As a special op mission in Cairo, Egypt to extract a
kidnapped US Senator's brother goes awry, Kyle Fagan's
knee
is blown to pieces by a sniper bullet, and his femoral
artery is severed. His unit commander, and best friend,
Joshua Colby, only knows of one place to take Kyle before
he bleeds out, the WHO Clinic. Farrah Hastings is working
with the World Health Organization in Cairo to get some
experience before opening her own clinic back in North
Carolina. Joshua knows it may compromise Farrah, but he
can't lose his best friend. Farrah is able to mend the
severed artery, but tells Josh that Kyle needs specialized
medical attention to keep from losing his leg.
Months later, after Farrah moves back to North Carolina
and
opens her clinic, Kyle checks himself out of a VA hospital
and heads home. He's not sure what is in store for him
next. The military and special ops have been his life for
so long. With a bad leg that pains him all the time, he
falls into a funk that has him snapping at Farrah every
time she tries to help him. Can she convince Kyle to try a
new surgical procedure and get a knee replacement? Is
there
something else going on between them other than
friendship?
From the opening page, Kathy Lane gives us an action-
packed, fast-paced, suspense-filled ride. This story has a
little of everything: drama, adventure, suspense and
romance. Kyle and Farrah are strong, stubborn characters
who feed off each other, yet drive each other crazy.
SNIPER
FIRE spans the globe from Cairo, Egypt to a quaint little
town in the mountains of North Carolina. The plot moves
along at breakneck speed as they are racing to save Kyle's
life in Cairo, and then as Farrah is trying to save Kyle
from himself. Supporting characters add just the right
seasoning to the mix to make SNIPER FIREs a great military
suspense
novel.
SNIPER FIRE is another great installment from Ms. Lane's
Love
in the Crosshairs series.
After nearly losing his leg to sniper fire, Kyle Fagan
knows
his days in special ops are over. All he wants to do is
hole
up in his house and ignore the rest of the world. But
ignoring Dr. Farrah Hastings is something Kyle is finding
difficult to do, especially since being alone with the
good
doctor might just be the medicine he needs.
Farrah can’t stand the thought of Kyle giving up. When her
warm affection for him ignites into something much hotter
after just one kiss, she finally understands why. Now
nothing will stand in her way of prying Kyle out of his
depression, not a forest fire, not an escaped criminal,
not
even Kyle himself.
Excerpt
The pounding in his head woke Kyle. He groaned as the
throbbing seemed to pulse from the back of his skull to the
front and back again. It wasn’t fair. There should be a way
to just stay drunk and oblivious without the pain of a
hangover intruding. Damn if he’d ever found it, though.
The pounding intensified. It took him a moment to realize
some of that pounding was centered in the area of his front
door instead of inside his head.
“Kyle!”
Oh, crap. Farrah.
Kyle groaned again and opened his eyes. Yep, his brace
still lay over against the wall. So did the walking stick.
He vaguely remembered hurling them both over there at some
point last night. It was going to be a bear to pull himself
up and get to the damn things. He’d much rather stay where
he was and go back to sleep. Maybe if he stayed quiet,
Farrah would give up and go away.
More pounding.
“Kyle? I know you’re in there.”
F**k.
He shifted his legs off the foot rest one at a time,
ignoring the complaints from stiff muscles. Standing wasn’t
fun. The room spun. He stood still, one hand on the chair’s
arm, until things settled down a bit, then he took a
limping step. Walking without the brace or aid of the cane
was a losing fight between his determination and pure
physics. Weak muscles just wouldn’t hold weight no matter
how much he willed it otherwise.
Kyle flung out a hand to break his fall as gravity took
over. His fingers clipped the corner of the table next to
the chair hard enough to tip it over. The table and
everything on it joined him on the floor. The lamp made the
biggest crash, but the empty beer bottles from last night’s
binge made the biggest mess. They hit the tile floor and
shattered, a few pieces skittering half-way to the kitchen.
With a groan, Kyle rolled to his back. He’d only put on a
pair of cotton shorts after his shower and the shock of the
cold tiles against his bare skin kick-started a flow of
cuss words. He was finishing up Rashid’s list of favorites
when he heard the front door open. The sound jolted him
into action. He sat up, stretched out an arm, and managed
to snag the light blanket he kept on the back of the
recliner. He tossed the cloth over his legs—more
specifically, his ruined leg—just as Farrah came into the
room.
