“We’ve stopped the bleeding, and I’ve dealt with his wounds. Gwen’s cleaning him up now.”

“Get him ready, get his stuff together. He’s coming with me.”

Brendon frowned. “Coming with you where?”

“Home.” She looked at Ronnie, and her friend’s eyes grew wide when she realized which home Sissy meant. “I’m taking him to Smithtown.”

The last thing Mitch really remembered was…being on top of Sissy. He’d had a split second of thinking, “Wow. This feels really good.” Then everything else went kind of hazy.

Opening his eyes, he looked around, and that’s when he saw Sissy sitting on the floor opposite where he was lying. She had her head bowed while her legs were raised and her elbows rested on her knees.

“Sissy?”

She lifted her head and smiled, but he could see how tired she was simply by looking at her face. Exhausted even.

“Hi,” she said, and she looked relieved.

“Hi.” Mitch blinked and looked around again. They were in a plane. His brother’s plane based on the level of luxury. A hell of a lot better than coach on one of the airlines.

“We’re going home, right?” he asked Sissy, worried about her. She shouldn’t have come with him. And where was everyone else? Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t focus enough to figure out what.

“Yeah, darlin’. We’re going home. Now go back to sleep.”

“Are you okay?”

Her smile grew, but he didn’t know why. “Yeah, Mitch. I’m fine.”

“Oh. Good.” He started to drift off, but he jerked awake again. “But—”

“Sssh.” And good thing she cut him off because he really didn’t remember what he’d been about to say. “Sleep. Everything’s okay.” Something soft brushed against his forehead, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear Sissy had just kissed him.

He grinned as he started to drift off again. “Dirty She-wolf. Trying to take advantage of me in my weakened state.”

She gave a soft laugh and whispered, “Bonehead.”

“Sassy pants,” he shot back.

He heard Sissy chuckle again before he fell completely asleep. The sound soothed him and made him feel safer than he had in a very long time.

Chapter 4

Mitch jerked awake when he heard a door slam and raised voices. He looked around the room he was in. In the bright light of morning coming through the window, he knew he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He didn’t recognize anything. The smells, the sounds—nothing.

He wasn’t dead, and if O’Farrell’s guys had caught up with him, he’d be dead. Guys like that didn’t waste time with hostages unless they had a use for them. Besides, he didn’t think any of the guys who worked for O’Farrell were bigMarlon Brando fans from his A Streetcar Named Desire days. Maybe when he was in The Godfather…

Slowly, Mitch looked away from the Marlon poster hanging over the bed and glanced around the room. NASCAR posters and muscle car pictures torn out of magazines practically covered all the wall space. NASCAR toy cars were lined up on a desk that looked seriously unused. There were few books except for those on car repair and car building. A stack of car magazines was piled in one corner, and another corner had a little shrine to NASCAR racer Dale Earnhardt, Sr.

Mitch smiled even while he was annoyed. This had to be Sissy Mae’s room. Although he’d never known she was that big a car fan.

Still, she hadn’t sent him back to Philly like he’d told her to. One simple thing, and she went another way—just like always.

Trying to turn his head, Mitch immediately regretted it. Because it hurt like all hell.

Not surprising. He could actually feel things repairing themselves inside his body. Bones knitting back together without any help except his accelerated metabolism and the gift given to him by his pagan Irish ancestors.

As long as he didn’t do anything stupid or get shot again, he should live. But still…his wounds would hurt like hell for a few more days. He wasn’t looking forward to that. So really, he should just relax back and let his body heal before he worried about…

Mitch jerked again, then again wished he hadn’t when he heard another bang and voices shouting.

Worried about Sissy, Mitch slowly and carefully pushed himself into a sitting position, using only his left arm for leverage. Then with another grunt, Mitch slid his legs off the bed, took another breath, and pushed himself to his feet. He made a mad grab for the headboard and forced his body to remain steady. When the wave of pain and nausea passed, Mitch looked around, and he smiled when he saw his .45 next to the pillow his head had been on.

Picking up the weapon, Mitch slowly walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and went down the hallway. He silently groaned when he saw a long set of steps leading downstairs, but the yelling and slamming sounds were getting nastier.

Determined, Mitch moved down the stairs. He rested his left shoulder against the wall and used it to rest his weight against. He also had his weapon in his left hand since his right was currently useless.

He wasn’t the best shot with his left, but he could do enough damage for Sissy to get out if she needed to.

Relieved to finally see the bottom of the stairs, Mitch carefully managed those last few steps, stopping on the last one. The stairs led to a hallway. If he turned left from there, he’d be in what looked like the family room. If he turned right, he’d be in the living room. He assumed it was the living room because it was absolutely spotless and unused, the other room…not so much. And if he went straight, he’d go right into the kitchen.