If Briar was hoping for a quiet first day, it wasn’t to be. Thirty minutes before their first appointment, the door to the unit buzzed open.

Four guards entered the room escorting three inmates in full restraints, hands bound in front of them. Murphy quickly patted them down, checking for any hidden weapons. The chains clinked at their wrists as they walked.

She stood up from the desk where she and Dr. Walker had been reviewing the files of the incoming patients, already making notes and potential diagnoses based on Josiah’s assessments. They were hoping to see all the inmates Josiah had scheduled for today and maybe some additional cases, too. After glancing through the wait list and reviewing some of the inmates’ complaints, Briar and Dr. Walker had exchanged looks. It was alarming how many of these men were walking around untreated with conditions that would have put them in the hospital in the real world. In fact, she suspected Dr. Walker was going to recommend immediate hospital transport for one or two of them.

The room suddenly seemed to shrink at the arrival of these menacing men in restraints. Dr. Walker and Josiah moved forward, directing the guards where to place the inmates, but her limbs froze. A dull beat started in her ears as she surveyed them. She couldn’t move.

Two of the inmates were riddled with tattoos. They were scary looking men, ink covering every inch of their arms, necks, and faces. Her stomach churned. They were the type of men she would have crossed the street to avoid.

One of the convicts bled profusely from the mouth and nose, thick crimson dripping onto his white uniform. The other one hop-walked, supported by two corrections officers. Even though the tattooed pair were injured and it was her job to extend care, she couldn’t stop the small shudder from rolling through her.

Yet even as alarming as those two skinheads appeared, it was the third man that gave her the greatest pause . . . who made her heart stutter and then kick into a hard hammer that shouted: Stay away, stay away, stay away.

He was tattoo-free, as far as she could tell anyway, but that left the immense size of him and the harshness of his features to focus upon. His jaw looked like it could break granite, and his mouth was an unsmiling slash, bracketed by two short lines that could have possibly been dimples or smile grooves. Except she was certain that he never smiled.

A three-inch bloody gash at the corner of his forehead only added to the severity of his appearance. On someone else, it might have made him look weaker, but not this guy. He looked like a warrior unfazed and ready to plunge back into battle. She knew plenty of women were drawn to his type. A bloodied Viking. The Tarzan that dragged Jane into his hut and quickly made her forget that she was a good civilized woman. Raw and seething with power. He radiated danger. The edgy guy with intense, deep-set eyes and a shadow of stubble covering his square jaw. She could almost imagine brushing her fingers across that jaw. Almost. If she were crazy and into felons.

He stood a few inches over six feet, towering over everyone else in the unit. Even the guards, fully armed and so very competent-looking in their uniforms, seemed diminished beside him. She eyed the cuffs at his wrists, worrying if they were enough, if they would hold him.

“These beds here are fine.” Josiah waved at three gray- blanketed beds. They were side by side, the heads butting one side of cinder-block wall.

The ink-free inmate made a move toward one of the beds, but a guard stopped him, his baton arcing through the air with a hiss and whacking him across the flat of his stomach.

It was no gentle blow, and Briar flinched. Everything inside her rebelled at the ease with which the guard delivered the hit. And, if she were honest with herself, the ease with which the inmate accepted it.

She had been so careful to construct a life free of violence. Violent people. Violent situations. She led a safe life. At least as much as she could control.

The inmate didn’t even blink an eye. He merely stopped and turned a dead-eyed stare on the guard smirking back at him.

That same guard—his name tag read Chester—addressed Josiah: “I wouldn’t stick these two anywhere near Callaghan. He might decide to finish the fight.” He nodded at the inmate he’d just struck with his baton.

Callaghan. He held himself still, seemingly patient, but tension radiated off him. He reminded her of a jungle cat on one of those nature shows, ready to spring at any moment.

“Yeah. Not a good idea,” Chester added, idly tapping his baton against his thigh.