“Kyle? Oh, my goodness, are you all right?”
He threw a hand up to stop her. “Stay back, there’s glass.”
She made a huffing noise that might have made him laugh if
his head didn’t hurt so much.
“I see it. I’m not blind. Where’s your broom?”
“Kitchen closet.” He didn’t bother trying to get up, but
lay back down. This time he was braced for the cold, which
was actually helping to clear his head. He listened to
Farrah locate, then rummage in said closet. “How the hell
did you get in, anyway?” he called. He couldn’t recall ever
giving her a key to his house.
She came back in the room and began sweeping. “Medicine
wasn’t all I studied in college. One of my roommates was
from a family of locksmiths. She taught me how to pick
locks.”
Neat trick. Especially since the lock on his door wasn’t
just a simple tumbler model. It’d take a bit more than a
casual skill with a hairpin. He eyed her through half-
closed lids, wondering what other skills she’d picked up
over the years that he didn’t know about. She glanced at
him a couple of times as she swept, but quickly looked
away. With her thick, red-gold curls pulled back into a
pony tail, he had no trouble seeing her face. No pity in
her eyes this morning. That was good. No coldness either,
which was even better. What was she—
Farrah bent over to place the dust pan on the floor, her
jeans cupping every dip and curve of her ass like a second
skin. Ah, hell.
Kyle quickly opened the blanket a little more so it would
cover his lap. No sense advertising his frustration.
Settling back again, he put both hands behind his head,
trying to look as if lying on the floor was something he
did every morning. He cleared his throat. “What are you
doing here? After the way you slinked off yesterday, I
thought it’d be at least a month before I saw you again, if
then.”
Still sweeping, she shrugged one shoulder. “You thought
wrong. And I didn’t slink, I stomped. I was very angry with
you.”
“I had to walk back to my truck.”
“What you said was rude.”
“It was a mile away.”
“I want an apology.”
“Through a thunderstorm.”
She huffed and turned around to face him. “Are you going to
lay there and complain all day? Because if you are, I have
better things to do than stand here and listen to a grown
man whine like a three-year-old.”
Kyle had been enjoying their banter, but her last words
stung. He tightened his abdominals and sat straight up. “I
do not whine like a three-year-old.”
She arched her brow. For a second, he thought the dust pan
full of glass in her hand was going to star in a repeat
performance of the dropped towel from last night. Inside he
cringed, preparing his aching head for the crash. Instead,
those luscious lips of hers pursed provocatively and she
said, “Yes, you do.” She turned and headed for the kitchen,
calling over her shoulder. “Do you need help getting up, or
can you manage? I can call Bill Watson and have him bring
his winch if need be.”
A chuckle slipped out before Kyle knew what hit him. There
she went again, making him laugh when he didn’t want to.
Winch, indeed. What did he need a winch for when he had a
wench like her? “You know, you’re not a bit funny,” he
called back, raising his voice over the sound of broken
glass going into the garbage can. Between bracing against
the chair, and his determination not to play the part of a
weak invalid in front of her, he was standing by the time
she came back into the room. He held the blanket like a
shield in front of him. Only his feet and ankles were
visible from the waist down.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her gaze shifting from his
face to his feet, before sweeping around the room. “I got a
chuckle out of it.” Her attention fastened on the brace and
cane. She didn’t say anything, but that damn eyebrow rose
again.
“I can get those,” he growled, damning all evidence to the
contrary.
“I know,” she said matter-of-factly. She crossed the room
and picked up the brace, turning it over in her hands,
examining it. “But like I said, I don’t have all day.”
Kyle shook his head, unable to get a handle on her mood.
She wasn’t exactly acting cold, but the brusqueness of her
attitude, not to mention some of her frank comments, had
his head spinning. Where was the compassionate angel he and
Joshua had gone to school with? Was she still angry with
him about yesterday or was it a hold-over from getting her
involved in the Cairo mess? It was true his injury had
essentially screwed up her time with the WHO, but that
hadn’t stopped her from opening her own clinic in Clear
Springs. She was a full-fledged doctor, damn it. Didn’t
they teach bedside manner in medical school anymore?
He inched around and plopped his butt back in the recliner.
Once seated, he carefully straightened out his leg under
the blanket. He’d have to wait until she left to put the
brace on. No way was he going to let her see what was left
of his leg. True, she’d worked on it, but that was months
ago. What was left wasn’t pretty. Kyle held out his hand
for the device when she approached him.
