He lunged for the weapon jammed in Malachi’s waistband. Taken off guard, the lanky Exterminator fell back against the donor chair. His gun clattered to the floor.

  Joe slammed his fist into Malachi’s jaw. Stunned, he tried to stand as Joe bent to retrieve the handgun.

  “Back off,” Arnie yelled.

  Ignoring the warning and unable to grab the dropped weapon, Joe jabbed his shoulder into Malachi’s gut. The gunman’s fingers circled Joe’s neck, constricting his airway.

  He gasped and pulled the scissors from his pocket.

  Arnie raised his weapon. Instinctively, Joe shifted, pulling Malachi off balance.

  In that split second the gun went off, the sound deafening.

  Joe sucked in a lungful of air, expecting pain. Instead, Malachi slumped to the floor, a gapping wound to his side. His face twisted. He stretched a hand out to Arnie. “Why…why’d you shoot me, man?”

  Arnie stared at him as if dazed, his mouth open, eyes wide.

  Spying Malachi’s gun under the donor chair, Joe dropped to his knees and reached for the weapon.

  “No,” Arnie screamed. He fired again.

  Pain sliced though Joe’s shoulder. The scissors dropped from his hand.

  Arnie slammed the barrel of his gun into the base of Joe’s neck.

  He gasped and fell to the floor.

  Where was the SWAT team?

  The door to the lab opened. Relief spread over Joe.

  He looked up, but instead of the well-trained team of law enforcement professionals, he saw Sanchez with his hand around Callie’s neck.

  EIGHT

  “Oh, dear Lord, help us all,” Callie cried, taking everything in as she entered the donor room. Her gaze flicked from her brother to Malachi to Joe, who struggled to rise off the floor.

  The phone rang, the shrill sound echoing through the lab.

  Sanchez released his hold on her, reached for the receiver and brought it to his ear.

  “Yeah?” He shook his head. “You’ve got the wrong number, dude.”

  Callie raced to Joe’s side.

  “I’m okay,” he whispered, his voice raspy.

  “What happened?”

  “Guess I was in the line of fire.” His crooked smile pulled at her heart.

  “Looks like you had a little problem,” Sanchez said to Arnie.

  “The doc got carried away.”

  “What about Malachi?”

  “Lift him onto that reclining chair.”

  Sanchez’s eyes were wide. “He’s bleeding real bad, Arnie.”

  The older guy shrugged. “Shove a towel against his wound.”

  “There’s one in the bottom drawer.” Callie pointed to the metal cabinet.

  Sanchez lifted the moaning gunman onto the chair. Opening the drawer, he grabbed a white terry-cloth towel and held it against the wound.

  Callie pulled two plastic pill bottles from the shopping bag. Arnie grabbed them out of her hand. “Give me those. I say who gets the drugs and when.”

  “Rocky needs the antibiotic.”

  “He’s asleep. Tend to Malachi first.”

  She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew the wounded gunman’s condition was critical. The bullet had entered his back and exited through his chest. Using the basic supplies on hand, she bandaged the wound. Robbie was sleeping, so she quickly moved back to help Joe.

  “It’s only a flesh wound,” he said, trying to make light of something that had to be painful. “I’ll be okay, Callie.”

  “Would you stop with the macho male routine,” she said under her breath. “Your wound needs to be cleaned.”

  Daring Arnie to stop her, she reached for the scissors where they lay on the floor. The way she felt, if he objected, he’d get a piece of her mind. She cut through the sleeve of Joe’s shirt then placed the shears on the counter.

  Arnie grunted as he shoved them into his back pocket and focused on the television. Sanchez stood against the wall, equally distracted.

  Callie examined Joe’s torn flesh. “Trying to take two men with a pair of scissors wasn’t smart. Anyone ever tell you to think before you act?”

  “You sound like you’re angry.”

  “Peeved, not angry.”

  “Because I tried to get the upper hand?”

  “The odds were against you, Joe.”

  “I had to do something.”