So Callaghan was the reason the other two looked the way they did. Did he start the fight? As soon as the thought entered her head, she shoved it out. It didn’t matter. It didn’t make him any less culpable if he didn’t start it. He was a convict. God knew what horrible thing he had done to land himself in this place. Not a good idea was the perfect sum of him.

“Okay.” Josiah nodded and turned in a half circle. He waved at the bed in the far corner near the desk. “That one, then.”

Nodding, Chester escorted Callaghan to the bed. The inmate sank down on it, still without uttering a sound. Not even a flicker of discomfort crossed his granite features.

Dr. Walker immediately started examining the whimpering skinhead with the hurt knee. Josiah squared off in front of the other skinhead, guiding him onto the bed. The doctor met her gaze and gestured to Callaghan. “You want to look at him, Nurse Davis? I’ll clean up this one’s face.”

Hovering behind the desk, she was closest to Callaghan, so it made sense for her to examine him. But she hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. He exuded danger, a threat she was reluctant to approach.

Chester rounded the foot of the bed, inching closer to where she stood. “It’s all right, miss.” He tucked his thumbs into his gun belt and puffed out his chest. “I’m here.”

She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

Callaghan turned his head to look at her for the first time, and it was like being pinned in the cross- hairs. Her lungs constricted, the air trapped there as he stared at her. She felt stripped of her skin. Like he was seeing inside her, assessing, weighing and measuring her. She had to resist hunching her shoulders and looking away.

The deep blue of his gaze was hard and flat. It reminded her of the cobalt glass her grandmother had collected. For years the little vases and bottles sat in Nana’s windowsill, catching the morning sunlight. They had always mesmerized Briar. She’d felt safe in that kitchen, her legs swinging from her chair, not quite grazing the floor as she ate her breakfast. Not like she felt here.

Callaghan’s top lip curled faintly in a knowing smirk, and she felt exposed. As though he knew all she had been thinking. Every low thought of him. Every fearful notion she had. Just as quickly as it appeared, the smirk vanished and his lips flattened, covering up his straight white teeth again.

Chester’s voice snapped her to attention. “I can stay here and keep an eye on him, miss.” He grinned at her with a cocky tilt of his head. “Make sure he don’t give you no problem.”

Her gaze flicked to Dr. Walker and Josiah, already attending to their patients. The other guards, with the exception of Chester, were leaving the room.

She squared her shoulders. She had signed on for this. No wimping out now.

“That’s not necessary.” She’d worked hard to put herself through college and become a nurse. She was a professional. It was her duty to care for the sick—not judge them.

She rounded the desk and grabbed some gloves from a box on a standing rolling tray of medical supplies. “You can go now, officer.”

His cocky smile slipped slightly. He nodded slowly. He glanced at Murphy, awake from his nap and standing somewhat more attentively near the door. “Right, then. Don’t hesitate to hit the panic button if you—”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

Chester’s chest lifted on a breath. He walked over to Callaghan and tapped him on the shoulder with his baton. “Behave yourself, boy. I’ll be back to fetch you later.”

She watched the officer swagger off, the resemblance to her father uncanny. Not his appearance. It was his posturing. Her father was that same good old boy. On the surface he acted so good-natured and courteous. Everyone loved and admired him, the gentleman looking out for the fairer sex, when behind doors he liked to use them for his personal punching bag.

Shaking off those ugly memories, Briar moved on leaden feet, dragging the rolling tray of supplies with her and stopping in front of where Callaghan sat on the edge of the mattress.

Even sitting before her, in full restraints, he seemed . . . big. Intimidating in a way that he shouldn’t be. He made her feel small. At five feet seven and a size twelve, that sensation had never plagued her. Besides, he was a prisoner. He lacked all freedom. Freedom to hurt her being paramount. That should take away his aura of power.

It should, but it didn’t.

She eyed the gash on his forehead. “That’s a nasty cut. What happened?” she asked before she could rethink the question. It was just habit. The thing she asked when she sat down with every patient. In this case, for a split second she simply forgot that he was not every patient.

