By the time they pulled into the weed-riddled parking lot of the tiny mission, his tolerance had worn down to a thin veneer. He could feel the pain pulsing through his system with every beat of his heart. He was sweating and irritable and a hell of a lot more shaky than he wanted to admit. He didn’t know if the bullet had gone clean through or if he was going to have to talk Jess into digging it out. The thought sent a wave of nausea washing over him.
Even though the abandoned mission was half a mile from the coast highway, he had Jess park beneath the canopies of a grove of cedar elms so the car couldn’t be spotted via police helicopter.
“You look terrible,” she said as she shut down the engine.
“All the women tell me that.” He tried to smile, but didn’t think he managed. He was too worried about whether or not he could make it inside on his own power.
The clock on the dash read 3:00 a.m. It was too dark for him to assess the wound, but he could feel the blood beginning to clot, causing his shirt to stick to his skin. Damn, he hoped it wasn’t as bad as it felt.
Grimacing, he reached for the satchel and removed a tiny flashlight. “Let’s go inside and see what accommodations the MIDNIGHT Agency has provided.” He shoved open the door.
“Maybe you ought to let me help you.”
“I’m fine,” he said, and got out of the car.
Madrid wasn’t exactly sure what happened next. One moment he was walking toward the single-level stucco mission. The next he was on his knees, clutching his arm, trying not to throw up.
“Madrid!” Jess rushed to him and knelt at his side.
Vaguely he was aware of her putting her arm around him. She was warm and soft against him. She smelled like sandalwood, only sweeter. Through the pain he was aware of her breast brushing his shoulder. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman, and the feeling was damn nice.
Slowly the nausea subsided and the dizziness leveled off.
“How bad is the wound?” she asked after a moment.
“Anytime a piece of lead penetrates skin, it’s bad,” he growled.
“Can you make it inside?”
“Unless you’re a hell of a lot stronger than you look, I don’t think I have a choice.”
She usurped the flashlight. “I can handle the light.”
A groan escaped him as he heaved himself from the ground. Jess put her arm around his waist and draped his uninjured arm around her shoulders. He didn’t let himself think about the pain or dizziness as they wobbled toward the mission.
“We go in the back,” Madrid said between gritted teeth.
“Okay.” Jess shoved open a rusty wrought-iron gate and set the beam on a gravel path that led to a courtyard. Madrid barely noticed the defunct fountain that had once been grand. At the rear of the mission she tried the door, found it locked.
“What now?” she asked.
He looked around, spotted a nice-size stone that had once been part of a flower bed, then realized he wasn’t going to be able to bend over to pick it up. “We break the glass.” He motioned toward the rock.
Jess scooped it up.
Madrid took it from her and in a single smooth motion shattered the pane nearest the lock. Shoving his hand inside, he fumbled around for the bolt, flipped it and pushed open the door. The odors of mildew and old wood met his nose as he stepped inside.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
“Please tell me there’s electricity.”
“That would be way too convenient.” He handed her the flashlight. “We’ll be lucky if there are candles.”
They had entered through what had once been a kitchen. A wooden table with peeling paint and four mismatched chairs stood in the center of the room. Madrid pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. Vaguely he was aware of Jess moving around, the beam bobbing off to his left.
“I found supplies!”
He looked up to see Jess approach, her arms full, and smiling as if she’d just won the lotto. Madrid stared at her, taken aback by the hard tug of attraction. Damn, he wished she wasn’t so pretty. He’d always been attracted to pretty things.
She set the supplies on the table. Digging into a box, she removed two candles, lit them, and yellow light illuminated the room.
“Looks like there’s food in here, too,” she said.
“What about a first aid kit?” Every MIDNIGHT Agency safe house would include something for emergencies.
“Check.” She took the red-and-white kit from the box. “There’s also a flashlight, bottled water.” She went still. “A pistol.”
“Must be our lucky day.” But he hoped they weren’t going to need it.
Her gaze met his. “Will we be safe here?”
“For tonight. The Agency is meticulous about choosing its safe houses. You can bet this place isn’t on the map or tax roll.”
“What exactly does this agency do?”
“The things no other agency will touch.”
She thought about that for a moment. “Serious stuff.”
“Yeah.” Because it was best she didn’t know any more than she already did, Madrid changed the subject. “I need to take a look at this wound. Get it cleaned up.” Gingerly he worked the jacket off his shoulders.
“Maybe we ought to get you to a hospital.”
“No can do.”
“Madrid—”
“If you’re not up to it, I can do it myself.”