  She raised her gaze and realized too late that their lips were only inches apart. As much as she tried to focus on what he was saying, her mind kept thinking about the way his mouth twitched when he tried to smile and the hint of limey aftershave mixed with the smell of hardworking male that drew her like a moth to flame.

  “Don’t talk to me,” she finally insisted.

  “What?”

  “You’re distracting me.”

  Once again, his mouth curved into a cocky grin that sent her heart into arrhythmia. Wounded, outnumbered and still he had a magnetism that made her internal compass spin out of control.

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered.

  “You gonna kiss me?” His voice was low and husky and stretched with tension that caused her inner thermostat to rise.

  She opened a small first-aid kit. “I’m going to clean out your wound. It’ll be easier for me if you don’t watch.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I’ll be thinking of you.”

  His thick lashes dropped over his eyes, giving her time to examine his angular face. His cheek was swollen and a growth of beard darkened his jaw, which for some reason she suddenly wanted to touch. Instead, she turned back to his wound and cleaned the injured shoulder.

  “Tell me when you’re finished,” he said.

  “Almost done.”

  His eyes blinked open. “Thanks,” he whispered, flashing a megawatt smile that sent a surge of static electricity dancing along her spine.

  “I tried to get away,” Callie said, needing to turn her mind to something other than the way he looked and smelled and how much she wanted to rub her hands over his injured shoulder.

  “The pharmacist should have realized something was wrong,” she said. “But he was looking at a pretty face and ignored my efforts to get his attention.”

  “A pretty face like yours?”

  She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “No fever yet, but you sound delusional.”

  “You are beautiful, Callie.” He stole a glance at the two gunmen who seemed mesmerized by the television program before he turned his gaze back to her.

  Raising his right hand, Joe touched her cheek. “Very, very beautiful.”

  For a second, the donor room, the gunmen, her injured brother—everything faded into darkness until she and Joe were the only people in the light.

  Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. For this split second in time, they were joined together. Their future, their destinies intertwined. Life or death? Everything depended on what happened next.

  “We need a plan,” Callie whispered when her heart had stilled enough for her to form a thought and express it in words.

  Joe wrapped his fingers through hers. “Keep a low profile. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Which you keep saying, but from the looks of your shoulder, you’re not my vote for most likely to succeed.”

  He smiled. “Straightforward, aren’t you?”

  “Determined to find a way out of this hostage situation. It’s not how I want to spend Christmas.”

  “Why, that hurts my feelings.” Playing along, he feigned a pout.

  The guy was crazy. Crazy cute with an attitude that made her want to hug him, injured shoulder or not. “I can take care of myself, you know, Joe.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah? What’s that on your knee? Looks like you and Sanchez didn’t see things eye to eye.”

  “I told you I tried to get away.”

  Suddenly, he became serious again. “Let me handle the bad guys. Okay, Callie? I’m trained at this.”

  A commercial came on the television. Arnie motioned to her. “See what you can do for Malachi before he bleeds to death.”

  When Joe started to stand, the ringleader shook his head. “Stay where you are, Doc.”

  The towel shoved against Malachi’s wound was soaked with blood. Callie changed the dressing then drew a few tubes of blood from Malachi’s arm. The lab tests confirmed his red blood count was dangerously low.

  “He needs a transfusion,” she told Arnie.

  Relieved when the ringleader allowed her to move unaccompanied into the blood bank without Sanchez, Callie quickly set up the crossmatch. Once completed, she hurried back to Malachi, a unit of blood in hand. Joe was sitting near the wounded gunman taking his pulse and blood pressure. Even with the bandaged shoulder and swollen eye, he looked professional in the lab coat and latex gloves. Her heart fluttered with the memory of their moment together.

  Starting an IV wasn’t in her job description, but she’d drawn enough blood to be able to hit the vein. Joe had EMT training, and between the two of them, they managed to get the job done. Luckily, the gunmen kept their eyes on the television instead of Joe and Callie’s fumbling attempts to hang the unit of blood.