At his silence, she lowered her gaze from his forehead to his eyes. Her lungs tightened again as she fell into a sea of cobalt. She resented that—that he should have such stunning eyes reminiscent of a part of her childhood that was pure and untainted.

“Do you know where you are, honey?” The deep rumble of his voice felt like gravel rolling over her skin, and she blinked, confused by the question—and irritated by the “honey” designation. It was an endearment, but something in the way he said it made it feel like an insult.

“Of course I know where I am,” she answered.

“Then you can probably guess what happened to me.”

She flushed. “I’m sure it was a fight, but I was looking for more specifics.” She dragged her gaze away and picked a cotton swab off the tray. Dousing it in astringent, she faced him again. She was careful to keep her attention trained to his wound and not his face—not those eyes.

Dabbing the swab against his forehead, she fought to keep her stare from dipping down. Wiping away the blood, she could see he was going to need sutures and said as much. “Dr. Walker is going to want to take a look at this.”

A glance over her shoulder revealed Dr. Walker still examining the inmate with the injured knee. From his concerned expression, she knew he would send the man out to Radiology to get his leg X-rayed.

When she turned back to Callaghan, she found his unswerving gaze trained on her face. Her cheeks caught fire and she knew she was tomato red.

She sucked in a breath and shivered, rebelling at the idea that she was actually this close to an obviously dangerous criminal. Close enough to note the dark rings circling his irises. So close she could count the eyelashes framing his eyes. Dark lashes far too lush for any man to rightly possess. She held her breath, frozen for a long moment. Pinned beneath his scrutiny, watching him watch her, detecting the direction of his gaze, every inch of her face his eyes touched. Her eyes, nose, mouth, and hair. He missed nothing.

She tore her gaze away and finished cleaning his wound with unsteady hands. She reached for the butterfly strips, deciding to use them until Dr. Walker was able to suture. He didn’t move as she carefully applied the strips.

Finished, she stood back, stripping off her gloves. “Why don’t you rest back on the bed until the doctor can examine you?”

He stood up from the bed, presumably to center himself on the mattress, but the action brought him closer to her. She felt draped in his shadow, the great height and breadth of him falling over her like a blanket. The male scent of him filled her nostrils.

Briar stepped back quickly. Too quickly. She bumped the standing tray and sent it rolling several feet with a loud whir.

She chased after the tray, catching it with fumbling hands, then positioned it near the bed again, her hands trembling. You’re a professional, Briar. Act like one.

He watched her with flinty eyes as he sank back down on the bed. She felt ten kinds of idiot. He was in steel restraints. There was an armed corrections officer twenty feet away. Cameras in every corner. A panic button six feet away. Relax, relax, relax. Do what you would do with any other patient.

He started to ease himself back on the mattress, and she couldn’t help notice the slowness with which he moved. A wince passed over his face. It was so swift she almost missed it.

She stepped forward, forgetting her own nerves in the face of his pain. “What else is bothering you?”

He shook his head as he fully reclined on the bed, the pillow beneath his head, the white cotton stark against his dark cropped hair.

“You’re moving slowly simply because of your head wound?” she pressed, unconvinced.

“I’m fine.”

He was lying. She immediately knew that this big guy of few words was withholding something.

“Let me take a look . . .” She moved forward and began running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. Beneath his shirt his muscles reacted and tensed, tightening under her questing fingers. It was a clinical examination. She had performed it countless times before, testing for injuries. Even if she wasn’t oblivious to the hard cut of his body, she noted it all dispassionately, for the most part, keeping her inspection to cool observation. He was all lean lines and hollows. Not an inch of fat or softness anywhere on him.

She watched his face carefully, trying to detect if her touch hurt him anywhere. He held himself still, expression impassive. She gently probed his muscled pecs, skimming with her palms and then pressing down with the tips of her fingers. When she reached his left rib cage, the wince returned for a brief second before he masked it.

