mirror. When he passed a house lit up with a line of cars parked at the curb, he pulled into a vacant spot and turned off the engine. His mind screamed at him to run, but someone had seen him pull away. They’d catch up to him and then . . . He was safer here for now.
In a moment, headlights appeared in his side mirror. Charlie slid down in his seat. Two cars roared past. His heart thumped hard. That had been close.
While he waited to see if more cars pursued, he pulled out his ponytail and stripped off the false beard and mustache. He used his teeth to tie a bandana around his arm.
Still he waited. Ten minutes later, headlights appeared from the opposite direction and he ducked out of sight. Two cars passed at an unhurried pace. He stayed down out of sight for five more endless minutes. His arm throbbed to his heartbeat.
Then he sat up and started the car. Still without turning on his headlights, he drove a mile down the road. When he didn’t see any pursuit behind him, he switched on his lights.
Charlie didn’t breathe easy until he reached the freeway. Even then he took an exit going the opposite direction from where he wanted to go, drove around in circles until he was sure he hadn’t been followed, and then drove back to the freeway.
He felt a little lightheaded with relief. Still, he headed to the one place that felt like home.
To Juliana.
CHAPTER 11
Charlie nearly fell through her doorway when Juliana opened the door to his pounding.
“Hush, you’ll wake the neighbors. Do you know what time it is?” she whispered.
“Hammer time?” He gave her a silly, lopsided smile.
“Are you drunk?”
“Do I seem drunk?”
“I asked, didn’t I?” Juliana didn’t smell liquor. “Are you high?”
“High on life, baby.” He took a step forward and lurched toward her.
“You
are
high.” She closed the door, sighing. When she’d seen him she’d felt a thrill go through her because she’d thought he’d come to make love.
“No.” He shook his head and thrust a bandana-wrapped arm out to her. “Wounded.”
“Wounded?” It came out a small shriek. Then she remembered who she was talking to—the actor. “How?”
“Gunshot.” He looked smug.
She sucked in her breath. “Let me see.”
“Can I sit down first?”
He was paler than when she’d seen him earlier. What if he was telling the truth? Juliana led him to her small kitchen and turned on the bright overhead light. He sat in a chair with an audible sigh and wiped sweat from his forehead.
She untied the navy bandana. There was a dark stain on it. It clung to his arm and he hissed. She peeled it loose. There was a round hole near the edge of his bicep.
“You’ve been shot!”
“Told you so.”
“Someone shot you.” Juliana couldn’t believe it. She turned his arm looking for an exit wound. There. Another round hole. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough but at least a doctor wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet.
“We have to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” His jaw set mulishly.
She nodded at his arm. “This could get infected.”
“Pour some alcohol or peroxide on it.”
“That isn’t funny, Charlie. This is serious. I have to report it.”
Charlie grabbed her hand with his uninjured one. “Do that and you sign my death warrant.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t think Montgomery’s men will be watching all the hospitals to see if anybody matching my general description comes in with a gunshot wound? How long after that do you think I’d live?”
Juliana had never seen him this serious. She frowned. The laughing man who’d barged in her apartment was a far cry from the man sitting in her kitchen now.
“This might need stitches. I’m no doctor.”
“Just clean and disinfect it and bandage it for now. And give me some aspirin. I need to function for another twenty-four hours. Can you do that for me?”
His brown eyes—brown?—pleaded with her. Why had he come to her
In a moment, headlights appeared in his side mirror. Charlie slid down in his seat. Two cars roared past. His heart thumped hard. That had been close.
While he waited to see if more cars pursued, he pulled out his ponytail and stripped off the false beard and mustache. He used his teeth to tie a bandana around his arm.
Still he waited. Ten minutes later, headlights appeared from the opposite direction and he ducked out of sight. Two cars passed at an unhurried pace. He stayed down out of sight for five more endless minutes. His arm throbbed to his heartbeat.
Then he sat up and started the car. Still without turning on his headlights, he drove a mile down the road. When he didn’t see any pursuit behind him, he switched on his lights.
Charlie didn’t breathe easy until he reached the freeway. Even then he took an exit going the opposite direction from where he wanted to go, drove around in circles until he was sure he hadn’t been followed, and then drove back to the freeway.
He felt a little lightheaded with relief. Still, he headed to the one place that felt like home.
To Juliana.
CHAPTER 11
Charlie nearly fell through her doorway when Juliana opened the door to his pounding.
“Hush, you’ll wake the neighbors. Do you know what time it is?” she whispered.
“Hammer time?” He gave her a silly, lopsided smile.
“Are you drunk?”
“Do I seem drunk?”
“I asked, didn’t I?” Juliana didn’t smell liquor. “Are you high?”
“High on life, baby.” He took a step forward and lurched toward her.
“You
are
high.” She closed the door, sighing. When she’d seen him she’d felt a thrill go through her because she’d thought he’d come to make love.
“No.” He shook his head and thrust a bandana-wrapped arm out to her. “Wounded.”
“Wounded?” It came out a small shriek. Then she remembered who she was talking to—the actor. “How?”
“Gunshot.” He looked smug.
She sucked in her breath. “Let me see.”
“Can I sit down first?”
He was paler than when she’d seen him earlier. What if he was telling the truth? Juliana led him to her small kitchen and turned on the bright overhead light. He sat in a chair with an audible sigh and wiped sweat from his forehead.
She untied the navy bandana. There was a dark stain on it. It clung to his arm and he hissed. She peeled it loose. There was a round hole near the edge of his bicep.
“You’ve been shot!”
“Told you so.”
“Someone shot you.” Juliana couldn’t believe it. She turned his arm looking for an exit wound. There. Another round hole. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough but at least a doctor wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet.
“We have to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” His jaw set mulishly.
She nodded at his arm. “This could get infected.”
“Pour some alcohol or peroxide on it.”
“That isn’t funny, Charlie. This is serious. I have to report it.”
Charlie grabbed her hand with his uninjured one. “Do that and you sign my death warrant.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t think Montgomery’s men will be watching all the hospitals to see if anybody matching my general description comes in with a gunshot wound? How long after that do you think I’d live?”
Juliana had never seen him this serious. She frowned. The laughing man who’d barged in her apartment was a far cry from the man sitting in her kitchen now.
“This might need stitches. I’m no doctor.”
“Just clean and disinfect it and bandage it for now. And give me some aspirin. I need to function for another twenty-four hours. Can you do that for me?”
His brown eyes—brown?—pleaded with her. Why had he come to her
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