  Once the life-giving blood was dripping into the gunman’s arm, Arnie stepped closer.

  “He needs a couple of those painkillers,” Joe said. Arnie shook two caplets into Joe’s hand.

  “Sanchez.” Arnie glared at the Latino. “Get a glass of water for Malachi.”

  “Get it yourself,” Sanchez groused.

  Arnie rested his hand on the gun jammed in his waistband.

  Sanchez threw his hands in the air. “Okay, man. I’ll get water. Next time, just ask pretty.”

  “You’ll find bottled water in the employee break room.” Callie pointed him in the right direction as she headed into the micro lab to check Robbie’s culture.

  She pulled the petri dishes from the incubator and removed the lids. The muscles in her back tightened. A faint clear halo surrounded the tiny clusters of bacteria overgrowing the plate.

  Working quickly, she ran a few more tests.

  “No,” she moaned, when the results confirmed her suspicion.

  Rushing back to the donor room, Callie jerked the blanket off her brother’s leg. The scrape that had appeared red and swollen just a few hours earlier had tripled in size to a black hole of raw flesh. The surrounding skin had darkened and dried like seaweed on the outside of a sushi roll.

  Joe stared at the blackened flesh.

  Arnie spied the wound and backed toward the door.

  “Callie?” Joe reached for her hand. “What is it?”

  “A fast-acting bacteria. Necrotizing fasciitis is the medical term. You may have heard it called by another name.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes. She blinked to keep them in check but was unsuccessful. As they streamed down her cheeks, she shook her head.

  “Robbie’s infected with flesh-eating strep.”

  Even without medical training, Joe knew Robbie’s condition had taken a drastic turn for the worse. “At least he’s on an antibiotic.”

  “Oral antimicrobials won’t work.” Callie wiped her hand across her cheeks, drying the tears. “He needs IVs pumping through his body. Even the strongest antibiotics might not make a difference.”

  Sanchez moved closer. “How come you don’t know that, Doc?” He glanced back at Arnie. “We got a problem with the medical guy. He’s not up on his treatments.”

  Callie put her hands on her hips and glared at the Latino. “For your information, Señor Sanchez, physicians rely on medical technologists’ expertise to help with diagnoses based on laboratory testing.”

  “Yeah? Whatever.” He shrugged and returned to the donor chair.

  Ignoring Sanchez, Joe moved to Robbie’s side. “Callie, you’ll have to assist me in caring for this wound.”

  She found a sterile debriding kit in the main lab and opened it for Joe.

  “Guide me,” he whispered, keeping his back to Arnie.

  “I’m winging it, too.” She handed him the round-tipped scissors. Using the tweezers, she lifted up an edge of the skin. “The dead flesh needs to be removed.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “If you’ve got an in with someone upstairs, this might be the time to let Him know we could use help.”

  “I’ll pray while you work.” She paused then said, “Dear Lord, help us. Help Robbie.”

  Joe worked around the wound, relieved that Robbie seemed oblivious to what they were doing. Arnie stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. A biohazard trash receptacle sat near his feet.

  Once the necrotic skin had been removed, Callie dressed the wound with sterile gauze. Joe slipped the round-tipped scissors into his pocket and bundled the refuse into the towel and stepped toward the biohazard receptacle.

  Arnie backed away. “What are you doing?”

  Joe tossed the refuse in the special container. Unable to resist, he smirked at the gunman. “Just protecting you from germs.”

  The ringleader’s face reddened. “I’ve had it with you, Doc.” Arnie turned to Sanchez. “Tie him up.”

  “But—” Callie objected.

  “Tie her up, too.”

  “I need my hands free to help Rocky and Malachi,” Callie insisted.

  Ignoring her request, Sanchez drew cable ties from his pocket. “I’ll tie your hands in front so you can tend to the wounded. Okay, doll?”

  Using a second tie, Sanchez bound Joe’s wrists, taking pleasure in slapping his wounded shoulder when he was done.