“Here?” She lightly prodded the area and a hissed breath escaped him.

Nodding, she lifted her hands from him and stepped back. “Will you please sit up and remove your shirt?” Her cool, efficient tone pleased her, reaffirming that she was business as usual. She wasn’t frightened of him. Nor did his size, build, or above-average looks move her in any way. Not in the least. Not at all.

He stared at her, unmoving, his jaw set at a resolute angle. She frowned at him.

After a long moment he sat up and swung his legs over the side, apparently deciding to oblige her request. Thankfully, she didn’t jump out of her skin at his movement this time. She stepped aside, giving him more room and waiting for him to remove his shirt, keeping her face coolly professional. A quick glance at Dr. Walker and Josiah revealed them both conferring over the inmate with the busted knee.

She looked back at Callaghan. He still hadn’t removed his shirt.

“Your shirt, please.”

He glanced down at his bound hands and then looked back at her with a cocked eyebrow. He needed help.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Bracing herself, she stepped forward and reached around him to grasp the hem of his white shirt. As she leaned forward, the aroma of some kind of industrial-strength laundry detergent seared the inside of her nose. But beneath that overpowering odor there was the scent of him. Male musk and a hint of clean sweat.

Briar tugged the shirt up, her knuckles grazing the smooth flesh of his back. He hissed a breath again. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”

His face was in the space beside her head, directly above her shoulder. A shiver raced down her spine as she felt his warm breath against her ear.

Anxious to put an end to their proximity, she became less careful with her movements and yanked the shirt up, pulling it over his head, the backs of her fingers brushing the dark cropped hair that hugged his scalp. She glimpsed a tattoo on his back, but he reclined back on the bed before she could properly view all of it. She stepped away then, and her mouth dried at the sight of his body. A dragon tattoo wrapped around the side of his torso, evidently traveling from his back, crawling over his chiseled flesh like a living thing, its mouth open in a fearsome snarl across the front of his rib cage.

Here was the proof of what she had already felt. Hard sinew. Lean muscle. His was not a body given to leisure. Several white-ridged scars decorated his shoulders and torso, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from dragging over him, counting each one. He must engage in knife fights regularly. She stopped counting at twelve.

“Looks like you visit here often,” she muttered, her hand instinctively going to one angry-red scar slashing across his shoulder. The moment she touched the puckered flesh, she realized she had forgotten to put her gloves back on. Skin to skin, his flesh was warm against her bare fingers. Almost hot to the touch. She snatched her hand back.

He didn’t respond, and she heard herself murmur, “Not much of a talker, are you?”

After a moment he shrugged one shoulder and finally answered her. “Often enough. Been here awhile.”

That single announcement rattled around inside her skull like a loose marble. Even if he hadn’t announced it, she knew. She sensed it. He must have done something pretty terrible.

She swallowed the impossibly large lump in her throat, her mind briefly touching on what some of those horrible things could be before she stopped herself. She didn’t want to know.

They didn’t lock people up for a long time for doing nothing. It was the only nudge she needed to remember what kind of man she was dealing with.

He stared blankly at her, unapologetic. There wasn’t the faintest shame or regret in his expression over his admission. Been here awhile. He owned it like someone admitting to liking peaches ’n’ cream ice cream.

“Are you afraid of me, Nurse Davis?” Her skin reacted at his faintly mocking tone, jumping alive with a thousand goose bumps at the deep timbre of his voice. Nurse Davis. Just the sound of her name laced with derision was enough to jackknife her pulse. Like he knew some secret about her.

Her gaze ate up his brutally beautiful face. And that wasn’t right. Such beauty shouldn’t be threatening. Or wild or dangerous. But she supposed many things were. She thought tigers were beautiful but she wouldn’t dare touch one. And yet here she was, touching this man.

She looked down and examined the area that had made him wince and sucked in a gasp. The skin there was a deep red and already starting to bruise.

