Driven by Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

things: her head split open, her bleeding to death in his arms.
    “It is. It won’t take more than a few minutes to get you cleaned up and bandaged, and nothing’s going to happen to your protégé while I take care of it.” He turned and looked back at Soledad. “Why don’t you go on ahead into the room on the left? There’s a TV in there, and if you look hard enough you’ll find the Spanish-language channels.”
    “Don’t be a racist!” Jenny said fiercely. “Soledad’s English is excellent.”
    “I was being practical, not a racist. She can watch PBS or soap operas for all I care. You’re more than enough to deal with right now—I don’t have the time or patience to put up with her.”
    Jenny sucked in her breath, ready to tear into him when a sharp stabbing pain hit her right between the eyes, and she let out a pathetic whimper. She was going to die after all.
    “I thought the headache would hit sooner or later,” he said smugly. “Don’t worry, it’s only normal when you have a bullet graze the side of your head. I’ll clean you up, wash away the blood, and find some ibuprofen for you. Unless you want something stronger—I can get you that too.”
    “Ibuprofen will be just fine. As soon as it kicks in, Soledad and I will leave you in peace and head back home.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Her eyes flew open in dismay.
    “You’re not going anywhere until I find out who the hell shot at you.”
    She ground her teeth. “I didn’t know you cared.”
    “I don’t. I just don’t like people shooting holes in my house. That ridiculous historical committee is going to pitch a fit.”
    “Knowing New Orleans, I expect most of these houses have had their share of bullet holes,” Jenny pointed out.
    “True enough.” He carried her into one of the rooms, angling her body so she didn’t whack her head on the doorway, and Soledad had disappeared. Jenny closed her eyes again, the sight of the room swinging around making her dizzy, and she didn’t open them again until he’d set her down.
    It was a bathroom the size of a bedroom. The giant marble tub opposite her must have been original to the house—they didn’t make bathtubs that size anymore. She was sitting on the commode, and Ryder was rustling through the drug cabinet, pulling out bottles and bandages and littering the marble vanity.
    It was then she realized that he was going to have to put his hands on her—on her face. There was something unbearably intimate about it—the touching of one’s face was a gesture reserved for lovers and parents. Ryder was neither.
    “I can handle it,” she said quickly, trying to dismiss him.
    Ryder simply ignored her. “You won’t be able to see the extent of the wound, particularly with all that blood. Don’t be a baby, Parker. I know how to treat gunshot wounds and you don’t. Unless you’ve been more involved in the family business than I realized.”
    She was past feeling fear. He didn’t know anything, he couldn’t, and if she’d felt better she would have snarled at him. Instead, she pulled herself together as best she could. “I believe my family outsources all its violence,” she said icily.
    She didn’t like the cool smile on his face. “Of course you do. I expect you think the tooth fairy is real as well.”
    “Don’t trust everything you hear about the Gauthiers. I won’t deny that my family is politically corrupt, but so is everyone else in this city. It’s part of its charm.” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.
    “For some reason I don’t find them that charming.”
    “You’re a fine one to talk. No one seems to know anything about who and what you and your organization are, but you’ve made it more than clear you aren’t above using lethal force.”
    If a wolf could smile he would have looked like Ryder. “You don’t need to worry about it. Unless you’re not exactly what you say you are.”
    A cold chill slid down her back. “I’m