As always…..I do not own these characters. All rights go to E.L. James

"Saving You, Saving Me"

Chapter 7

Ana leaned against the bathroom door, the knob digging into her hip. She forced herself to breathe. The way Christian had looked at her, the way she'd felt all shimmery inside, had her off balance. It was only attraction, she scolded herself. A biological response to a handsome man. Not anything to get all freaked out about.

Of course, add in out-of-kilter emotions. Look at all she'd been through lately. She'd been targeted for murder. Two people were already dead. She'd learned of her father's illness. All of which turned her senses upside down and made her judgement wacky.

No doubt what she was feeling was gratitude to Christian for rescuing her and getting her to safety. Nothing more.

There couldn't be anything more.

He was only temporarily in her life.

She had her career to think about. Her life to think about. A romantic relationship wasn't part of the equation. At least not yet. Someday, she'd be ready to try again. But Christian would be long gone by then.

After splashing some cold water on her face, she squared her shoulders and joined Christian and Gail in the kitchen.

"Ana? Are you okay? You look a bit pale," Gail said as she set a bowl of stew on the table in front of her.

"It's been a rough couple of days," she answered and took a sip of the lemonade Christian had poured for her.

Gail studied her. "You don't know who's behind these attempts on your life?"

Shaking her head, Ana explained, "I am being sued. Or rather the hospital and I. I had a patient die during a routine procedure. The autopsy couldn't provide answers. The machines didn't register a problem until she stopped breathing."

"It was her time to go," Gail said with certainty lacing her words.

Ana's gaze shot from Gail to Christian and back to Gail. "But she didn't have a heart problem. Had no signs of distress. Nothing."

"We can't always explain the things that happen in life," Gail said, her voice gentle. "You have to have faith that there is a plan for each of us. Even this woman and her untimely death."

Ana drew circles in the thick stew with her spoon. She wasn't sure she believed in any kind of faith, let alone God. Even though she'd attended Sunday school and church with her parents as a kid, she'd had a hard time understanding. The only Bible story she related to was Doubting Thomas. But he got to touch the scars. Frustration pounded at Ana's temples. "It doesn't make sense."

"Life doesn't always make sense," Christian interjected.

A truism she had a hard time accepting because it grated on her need for logical cause and effect. She'd gravitated toward surgery because it made sense to her. Unexplained death and disease didn't make sense.

But who was she to argue that when these two clearly relied on their faith.

She envied them. What would it take for her to believe?

She was almost too afraid to find out.

The next morning came too soon for Ana. Sunlight streamed through the open curtain of the bedroom. She covered her eyes with one hand, hoping for a few more moments of sleep, a few more seconds of not having to face the reality that someone wanted her dead.

She hadn't realized how exhausted she'd been until she'd crawled into the comfortable bed last night and fallen into a dreamless sleep. A welcome surprise. She'd have figured a few nightmares for sure, given the events of the past few days.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Yes?"

"You up?" Christian called.

"Just a minute." She scrambled out of the bed and threw on the clothes she'd taken off last night before padding barefoot across the room to open the door.

Christian stood on the threshold, looking handsome in a long sleeve steel gray shirt, which made his eyes look grayer. One corner of his mouth tipped upward. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

She blinked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept past eight.

"When you're ready, come on down for breakfast," he said. "Oh, and wear jeans and a long sleeve shirt."

"Why?"

With a slow grin, he said, "Now, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."

She made a face. "I've had enough surprises lately."

"You'll like this one," he said.

With that he disappeared, shutting the door behind him. For a moment she stood there undecided. She didn't normally follow orders blindly. She liked to know the reason behind decisions, behind procedures. Liked step by step instructions. But it seemed her life was in chaos and would be for the foreseeable future. Maybe learning to go with the flow would be a good thing.

She showered in the adjacent bathroom and put on the plain jeans, tucking her pager inside her waistband. Then she selected a deep powder blue long sleeve shirt that had three little buttons at the neckline. Not wanting to take the time to blow dry her hair, she twisted the damp strands into a chignon and fastened the mass with a hair clip before heading downstairs.

Christian smiled as she entered the kitchen. "Hope you like oatmeal."

"I do. I haven't had oatmeal since I was a kid."

"As heart healthy as oatmeal is, that's hard to believe."

She shrugged. "Just not something I make for myself."

"I'm glad I could," he said and set a steaming bowl in front of her.

She poured a liberal amount of warm syrup over the top of the hot cereal and savored every bit. "This brings back memories. My dad loves oatmeal," Sadness invaded her good mood. "I'd like to call my parents."

He nodded and handed her his cell phone. She dialed their house. No one answered. She frowned and hung up. "Not home."