Ignoring his question, she wrapped herself in her professional armor and ducked her head for a closer look. “What happened here?” She shot him a warning glance. “What happened specifically?”

He shook his head like it was nothing. “Just the usual.”

“Fists? Boots?” she pressed. As big as he was, she couldn’t imagine a simple punch to the ribs doing this much damage.

“The usual,” he repeated.

“It’s useful in determining the severity of your injury if I know what exactly happened. I assure you, it’s not for my own perverse curiosity.” She stared at him, waiting with a lift of her eyebrows.

“Baton,” he supplied the single word.

A guard’s baton.

Frowning, she looked down at his purpling flesh and touched him there, gently running her fingers over the sensitive area, testing it for signs of an obvious break. She didn’t feel a protruding bone, but she knew the only way to know for certain would be to take an X ray. “You should comply with the corrections officers. This kind of abuse could result in some serious damage.”

Something flickered in his eyes. She couldn’t determine what it was. It passed so quickly, but a frisson of trepidation dripped through her. “Who said I didn’t comply?” he asked.

She hesitated, her breath catching, and she didn’t know why it should. The idea that seemingly good guys could be not good, that they could hurt someone when it wasn’t needed, when it wasn’t right . . . well, that shouldn’t be an unfamiliar concept for her. Mean people came in all shapes and sizes. She knew that better than anyone. “Are you saying they used excessive force with you?”

He cocked his head, and for the first time his hard expression cracked. Disgust leaked out. “Are you for real? Where do you think you are, honey?”

Briar stiffened. “I know exactly where I am. If the guards used excessive force, you should report them—”

“First day here and you know so much,” he murmured, his quiet voice no less deep or menacing. She felt her eyes widen as she realized the moment of her mistake. Her experience was not his, but she had presumed to know anyway. To understand. And then she dared to advise him how to live, how to exist in this cage. “You don’t know f**k all about this place.”

She flinched. He might as well have said f**k off. That’s what she felt. What she heard. What she deserved

Face burning, she turned and picked up the gauze, feeling like that stupid girl who bit off more than she could chew. The teenager at her first party slamming back a shot and then choking on the burn as it slogged its way down her throat. She plucked at the tape holding the roll of gauze together, knowing that whether Dr. Walker wanted Callaghan to have X rays or not, he would want his ribs wrapped. For Callaghan’s comfort if nothing else.

Mostly she just needed to do something with herself after Callaghan’s stinging words.

Her hands were shaking as she got the tape free and began unrolling a section. No matter how she willed them to stop, they wouldn’t.

“Ah, what do we have here?”

Her head snapped up at the arrival of Dr. Walker. Relief coursed through her.

Renewed with purpose, she set down the gauze, stood aside and recounted Callaghan’s injuries, feeling in control again. A professional. Not at all like the rebuked child of moments ago.

The doctor sank down onto the edge of the bed and examined the head wound first, checking Callaghan’s eyes and asking the standard questions to determine if he had a concussion. He treated him like any other patient. Because that’s what he saw. A patient. He didn’t see the caged animal she did.

Anticipating his needs, Briar busied herself gathering up the supplies required for suturing the wound, retrieving items from the cabinets. She was glad she had taken the time to familiarize herself with the contents this morning so she didn’t have to bother Josiah, who was now on the phone arranging transport to the local hospital for the inmate with the injured knee.

She offered Dr. Walker an anesthetic to help numb the area before suturing. “I don’t need that,” Callaghan said, his voice soft, but deep enough that she would have probably heard him from outside the HSU.

Dr. Walker smiled kindly, as though he wasn’t dealing with a dangerous convict, and accepted the syringe from Briar. “It’s nothing to be afraid of, son. It just hurts a moment, but you’ll be grateful for the relief once I start sewing.”

“I don’t need it,” he repeated in that quiet, unshakable voice.

Dr. Walker stared at him a long moment before glancing at Briar, the hesitation clear in his eyes.