“No, let me,” she said, kneeling in front of him. “I want
to see how this fits and where it fastens.” She reached for
the blanket.
He slapped a hand down to hold the blanket in place.
Leaning forward, he tried to snag the brace away from her.
Damn wench scooted back just out of reach.
“What’s wrong? You’re not afraid to let me see your leg,
are you?”
Kyle ground his teeth to keep from cursing. Afraid wasn’t
exactly the word he’d use. He just didn’t want to see the
revulsion on her face—or the pity. Just looking at the
mish-mash of scars and twisted flesh made his own stomach
roil, and he was a hardened veteran. He couldn’t stand it
if Farrah turned away from him in disgust.
She sighed heavily, fingers tapping the brace in her hands.
“I thought you said you weren’t a three-year-old. You know
I’m a doctor, right? The only doctor in the valley? You’re
going to have to let me see your leg sooner or later.” She
reached out and placed her hand against the one he had
anchoring the blanket in place. “Besides, this is me,
Farrah. Your friend, remember? I’ve been sick with worry
ever since the military made me leave Egypt and fly back
home. Joshua kept in touch. He said you were doing as well
as could be expected, but I still worried. Having you home
helps, but it’s not enough. Please, Kyle, let me see.”
Kyle stared helplessly into her pleading eyes. Were those
tears? Damn, he’d never been able to stand against Farrah’s
tears. Each one was like a knife in his chest.
With a forced shrug, he slipped his hand from beneath hers.
“Fine. Knock yourself out.” And me too, while you’re at it.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. Maybe if he
concentrated on his pounding headache he wouldn’t notice
her exclamation of disgust.
*****
Farrah watched Kyle lean his head back and close his eyes.
The relaxed pose didn’t fool her. The slight wrinkles in
his forehead and tension around his eyes told her he had a
headache. Considering the empty bottles of alcohol she’d
swept up, she wasn’t surprised. But the headache wasn’t the
problem. Every muscle in his body was locked up, tense as
bow strings. She was almost afraid to touch him.
Quickly, before either of them changed their mind, she
reached down and flipped the end of the blanket aside. She
almost gasped, but caught herself in time. She’d seen
worse, she told herself. Though at the moment, she couldn’t
remember when or where. So much damage. She didn’t remember
it being so bad. Whole sections of flesh were gone around
the knee. Tendons stood out in stark relief, stretched
tight beneath too thin skin. Other places were thick with
scar tissue, the flesh so twisted, she couldn’t imagine how
the leg functioned. And this was only the damage she could
see on the surface. That the limb bent and flexed at all
had to come at a great price. No wonder he’d drowned
himself in alcohol last night. Just bending his knee must
be excruciating.
Guilt rose up and almost swallowed her. Not just because
her skill hadn’t been enough eight months ago. She’d pushed
him into the pool last night and then left him to make his
way back to his vehicle by himself. Could she be any more
cold-hearted?
She was grateful when she glanced up and saw his eyes were
still closed. Carefully, Farrah reached out and placed the
tips of her fingers against the side of his knee. Not even
a muscle twitched.
“Can you feel this?” Applying a light pressure, she ran a
finger down his calf from knee to ankle. Some of the skin
was smooth and tight, some rough with scars, and some
normal, the hairs tickling as she passed over them. Kyle
cleared his throat. The words still came out rough as
sandpaper.
“Yeah. Some.”
She started at the knee again, this time moving up along
the outside of his thigh. “How about here?” Farrah noticed
her own voice was a little uneven, not at all the crisp,
professional tone she usually adopted when examining a
patient.
“Yes,” Kyle whispered.
Still watching his closed eyes, Farrah moved to the scars
on the inside of his thigh over the femoral artery.
Leather creaked. Farrah paused, her gaze shooting to where
Kyle’s hands tightened on the arms of the recliner. Was he
watching her? She thought his eyes were closed, but was she
wrong?
She let her finger make contact with his skin. His leg
jerked.
“Sorry,” he said.
She wet her lips. “Does this hurt?”
“No, it’s just…your hand is cold.”
“Oh.” She stopped herself from automatically pulling away
to rub her hands together. Her hands didn’t feel cold. In
fact, compared to the skin of Kyle’s leg, she felt
decidedly warm. And not just her hands. This examination
was affecting her more than she thought it would. Having
his bare chest at eye level didn’t help. The only thing
keeping her touch from drifting up into forbidden territory
was the fact that in all their years of friendship, Kyle
had never shown the slightest interest in her as anything
but a friend. Unless she planned to make a complete fool of
herself, prolonging the current situation would be a
mistake.
