Of their own volition, her fingers groped at her neck.

“Where’s my…they took my opal!”

His jaw turned to stone. “I know, honey. The nurse will be here in a moment.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” But she wasn’t. Memories of last night flooded through her with sudden dizzying speed, and the sedative hangover only accented those nightmare images. “How could they? How could they take my opal?” Such a stupid thing to say, such a stupid thing even to think. It was just…she had always been a giver. No one had ever taken anything from her-no one had had to; there had never been anything she hadn’t been willing to give freely for the asking. The opal seemed a symbol of other things the blond bastard had threatened to take-although he hadn’t really touched her. He’d only touched the opal, something personal and precious to her, something that could never be retrieved.

Suddenly, she recalled all too clearly her unforgivable hysteria, the burst of uncontrollable crying that had started once she’d gotten Craig safely into the hospital the night before. Why then, when she was finally certain he would be all right? Her own loss of control had felt alien and strange, and for an instant she felt that terrible panic again.

Until Craig’s hand linked warmly in hers, until his lips came down on her cheek. The anguish in his eyes…was her fault. His touch was soothing, sensual, reassuring. So like Craig. She blinked back the tears and pressed his hand with a small smile. “They looked like a rock group. I may permanently take up classical music,” she whispered.

“Just don’t take up country.” His palm brushed her cheek, then lazily pushed back her hair. Her heart gradually stopped pounding.

“I thought you liked country music.”

“I thought you liked classical.” His fingers stopped their slow caress. One forefinger tapped her nose, then poked at the neckline of her hospital gown. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for this,” he commented.

She chuckled. “You’re forever knocking my taste in clothes.”

“You have excellent taste, and you know it.” He paused. “It’s a little different from the satin thing you tried to put on a few nights ago.”

“Whose fault was it that I never got it on?” She smiled again. “Listen, buster. I got in late last night. This was the only room in town. Degenerate place. They don’t even stock toothbrushes.”

He leaned over her, his dark eyes glinting with something beyond that haunted pain. Those eyes came toward hers slowly, until firm, soft lips touched hers. “We’ll get you your toothbrush,” he murmured, “but in the meantime you smell sweet and you taste sweet, love, even in the morning. Must be the reason I married you.”

“I thought it was my legs.” She raised her hand, ever-so-gently touching the multicolored bruises on his face. He had a Band-Aid on his nose, but that was all. Come to think of it, how on earth would they put a nose in a cast? She was not going to cry. Deliberately, she smiled, and she intended to keep on smiling until it snowed in the tropics, unaware that there was a rainbow cast of brilliant moisture in her eyes.

“Silly, it was your eyes. What on earth makes you think I married you for your legs?”

“Listen, Hamilton. I have to take credit for my legs. God knows I wasn’t built like Mae West upstairs.”

“What fun would it be being married to a life jacket?”

“Lord, I’ve trained you well,” Sonia marveled.

“Very well. And in the meantime, I certainly hope you didn’t marry me for my nose.”

She chuckled again. “I did.” She cocked her head, studying him. “But I guess you’ll still do. It’d be too darn much trouble breaking in someone new.”

He heaved a weary sigh. “So you want to watch me tie you down and take a feather to your feet?”

When the nurse walked in, Sonia was grateful. The banter had set at a distance the horrors of the night before, but other realities were intruding with frightening speed. Craig was in pain. Serious pain. His movements were achingly slow and his color increasingly ashen. He was giving an Oscar-winning performance, trying to hide the fact that he was hurting, and she loved him with a raving, consuming frustration inside her. Give in, Craig. Taking on five men. You damn fool. If something had really happened to you, do you think I would have wanted to go on living?

“Mister Hamilton, I really don’t believe this.” The RN’s name was Trether. A tiny white cap was perched meticulously on butter-yellow hair, and the nurse’s whites were spotless on a tall, spare figure. “You will be returned to your own bed the very instant I can get an aide in here,” she scolded firmly, setting a tray down next to Sonia’s bedside. “The doctor will be in your room to see you shortly, and in the meantime Mrs. Hamilton is going to have her shower and eat her breakfast.”

Craig didn’t even turn around. “You feel up to a shower?” he asked quietly.

