whirled. She shoved the uniformed cop away from her. Fury tightened the woman’s face as her hand dove into her purse, and she came up holding—
Great. A gun.
The redhead pointed the gun straight at Chloe. That was twice in ten minutes. She’d had two guns pointed at her within ten minutes. And for the second time, Joel leapt in to save her ass. Only this time, the gun actually fired.
The bullet blasted across his arm as he tackled Chloe once again.
Chapter Two
“Your hero complex will get you killed.”
The man who sat—grudgingly and grumpily—in the back of the ambulance glared at Chloe.
The scene outside of the bank was controlled chaos. Always the aftermath in situations such as this one. The would-be hero had been shot, really only a minor flesh wound, though, and the cops had grabbed the redhead before she could fire again.
“I don’t think it’s my hero complex,” the man fired back. Handsome. In a chiseled, rugged kind of way. An accent had a faint drawl deepening his voice. Texas accent. “I think it’s you. You are going to get me killed.”
That was a slightly insulting thing to say. Given her line of work, it could also be true.
“My arm is fine,” he snapped as he looked over at the EMT. “Barely a graze. No stitches needed. For the record, I didn’t have to be carried out of the bank. Totally unnecessary.”
No, he hadn’t needed to be carried. But it had been a rather fun sight. All six-foot-three, two hundred pounds of him…loaded onto a stretcher against his will. Just for a little scrape.
The EMT’s face took on a mutinous expression as the woman opened her mouth to reply.
“I’m a doctor,” the would-be hero explained, voice softer, less I’m-out-of-all-patience. “I know a simple graze when I see one. Thank you for your help, but I’m okay.”
At his softened tone, the EMT smiled. The hero smiled, too. He had a rather nice smile. A dimple flashed in his left cheek.
Then he glanced at Chloe.
His smile vanished. He went back to glaring.
Chloe rolled one shoulder. The New Orleans heat poured onto her. She hated the heat, mostly because it was constant in the South. She could feel the silk of her shirt sticking to her back. Could practically see the heat making the air thick all around her. The would-be hero climbed out of the ambulance. He straightened to his full, rather impressive height. His dark hair—a little too long—was tousled. Probably because he kept raking his fingers through it. A faint scar cut across his upper lip. It gave him a sexy, dangerous edge, but she doubted he thought of the mark in those terms.
There were other faint marks on him. On his neck. On his arms. Beneath his clothes, yes, she was sure scars were there, too. Careful, slow cuts that had been handed out by someone who knew and understood exactly how to administer pain. The cuts had been designed to torment. To break.
But she didn’t think that her would-be hero had broken.
She was also just staring at him as he loomed over her. Her bad. She wasn’t usually so blatant about things.
The EMT hurried away when someone else called out to her. Chloe was rather glad to see the other woman go. She wanted a moment alone with the man who’d tried to rescue her. Twice. So cute. And so many people said there were no gentleman left these days. Wrong.
After a tense moment, Chloe cleared her throat. Occasionally, she did try to do things the polite way. This was one of those times. One of those exceedingly rare times. “I didn’t catch your name, Doctor…?”
He squinted at her. After a tense moment, his lips curled. “You know so much. I can’t believe you don’t already know that, too.”
Well, if he wanted the truth, she did know. Her lips parted—
“Joel Landry.” He offered his hand to her. “I’m not a practicing doctor any longer. I just said that so she’d stop poking at me.”
Chloe took his hand. Felt the calluses beneath her fingers. The easy strength. “Do you miss being a doctor?”
“No.” His hold tightened on her. “It wasn’t for me any longer.”
His grip wasn’t about one of those show-of-strength situations. She’d encountered enough emotionally weak men who did that. No, it was more of…
More of an I-don’t-want-to-let-you-go hold.
How strange.
Because she was tightening her hand on him the same way.
Catching herself, Chloe immediately stopped. She tugged on her hand. A beat of time passed, and he let