Clearing her throat, Farrah gathered what was left of her
professionalism. “Just bear with me another minute, I’m
almost done.” She took her eyes off his face and
concentrated on his leg, forcing herself firmly into doctor
mode. After checking for sensation in a few more key
points, she examined the knee. She asked him to bend it
several times to observe the contraction and expansion of
the visible muscle. She also felt the joint as it moved,
wincing a little at the slightly audible catch and grind.
When she was done, Farrah concluded that Joshua was right.
Kyle was lucky to still have his leg, much less be walking
on it.
After slipping the brace into place and fastening the
straps and buckles, Farrah found herself hesitant to stop
touching him. Something in her wanted to sooth him, take
away the hurt, and it wasn’t her medical side. She ran a
hand over his knee, the focus of his physical pain, fingers
slipping between metal bars to caress the abused joint.
Yes, caress. She wasn’t going to lie to herself.
His hand landed on hers. “Don’t you have a clinic to run or
something? I don’t need you to sit here and babysit me.”
The snarl in his voice sounded totally foreign. Kyle had
always been the comedian to Joshua’s straight man. Hearing
him growl at her was a new experience. The buried anger and
pain in his voice made her want to cry. She jerked her hand
away and choked out a laugh instead.
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Heavens, Kyle, you still
haven’t realized the world doesn’t revolve around you, have
you? Oh, wait, I bet the last few months did little to
abuse you of that notion.” She stood and waved a dismissing
hand in the direction of his leg. Indifference and
bluntness was the only approach she could think of that
might break through that wall of anger he’d erected.
Sympathy and compassion would only build it up, make it
thicker. “Bet that little injury got you a lot of notice
from all the pretty nurses. Is that why you refused to see
the new doctors Joshua told me your boss brought in? Why
refuse, Kyle? Are you afraid that if your leg gets fixed,
you’ll lose all the attention?”
For a second, she thought she’d pushed him too far. The
frostiness on his face made her shiver inside. If he ever
looked at her like that and meant it…
He leaned forward, very deliberately, and picked his cane
up from where she laid it on the floor. Then he stood. No
hesitation, no straining, no clumsy movements. Just a
smooth rising to his feet.
“You,” he said, never taking his gaze off her, “are an inch
shy of stepping over the line. You and Joshua both. You can
tell him for me that I am not going back to the VA. I’m
through with that shit. No more doctors, no more hospitals,
and definitely no more damn surgeries. If I lose my leg, so
be it. It won’t be anyone’s fault but my own. Not Joshua’s,
not some nameless doctor’s, and damn sure not yours.”
Farrah swallowed, not daring to believe him. Of course he’d
blame her. Why wouldn’t he? Still, despite his aggression,
she made herself stand her ground. The anger rolling off
him washed over her in nauseating waves. She wasn’t about
to let him bully her into going away before she was good
and ready. If she left him alone, he’d have no reason to
face his foolish decision to give up.
“In that case…” She reached around and snagged the folded
paper from her back jeans pocket. “You need to sign this
form giving me access to your medical records.”
She couldn’t believe it was possible, but his scowl
darkened. “What the hell for?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You may not want to go back to the VA,
but you’ll still need to see a doctor to tell you when that
leg needs to come off to keep it from killing you.
Infections can crop up overnight, you know. You don’t want
to let them get out of hand.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Gangrene is such a nasty condition to deal with. So many
complications.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. He ran a hand
through his hair. “Why you?”
“Don’t be dense, Kyle. I’m the only doctor in the valley,
remember?” She slapped the paper against his chest. For a
second, she thought he wouldn’t catch it as she lifted her
hand away, but he did. He glared at her. Then, growling
like a grumpy bear, he jerked into motion, limp-stomping
around her to the desk in the corner. Since his back was to
her, she let herself smile. Ah, the growl of a frustrated
male.
She strolled over and propped a hip on a corner of the desk
as he scratched his name on the paper, almost ripping it
with the last flourish. He threw the pen down. “There, you
happy now?” Without waiting for her to answer, he stalked
past her again, this time heading for the kitchen.
“It’s a start,” she said, folding the paper and putting it
back in her pocket.
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