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СКАЧАТЬ so you’ll be able to watch the loading docks and see what comes and goes. So far, that’s our best lead….”

      She was right, damn it. But Rathe also knew she was thinking that working the day shift, when he was off, would give her time to do some digging on her own. To prove herself.

      He knew, because he’d once been like that himself. He’d learned his lesson the hardest way possible, and he’d be damned if he’d let Tony French’s daughter find herself in the same situation.

      So he nodded. “You’re right. Working the night shift will give me plenty of time to help you with your end of things.”

      She scowled back. “You’ll need to sleep sometime, McKay.”

      “Not necessarily.” He scooped their IDs into the envelope. “I don’t sleep much.” He nodded to the transplant doctors, who were following the exchange with rapt attention. “Gentlemen. I’ll be in touch.”

      Rathe didn’t miss the frown Nia directed at him, nor did he miss noticing how Logan Hart held her hand a moment longer than necessary when they shook.

      Kids will be kids, Rathe told himself fiercely, and the words echoed in the voice of Nia’s father. Though Rathe had shrugged off his experiences as an on-loan medic in the war-torn country where the two had met over a transfusion, the place had marked Tony. Not long after, Tony had retired from the Army to hunker down in the suburbs with his wife and daughter while he waited for the nightmares to fade.

      Rathe hoped they had in the end.

      Trying to ignore the tug he felt in his gut when Nia laughed at something Logan Hart said, Rathe spun on his heel and left the office. He never should have come back to the States.

      At least when he was abroad, it was easier to forget that he’d slept with his best friend’s daughter.

      He stalked down the hall, away from the woman and the memories. But he didn’t go far. He had a feeling she was going to find every possible opportunity to place herself in danger during this assignment.

      Hell, it’s what he would do in her situation.

      EIGHT HOURS LATER, still annoyed that Rathe hadn’t waited around after their meeting so they could plan their case and divvy up the responsibilities, Nia stalked to the garage where she’d parked her car. She couldn’t wait to get back to the swanky apartment building that had been donated to Boston General for use by visiting scientists and patients’ families.

      She’d spent the day going over the notes and familiarizing herself with the setup. Slick and well organized, Boston General’s Transplant Department boasted twenty beds and enough high-tech gadgets to satisfy even Nia—especially since she had designed a few of them herself during her two years in grad school.

      “Brilliant,” they had called her, when in reality she had simply been bored. Bored by the classwork, by her fellow students, and by the city itself. She had longed for faraway places that could be reached only by overgrown paths, for adventures like the stories her father had told her. Stories with titles like, “The Time Rathe Was Adopted by Cannibals” or “The Time Rathe Saved the Congo.”

      Those stories had stopped the day she announced to her parents that she wanted to join HFH when she grew up. Come to think of it, so had Rathe’s visits, for the most part.

      In the damp garage, Nia missed the car door lock and dropped her keys to the pavement beside her silver Jetta. She bent and retrieved them, and was surprised to find her throat tight with the memory.

      “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she murmured as she unlocked the car and slipped inside its interior, which smelled of leather and hospital disinfectant. “I know this isn’t what you wanted for me.”

      But her father’s plans and hers had diverged a long time ago, even before he got sick.

      She backed the Jetta out of her hospital parking slot and drove the vehicle out of the garage, shielding her eyes against the reflected glare of headlights in the rear-view mirror. “Geez,” she muttered over the classic rock on the radio, “I know it gets dark early this time of year, but are the high beams really necessary?”

      The headlights followed her out of the garage and down Washington Street, where she merged slowly with the rest of the “rush” hour traffic.

      It wasn’t until a mile and three lane shifts later that Nia realized the high beams were still just a few cars behind her.

      She was being followed.

      “Nonsense,” she told herself as nerves prickled in her stomach. “The whole apartment building is owned by the hospital. They’re simply going the same place you are.”

      But that didn’t stop her left eye from twitching, as it had the night before when she’d seen the two white-coated men pushing a laundry hamper out of the Transplant Department. And it didn’t stop her heart from picking up a beat in fear.

      She gripped the leather steering wheel tightly as traffic pushed her toward the entrance to the apartment building’s parking garage. Should she drive by and see what Mr. High Beams would do? Or should she park and make a run for it?

      What would Rathe do in this situation?

      “Argh!” She slapped the steering wheel in frustration and turned into the garage. She had purged that silly, teenage question from her head years ago, along with the crush she’d had on her father’s dashing friend. Or so she’d thought. But there it was, reminding her of the man she’d loved at twenty-one and hated not long after.

      Mr. High Beams didn’t follow her into the garage, and Nia felt faintly ashamed for jumping at shadows. A good investigator needed to be tougher than that.

      She parked, climbed out of the Jetta, slung her purse and soft-sided briefcase over her shoulder and tried to stop herself from hurrying to the elevators.

      A voice spoke out of the shadows. “We need to talk.”

      Chapter Two

      Nia gasped and jolted, though the quick thunder of her heart identified Rathe before he stepped out into the light. She took an involuntary step back, snagged her foot on a crack and stumbled.

      He caught her before she fell, one strong hand grabbing her arm, the other curving around her waist and sending a lightning bolt of sensation through her chest.

      “Let me go!” She struggled to get away, not from him, but from the effect he had on her.

      He released her quickly, though kept a hand up to make sure she was steady. A shadow moved across his face. “You needn’t be afraid of me, Nadia.”

      Nadia.

      It was the name her father had given her, the name he’d called her until the day he died. The memory of it brought a phantom ache to the scar beside her navel, and the threat of tears to her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her temples, where the first tendrils of a headache had gathered. It was late, that was all. She wasn’t usually this vulnerable to memories.

      “Go away, Rathe.” Her quiet voice held the accumulated stress of the day.

      Of all the times she’d imagined their reunion…

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