  Their chances of getting free had gone from bad to worse. Joe’s shoulder ached, but his heart hurt more. He hadn’t been able to protect Callie. Sanchez said they planned to kill the hostages before they left the lab, and the only weapon Joe had was a pair of debriding scissors he’d managed to slip into his pocket.

  NINE

  Joe sat next to Callie on the floor, their hands bound, their moods sober. She laid her head against his good shoulder and closed her eyes. More than anything, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight. She had to be exhausted after working so hard to help her brother and care for Joe and Malachi. Before long, her breathing slipped into the gentle rhythm of sleep.

  Sanchez lay on the donor chair, snoring. He, too, had succumbed to the long afternoon that had moved into an even longer night. The two other gunmen had done nothing except watch television and argue. Arnie had tuned to a variety show and seemed to enjoy the colorful costumes and larger-than-life theatrics. At some point in the afternoon, he’d grabbed a folding aluminum chair from the break room and now sat with his feet crossed at the ankles and his back against the wall.

  With Callie sleeping next to him, Joe treasured the few minutes of quiet time he had with her. Eventually she sighed, and her eyes fluttered open. He shifted and tilted his head so his cheek touched her hair. The scent of her shampoo refreshed him like a spring rain.

  “I’m sorry you had to be involved in this,” he said.

  “It’s okay, Joe. Robbie is the one we need to worry about. His cheeks are flushed, and he has to be in a lot of pain. If only I could help him.”

  She shook her head. “Growing up, Robbie was a good kid. But now—?”

  “Maybe you’re jumping to the wrong conclusion.”

  “Oh, Joe, as much as the truth hurts, we’re in this situation because of my brother. If he hadn’t been working with the Exterminators, we wouldn’t be held hostage.”

  Joe wished he could tell Callie the truth, but her brother’s life and probably her own safety depended on the gunmen’s need to get Robbie out of the city. If only Joe could find out who was running the operation. Once the head man was captured, law enforcement would be able to end the gang’s corrupt hold on Atlanta.

  “When was the last time you saw your brother?” Joe asked, hoping to learn a little more about their sibling relationship.

  “He showed up at my door three years ago.” She swallowed hard, as if the memory was painful. “We hadn’t seen each other since our parents had divorced a number of years earlier. Our mother had died, and Robbie was grieving, which I didn’t realize at the time. All I noticed was a twenty-one-year-old who had his hand out for money. When I said no, he paid me back by running up debt on my credit card.”

  “But you didn’t press charges?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t. Jail wouldn’t have been the answer. I told him I didn’t want to see him again until he straightened out his life.”

  “Sounds like you were using tough love to help him,” Joe volunteered.

  “I wish my motive had been that honorable. When families break apart, there’s a lot of pain. Kids feel responsible or caught in the middle. I hadn’t gotten over my parents’ divorce. For so long, I’d cried myself to sleep at night missing my dad, missing Robbie. I thought my mother was to blame for their breakup and was convinced Dad and Robbie felt the same.”

  She bit her lip. “According to my brother, I had it wrong. My dad hadn’t missed me at all.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back, once again showing the strength Joe had seen throughout this hostage situation.

  “Robbie’s lucky to have you for a sister,” he whispered. His lips brushed her hair.

  Joe had longed for a strong relationship with his own brother. Unfortunately, all that had ended when his parents died.

  Callie shook her head. “If Robbie had a caring sister, a sister who truly considered what the Lord wanted, my door would have stayed open for him. Instead I slammed it shut and warned him that unless he worked to improve his life, I wanted nothing to do with him.”

  “You were reacting to the pain you carried and to the way he’d tricked you. He expected you to save him when he really needed to save himself.” Joe stared at the kid. “Something tells me he’s learned his lesson.”

  Callie bit down on her upper lip. Her fingers caressed Joe’s arm. His shoulder ached, but he didn’t want to move for fear she’d pull away. Having Callie next to him made his world seem complete.

  “What about Theo?” she finally asked. “He said you never forgave him.”

  Joe tensed. “My relationship with my brother is different.”