She shrugged. “If he doesn’t want it . . .” She let her words fade away. As harsh as Callaghan had been to her, she wasn’t particularly motivated to argue with him just so he could suffer less. If he wanted pain, then he could have it.

As soon as the uncharitable thought entered her head, she gave it a swift kick. Her profession called for her to offer comfort and compassion. In so short a time, this inmate had squashed that impulse in her. It made her feel small and ugly inside. So soon, this place was already changing her. She didn’t like it, and right then she vowed not to let it happen. Part of the reason she went into nursing was because she wanted to be a good person. Nothing like her father.

“Very well, Mr. Callaghan,” Dr. Walker declared. “I shall endeavor to use a gentle hand, but I can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

Callaghan blinked, his lids dropping slowly over those blue eyes. He pulled back slightly, as if the mister before his name had somehow thrown him, and she doubted he had often, if ever, been extended that courtesy. At least not while he was in prison, and as he’d made clear, that had been a while.

Dr. Walker was good to his word, working quickly and efficiently. She stood at his elbow, handing him whatever he needed promptly, her gaze only straying once or twice to Callaghan.

The man stared straight ahead, his jaw locked tight, his expression reflecting none of his discomfort, even though she knew it had to hurt. Was that what prison did? Killed one’s ability to feel? The possibility left her a little hollow inside.

“There now.” Dr. Walker slipped off his gloves. “Are you opposed to acetaminophen?”

After a moment of hesitation, Callaghan shook his head.

Dr. Walker smiled. “Very good, then. Nurse Davis will get that for you as well as an antibiotic cream to help with any potential infection.” He lightly patted Callaghan on the shoulder like he was one of the old grannies that came to see him complaining of arthritis, and not a hardened convict.

“What about his ribs?” Briar asked.

“Ah, that’s right. Let’s take a look.” Dr. Walker rubbed his hands together, warming his palms before placing them over the bruises on Callaghan’s torso. “Possibly fractured,” he said after a moment. “Maybe only bruised. How’s your breathing? Any trouble?” Briar offered him a stethoscope, and the doctor placed it on both Callaghan’s chest and his back, listening for long moments as he directed the patient to inhale and exhale. At last he sat down, looping the stethoscope around his neck. “Your lungs sound strong. Considering there is little to do to treat your ribs, I don’t think it necessary to send you out for X rays. We’ll bind you up, though. That should offer some comfort and help with the healing.”

Callaghan nodded once, which she supposed was acknowledgment and thanks rolled into one. It seemed even this hardened criminal was not immune to Dr. Walker’s generous bedside manner. The older man pushed himself to his feet just as the door opened.

Chester and another guard returned, entering the room in that swaggering way of theirs. “Any of these inmates ready?” Chester asked, his gaze falling on Callaghan, making it clear who he really wanted.

She tried not to let the fact that the guard clearly disliked him matter. If Chester was singling him out, it was just further evidence that Callaghan was a problem and probably deserving of such treatment.

“Thought we’d get them transferred to seg before our shift ends.” He stopped and hooked his thumb in his belt, legs braced apart. “Save the new guards coming in the trouble.”

Dr. Walker looked bewildered, his gaze seeking out Josiah, their interpreter in this strange new world.

Josiah pointed to the inmate with lesser injuries. “This one can be moved, but we’ve already called transport to take Rollins to Memorial—”

“What about Callaghan?” Chester strode closer to his bed, his manner almost possessive.Dr. Walker blinked and looked down at the silent inmate. Even with his stitched forehead and his bruised torso, he looked formidable. Too big for the cot.

Briar’s gaze dropped to his hands with the scarred knuckles. Her stomach clenched when she noticed they were curled into fists. Battle ready. She could almost imagine him bursting from his handcuffs like the Hulk. Her gaze shot to his face, locking with his eyes. Her chest tightened. He was dangerous. She knew it. And he knew she knew it, too.