“Lord, yes.” Sonia was already slipping out of bed. The floor felt cold beneath her bare feet, and so did the provocative draft that sneaked in through the back opening of the hospital gown. Just standing up caused her whole body to ache like the devil, but she knew there was nothing seriously wrong with her. Well, her shoulder was injured. But her concern was all for Craig. She bent over him. “Do what the nurse says,” Sonia whispered. “You’ll be fed gruel if you don’t.”

And as she disappeared into the bathroom, Sonia crossed her fingers that he would have no reason not to lie down.

It didn’t work. When Sonia was behind the closed bathroom door, Craig turned with aching slowness to the nurse. His voice was low, and lethally quiet. “You left my wife alone last night.”

The accusation, so deadly flat, held more sentencing than a judgment in a court of law. Nurse Trether was taken aback. “Mrs. Hamilton had only to punch the button for any of the nurses to come in here if she’d needed the least thing.”

“I told you under no circumstances to leave her alone.”

The gently teasing, softly reassuring man who’d deliberately chased away Sonia’s memories was gone. Back was the commanding, determined man who’d risen from orphan to self-made engineer of a kind. A man who never backed down, not for a principle, never from a fight.

The nurse sucked in her breath at his tight, cold stare. “Mr. Hamilton, I intend to call the doctor immediately. You were told unequivocally to stay in bed. You shouldn’t even have been able to make it up here.”

“They x-rayed her shoulder last night.”

“We told you. It’s dislocated. She’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but then she’ll be perfectly fine.” The nurse, about to say something else, rapidly changed her mind. In four long strides, she reached Craig before he fell.


***

He woke up four hours later in the men’s ward, to find a familiar, wizened little man peering at him worriedly from the far corner of the hospital room.

“Charlie,” Craig managed to croak.

The man immediately surged forward. “About time you quit napping. Though I admit the plane trip in the middle of the night was worth it just to see your face. You haven’t been in a brawl since I can remember.”

Craig half smiled for his old friend. Charlie Adams had more wrinkles than a raisin, habitually looked cranky, and had been thirty-nine for more than a dozen years. Still, anyone who judged Charlie only by his tiny stature was a fool. Behind those puppy-brown eyes was a loyalty that could move mountains and victory over the alcoholism that had nearly destroyed his life-until Craig came along. For the past eight years or so, Charlie had managed Craig’s ranch and his house and, since the marriage, occasionally Sonia.

“I suppose I should ask you how you’re feeling,” Charlie remarked, clearly bored with the thought.

“Don’t bother.” Craig shifted up against the pillows, wincing in a way he never would have in front of Sonia. “You should have woken me when you came in.”

“Like hell.” Charlie drew a cigar from his pocket, looked at it and disgustedly put it back in his pocket after reading the No Smoking sign over the door. He stuck his hands in his pockets, staring worriedly at Craig. “You need some things? I mean, don’t tell me you dragged me all this way to talk business. You know I’ve got everything taken care of, and you’ll be in here at least a few more days.”

“I’ll be out of here by tomorrow,” Craig corrected, and took a painful breath, leaning back against the head of the metal bed. “I need some help here, though, first.”

They’d taken the phone out of his room. He wanted to know if the incident was going to be in the press, and if it was, he wanted the papers kept from Sonia. He didn’t want her reminded of what had happened, and he wanted to ensure that no one bombarded her with questions about it, either.

The police were supposed to be in later that day. Craig was already afraid of how that was going to go. In a city of three million people, tracking down five rather nondescript hoodlums wasn’t going to be duck soup. Not to mention that Chicago’s Finest probably had bigger priorities than hunting for petty muggers.

“So?”

“So…I want the bastard caught,” Craig said flatly. “The whole gang, forget it. But I want the leader found. Hire someone, Charlie-get him out to the park today, and then bring him back to me. I can give him an exact description.”

Charlie shook his head, not liking the idea at all. “That’s crazy. At least give the police a chance.”

“Every chance,” Craig agreed. “But do it, Charlie.” An almost mischievous smile creased his lips. “I’m sick. You have to cater to me.”

“You should be so sick.” But Charlie nodded reluctantly.

Craig had other requests. He wanted Charlie to check them out of the hotel, gather their clothes, arrange for plane reservations and transportation to the airport.