"You can try again later," Christian said, taking the phone back.

"Thanks." Worry made her breakfast churn in her stomach. Where would they have gone on a Saturday morning with her father so ill? Maybe they were just out taking a walk. Getting some fresh air. Hoping that was the case, she took her empty disk to the sink. "Where's Gail?"

"She went to the post office."

"Could we go into town? I need a few things," Ana said.

He arched an eyebrow. "You need more clothes?"

She cut him a sharp glance. "No. I need a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, razor, face cream…"

He held up a hand as if warding off a disaster about to happen. "Okay, okay. I get it. We'll go to the store while we're out."

After cleaning up their dishes, they left the house. Once Ana was settled in the SUV, she said, "So are you going to tell me now where we're going?"

"Not yet."

Holding on to her impatience, she took in the scenery as he headed them into town. She'd never been to this little part of the state. It was quaint and very different from her world in Seattle. When he pulled the SUV into a parking spot in front of a store, she stared.

The outline of a hunter aiming a rifle at a big bull's eye was painted on the outside of the store. "Lock, Stock & Barrel?"

"For all your hunting needs," he said and climbed out.

As he came around to the passenger door, she tried to make sense of why he'd bring her here. Did he plan on taking her out in the wilderness?

He led her into the store, past all the various outdoor gear and supplies to the back of the building. The muffled retort of gunfire coming from the other side of a windowed wall sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine and made her quake in her new tennis shoes. There were five spaces set up with targets at one end. Three spaces were occupied. "A shooting range?"

Christian stopped before a case of small handguns. "How're you doing?" he said to the guy behind the counter.

"Good. Yourself?" the big, stocky man replied.

"Great." He studied the case. "Let's try that twenty-two."

Ana touched Christian's arm. "Why are we here?"

"You need to know how to handle a gun."

"Why?" Isn't that what you're for?" she whispered with a pointed look.

"Just in case."

"Just in case what?" She stared at him in horror. In case he died and she was left to defend herself alone? The thought ripped a wide crevice of fear through her.

He shrugged. "Things happen. Situations can get out of control. I want you prepared."

Swallowing was suddenly hard. "Is this normal procedure? For you to teach your clients to shoot?"

"Sometimes," he said, picking up the small caliber handgun the store clerk had set on the glass case top and testing the weight. "This will work. I'll buy a box of ammo."

Heart pounding with adrenaline and a good dose of trepidation, Ana followed Christian into the shooting gallery like a sheep being led to slaughter. With each step, her anxiety kicked up, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Part of her wanted to know how to shoot. Wanted to be capable of defending herself with a firearm if need be. She just hoped the need never came.

After she donned the protective eyewear and earphones, Christian said, "The first thing you have to know is always handle a gun with the thought that it is loaded." His voice sounded muffled through the earphones. "Second, always point the gun away from yourself and away from anyone else. Keep the weapon pointed downrange or down at the ground."

She nodded, staring into his eyes. She didn't want to look at the weapon he was so easily loading.

"Third, always keep your finger off the trigger and outside the trigger guard until you've made the decision to shoot. Fourth, always beware of the target, backstop and beyond. In here it isn't a concern. But out in the real world. A bullet meant for a bad guy could just as easily find its way into an innocent bystander."

With each word, her anxiety ratcheted up. She hoped she'd never have to use a gun in the real world.

"When you hold a gun, a two-handed grip is best. Take your dominant hand and place it high on the back strap." He positioned his right hand on the back part of the gun. "This gives you more leverage and will help control the recoil.

"Place your support…" he waved his left hand "…so that it is pressed firmly against the exposed portion of the grip not covered by the gun hand. All four fingers of your support hand should be under the trigger guard, with the index finger pressed hard underneath it. Like this."

She stared at his strong, capable hands and wondered how many times he had shot at someone. How many times had his aim been true?

"Got that?" he asked.

She blinked and nodded her head. "I guess so."

With a smile, he set the gun down on the platform in front of them, separating them from the shooting range. Then he took her by the shoulders, spun her so she faced the target, the silhouette of a man.

Moving in close behind her, he nudged her knees. "Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent."

Awareness of his hard chest pressed against her back robbed her brain of any coherent thought. It took a second for her to adjust her stance.

"Now, pick up your weapon."

With hands that shook, she lifted the handgun, fitting her palm against the handle but keeping her finger away from the trigger just as he'd demonstrated.

He slid his hands down her arms to cover her hands. Pleasant little tingles spread through her system. Her breath hitched.

"Extend your arms all the way," he said. "This baby has a front sight and a rear sight notch." He pointed to them with his index finger. "Aim at your target and align the top of the front sight so that it lines up with the top of the rear sight. There should also be equal amounts of empty space on both sides of the front sight. Do you have it sighted?"

