sean’s shoulder into a small metal pan. “Bag it and get it to one of the agents waiting outside. You know the drill.”

Then the real work of repairing the damage began. Ellie had learned over the years that there was no such thing as a simple bullet wound. Bullets had a way of doing considerable damage before settling, but Agent Goodman was lucky. His bullet hadn’t penetrated any major organs or nerves.

Once she’d closed, she followed the patient to recovery, wrote orders, and went to talk to the crowd gathered in the surgical waiting room. A dozen people with worried faces sat waiting for the news. Agent Daniels was standing, leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest. His gaze followed her as she entered the room, and her heart began to race. She knew she looked a mess. She pulled off her cap and threaded her fingers through her hair. Why in heaven’s name she wanted to look good for him was beyond her comprehension, and yet she did.

“The surgeon’s here,” Daniels announced.

A petite young woman jumped up and rushed forward, followed by Agent Bradley and a crowd of worried relatives.

“The surgery went well,” she began and then explained some of what she had repaired, trying not to be too technical. “I expect him to make a full recovery.”

Sara, his fiancée, was crying as she stammered her thank-you. She shook Ellie’s hand and held on to it.

“You can see him in about an hour,” Ellie told her. “He’s heavily sedated and he’s not going to know you’re there,” she warned. “He’ll be in recovery for a while, then they’ll take him to ICU. Once the nurses in ICU have him settled, they’ll send someone to get you. Any questions?”

A frazzled-looking nurse appeared in the doorway. “Dr. Sullivan?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind looking at Mrs. Klein for us? She’s Edmond’s patient, but he’s in surgery.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She patted Sara’s hand and pulled free. “All right then. It’s all good.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Agent Daniels smile as she turned to leave. She walked down the corridor and had just turned the corner when he caught up with her.

“Hey, Doctor.”

She turned around. Her stupid heart went into overdrive again. “Yes?”

“We’re going to need to talk to you about the shooting. You’ll have to give a statement.”

“When?”

“How about after you check on that patient?”

She couldn’t resist. “Gee, I don’t know. I hate to miss soccer practice.”

She was laughing as she pushed the doors aside and disappeared into ICU.

Max Daniels stood there staring after her, a slight grin crossing his face.

“Damn,” he whispered. “Damn.”

Table of Contents

Teaser chapter

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Prologue

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

EPILOGUE

DUTTON

Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3,

Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.); Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London

WC2R 0RL, England; Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division

of Penguin Books Ltd); Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell,

Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd); Penguin Books

India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India; Penguin

Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson

New Zealand Ltd); Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank,

Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Published by Dutton, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Copyright © 1993 by Julie Garwood All rights reserved

eISBN : 978-1-101-53307-9

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

http://us.penguingroup.com

In loving memory,

Mary Felicita Kennedy Murphy,

my saving grace

PROLOGUE

Barnslay Monastery, England, 1200

Holy Bishop Hallwick, will you explain to us the hierarchy in heaven and on earth? Who is the most esteemed in God’s eyes?” the student asked.

“Don’t the apostles stand first in God’s good graces?” the second student inquired.

“Nay,” replied the wise bishop. “The archangel Gabriel, protector of women and children, our champion of the innocents, stands first above all others.”

“Who next then?” the first student asked.

“All the other angels, of course,” the bishop answered. “Next stand the apostles, with Peter first among the twelve, and then follow the prophets and miracle workers and those good teachers of God’s word on earth. Last in heaven stand all the other saints.”

“But who is the most important here on earth, Bishop Hallwick? Who is most blessed in God’s eyes here?”

“Man,” came the immediate reply. “And the highest and most important among men is our holy pope.”

The two students nodded acceptance of that dictate. Thomas, the elder of the two young men, leaned forward on his perch atop the stone wall outside the sanctuary. His brow was wrinkled with concentration. “Next in God’s love stand the cardinals and then the other ordained men of God,” he interjected.

“That is so,” the bishop agreed, pleased with his student’s guess.

“But who stands next in importance?” the second student asked.

“Why the rulers of kingdoms here on earth,” the bishop explained. He sat down in the center of the wooden bench, spread his ornately decorated black robes, and then added, “Those leaders who fatten the church’s treasury are more loved by God, of course, than those who hoard gold for their own pleasure.”

Three more young men walked over to listen to their holy leader’s lecture. They settled themselves in a half circle at the bishop’s feet.

“Do married and then unmarried men stand next?” Thomas asked.

“Aye,” the bishop replied. “And they are of the same position as the merchants and the sheriffs but just above the serfs chained to the land.”

“Who next, Bishop?” the second student asked.

“The animals, starting with the most loyal, man’s dog,” the bishop answered, “and ending with the dull-witted oxen. There, I believe I have given you the full hierarchy to repeat to your students once you have taken your vows and are ordained men of God.”

Thomas shook his head. “You’ve forgotten women, Bishop Hallwick. Where do they stand in God’s love?”

The bishop rubbed his brow while he considered the question. “I have not forgotten women,” he finally said. “They are last in God’s love.”

“Below dull-witted oxen?” the second student asked.

“Aye, below oxen.”

The three young men seated on the ground immediately nodded their agreement.

“Bishop?” Thomas asked.