“Him?” Dr. Walker queried. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Chester looked Callaghan over belligerently. “He looks fine. All stitched up, I see. Why can’t—”

“He has a concussion and bruised, possibly fractured, ribs. He’s not going anywhere for another twenty-four hours. At the very least.”

Chester’s lips fell into a mutinous line. He clearly wanted to argue, but knew better than to oppose the doctor. Especially a doctor who was so generously volunteering his time while they were short of staff in the HSU.

Dr. Walker turned back around and addressed Briar, a silent dismissal of the belligerent guard. “Why don’t you go ahead and bind his ribs?” He glanced at the clock on the wall and shook his head with a grimace. “Hopefully, we can finally start on some of the appointments.” With a sigh, he rubbed the center of his forehead. “I’d hope to get more accomplished today. Josiah, can we go ahead and send for the first two appointments?”

Josiah nodded and moved to the phone.

Briar lowered her head, hiding a small smile as Chester swung around in clear displeasure at being dismissed by the diminutive man. He barked at the inmate who was well enough to leave. “On your feet!”

She knew Chester likely put up with all manner of abuse day in and day out on this job, but he struck her as a bully. She had never liked bullies.

The door buzzed open and shut as Chester and the other guard left the room with the inmate between them.

Soon, two new guards entered the room to escort the second inmate for transport, assisting him into a wheelchair. Josiah and Dr. Walker moved over to supervise, and Briar was left with Callaghan. She still needed to bind his ribs.

She reached for the gauze and unrolled it a fraction. Gripping it between her fingers, she faced the inmate, her tone all business. “If you wouldn’t mind sitting up again.”

He obliged without a word, lifting long arms corded tightly with sinew out in front of him so she had room to wrap his torso. She began circling the gauze around him, leaning in and out, in and out, repeatedly. Her hands stroked the cotton, making certain it lay smooth against his firm flesh, without wrinkles or bunching. “It needs to feel a little tight,” she murmured, “but let me know if it’s too uncomfortable.”

His breath fell in a steady cadence near her ear. She trained her gaze on his body. Not his face. Not the eyes that she felt moving over her. Touching him like this, being this close, she dared not look up.

Because his body was unnerving enough.

She held in a snort. Just barely. His body was ridiculous. Honestly, there was nothing about him or this situation that did not unnerve her. The hard wall of him made her skin feel too tight. Too hot and itchy.

“You don’t want to be here,” he said so quietly it was practically a whisper in her ear.

Her breath caught. Her eyes flicked to his. She couldn’t help it. She had to take a quick peek. He was watching her like a hawk as she worked. She pasted a brittle smile on her face, her heart racing faster than a jackrabbit in the face of his scrutiny. “Why do you say that? I’m here, aren’t I?”

Was she putting out an I-don’t-want-to-be-here vibe? If that was the case, she hoped Dr. Walker wasn’t picking up on it. Of the eight nurses that worked under him and the other three doctors at the practice, she was the only one who volunteered to join him in this latest charity project. She wanted to be essential to the doctor and the practice. Especially since Nancy, the senior staff nurse, was retiring next year. Briar was gunning for that position, and she knew that having a good attitude was crucial.

Satisfied she had wrapped enough gauze around him, she snipped off the end and taped it into place. With a final pat, she moved back from the bed. “I’ll get you something for pain.”

She didn’t wait to hear if he thanked her. Eyeing the clock on the way to the supply cabinet, she told herself she only had a few more hours to go until she left this place. Then another week until she had to return. A week of normalcy. Back to her safe job with promising chances for advancement. Her comfortable town house. Her freezer full of Cherry Garcia and a DVD chock full of her favorite shows. That was the life she had created. This place didn’t fit into that life.

By the time she had to return here, Callaghan would be gone. She probably wouldn’t have to see him again. Who knew? Maybe they would find a full-time physician in the next week and she and Dr. Walker wouldn’t have to come back at all.

Glancing around the grim room with its gray walls and gray-blanketed beds currently occupied by one fierce- looking inmate with hard eyes that tracked her every move, that was just fine with her.