She licked her lips then nodded as she gazed down the sight at the target's head.

"Aim for the heart." He lowered her hand slightly. "Good. When you're ready to shoot, you're going to press on the trigger, not pull. You want as little movement on the sight as possible, and that requires steady pressure on the trigger. Keep pressing all the way to the end. You'll be surprised by the discharge, but that's okay."

She didn't like surprises. "Is it going to hurt?"

He chuckled. "It shouldn't. The recoil might jolt you a bit, but you're strong. You can take it."

His confidence made her want to believe him.

"Take a deep breath and slowly exhale as you apply pressure on the trigger." He nudged her finger onto the trigger mechanism.

She inhaled until her lungs nearly burst. Then curling her finger, she squeezed the trigger; it was slack at first then seemed to catch with resistance. She pressed harder. The weapon fired with a jerk and muted boom. Her arms reverberated with the shock wave of recoil.

She'd fired a gun. A heady sense of exhilaration overwhelmed her. "That was...was..." Words escaped her.

"Awesome?"

Pleased that he knew how she felt, she nodded vigorously. "Yes, awesome!"

Christian gently took the weapon from her and laid it back on the platform with the barrel facing downrange. "Well done."

He pressed a button on the wall next to them, and the target began sliding toward them. As it got closer, she saw where the bullet had torn through the white part of the paper right of the silhouette's head.

Disappointment subdued the rush of firing a weapon. "I'm not a good shot."

"You hit the paper. That's good for a first time." He sent the target downrange.

"You're just saying so to make me feel better.

"No. I'm telling the truth." He stepped back. "Do it again."

She felt exposed without him covering her hand, his warm chest pressed against her back. Squaring her shoulders, she decided she could do this. She picked up the weapon as he'd taught her, sighted, took a deep breath and, as she slowly exhaled, squeezed the trigger. This time the recoil wasn't as bad, though just as surprising.

Grinning, she laid the gun down. "Can I do it again?"

He grinned back. "Have at it."

When she'd expelled the last shell, she'd finally managed to hit the black park of the target just slightly left of center.

"Good job," Christian said as they left the shooting range and climbed into the SUV.

"That was surprisingly fun," she exclaimed.

"Didn't I tell you you'd like it?" He headed the vehicle out of the parking lot.

"You did." She sat back, feeling content and empowered. Not that she had a gun to carry, but she now knew how to use one. Just in case. She couldn't stop the little shudder at that thought. "Thank you for taking me shooting."

"You're welcome." At a stoplight, he looked at her and tilted his head, his gray eyes studying her.

"What?" she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He reached out, but when his hand neared her face, she drew back slightly.

"You have a little gunpowder on your cheek," he said.

Feeling foolish, she froze. The rough pad of his finger brushed across her cheek and lingered, sending little tingles shooting through her like Fourth of July sparklers.

Reflexively her hand came up to wipe at the spot. Their fingers collided.

He drew his hand back and placed it on the steering wheel. She rubbed her fingers together.

Up ahead she saw a general store. "I'd like to stop there," she said, pointing.

Christian parked the SUV in a spot near the side of the general store's side entrance. When Christian picked up a small carry basket, she shook her head and grabbed a cart. They'd eaten most of Gail's stew last night and her food this morning. Ana filled the cart with supplies for three.

Christian didn't comment on her purchases, even when she grabbed a one-pound bag of peanut M&M's. If she had to be in seclusion, she was going to have some comfort foods available. Peanut M&M's, mac and cheese, tomato soup and pop tarts. These were the things that would make life bearable over the next few days.

"You sure you haven't forgotten anything?" Christian asked, eyeing her cart.

"I think I'm ready to check out." She pushed her cart toward the cash register and got in line.

The man in front of her glanced back and then spun around. "Ana, what a surprise seeing you here."

Ana blinked. Wariness had her muscles tightening. Christian stepped closer, their shoulders touching, his hand settling possessively at the small of her back. She was startled by the contact as well as how nice it felt, right up until he slipped a finger into her belt loop, undoubtedly so he could jerk her back out of harm's way if need be. She glanced at him. His strong jaw was set in a firm line, his narrowed eye gaze trained on the man waiting expectantly for her to respond.

White teeth gleamed against the guy's tan skin. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes and wore a polo shirt, white shorts and deck shoes. She tried to place the face. Dredge up a name. But couldn't. Could he be the one trying to kill her? She scooted even closer to Christian and tried for a polite smile, but she was sure it looked more like a grimace. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Ryan Reynolds. We met at your parents' home last winter," he said, his initial enthusiasm dimming slightly. "I called you several times but could never reach you."

