tate had finally stopped, leaving the top floor of

rovided by the house staff, her damp black hair hanging loose over her shoulders. She unwrapp

k door. Elena pulled it open a

na, the bleeding in Mr. Stephens's ribs has stopped, but the dressing needs t

her cheek and raised an eyebrow. "Are the twelve

to strangers touching him. When the head surgeon tried to pull the needles out ten

r hoodie pockets, and walked down the walnut-panele

she smelled the sharp scent of medi

room lamps, his broad shoulders and tight abdominal muscles looked like carved bronze, marred on

ng index finger against the tablet on his lap. His

ide of the bed, sat down, and bit down on her

the sheets, his gaze locked sham

and gripped the ends of the two titanium needles. As she pulled them out with a quick

his stomach pulled taut as iron, and the tips of his

bbed a sterile gauze pad in anti-inflammatory gel, and cleaned and tape

ke in a low, probing voice. "An ordinary prep school girl doesn't

king up. "And an ordinary Wall Street investor doesn't get hunted b

directly with his inches above his bare chest. The

d leather footsteps echoed down the h

and gold-rimmed glasses rushed inside, carrying a medical kit. "Gideon! I c

of neurosurgery at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital an

heck Gideon's ribs, only to freeze dead when he saw

ribs and sucked in a sharp breath. "Good God... who treated this wound? The ruptured

al awe. "Miss, did you do this? Only the legendary underground miracle doct

into the medical trash bin. "I just poked him twic

eeve, wanting to ask who her master was, when Gideon raised a cold

his friend was being weird

without looking back. "The dressing i

ideon's ear, "Sir... our intelligence team ran her face through every federal an

e tapped his fingers rhythm

idly. Within ten seconds, she bypassed the internal firewall of NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital to check Harrison's backgroun