Ah. Now she remembered. Sunday night fix-up. Ryan was a dentist, divorced and belonged to her father's yacht club. She relaxed slightly. There was a reason she didn't have an answering machine at her apartment. She didn't want to be obligated to return calls from men her parents set her up with. The answering service at the hospital knew to pass on only legitimate patient calls.

Silence stretched out. She'd been raised to be polite, so she asked, "What brings you to Lake Cavanaugh?"

"Sailing tomorrow in a distance race," he said. "Will you be racing?"

Yearning hit her like a rogue wave. She wanted to be out on the water. "No. No racing this weekend."

"The weatherman says this will be the last good weekend for a while," Ryan commented.

"I wish you well in your race, then," Ana said.

"Sir?" the grocery clerk called.

"It was nice seeing you again," Ryan said and moved forward to buy his groceries.

Ana could feel Christian's gaze on her as they waited for Ryan to finish his purchases and head out the store door. When Ana went to hand the clerk the money, Christian covered her hand with his, halting her midair.

"Let me," he said, handing over a credit card.

"You don't have to do that," she said, frowning at him. She was pretty sure buying groceries wasn't in his job description.

"It will be in my expense report," he stated as he took his card back from the clerk. They left the store with their groceries. Once the bags were stowed in the cargo space and they were rolling away from the store, Christian said, "So you race on a team? Why didn't you mention this before? Maybe one of your teammates has it out for you."

She shook her head. "I don't do teams, so there's no worries there."

"But you do race? Ryan asked if you were competing."

"I do. In single-person regattas. I have a sweet Sunfish moored at the Seattle Yacht Club." Sailing had started as a way for her and her father to bond. But sailing had become her passion. A way for her to let off steam.

"Tell me about Ryan Reynolds. How do you know him?"

Ana sighed. "I don't really know him. He was just someone Mom and Dad fixed me up with last winter. I only met him the one time."

Christian lifted an eyebrow as he started the engine. "And he didn't call?"

She made a face. "He probably did. I don't have an answering machine."

"Do your parents fix you up often?"

"Occasionally. They want grandkids," she stated. They also thought she was lonely and a workaholic. She'd admit to the workaholic charge, but because she spent all of her time at work, in a hospital, with people, how could she be lonely? She didn't have time to be lonely.

Christian's expression turned thoughtful as he drove. "I'm going to need a list of all the men your parents have tried to fix you up with."

She groaned. "I don't remember them. One uncomfortable dinner was enough, thank you. I'm sure my parents will have names to give you." She cocked her head. "Why? You don't think one of them…"

He shrugged. "Could be. I'll have Detective Clark check them out."

"I can't imagine that someone my parents thought highly enough of to introduce to me would want me dead." That just didn't seem plausible. "I think this has to do with the lawsuit. Especially now whoever is doing this is fine with harming other hospital staff."

"Okay. Let's go with that for a moment." He turned down the drive toward the cabin. "What exactly is the suit about?"

"The Lincoln family is claiming negligence on my part and that of the hospital killed Mrs. Lincoln."

"Did it?"

"No. It was a routine procedure. Everything was going perfectly. And then, it wasn't," she said.

He brought the vehicle to a halt. They carried the groceries into the house.

"How can you be sure there was no negligence?" he asked as he unloaded a bag.

She blew out a breath and tucked a pound of chicken in the drawer of the refrigerator. "I've gone over the chart notes, the reports and medical history so many times I can recite them by memory. The lawyers have gone over everything. Dr. Clayton has gone over every detail. There was no negligence. There was no logical reason for the woman's death."

"And everything has to be logical for you," he said.

"Yes. Is that so wrong?" She folded the empty bags and put them in the recycle bin.

"Not wrong." He shrugged, his gaze holding hers. "Limiting."

"How so?" she asked, curious how his mind worked.

"By putting everything into neatly ordered boxes of cause and effect, you leave no room for the unexpected, the unexplainable. You miss out on aspects of life."

"You sound like my mom and dad," she said.

His eyes twinkled. "I knew I liked them for a reason."

"They are likeable." Like you. She let the unspoken thought tumble through her mind.

Needing some air, she headed out the kitchen door. Christian followed her. She could see the lake through the trees. Desperate for the solace found in the gentle lapping waves, in the expanse of blue water reflecting the orange and red glow of the setting sun, she kept walking toward the lake. The temperature had cooled. A slight breeze wafted in the air.

The snap of a branch behind them jolted through her. Sudden fear halted her breath.

In one swift motion, Christian pulled her against him with an arm wrapped around her waist. He swiveled them around so that his big body shielded her while his free hand reached for his weapon, ready to blast whatever threat came their way.