LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE psychedelic camper-van spun through the entry to the parking lot with a squeal of tyres, startling Jo as she inserted the key into the deadlock on the surgery door. She watched, fingers tightening on the key she’d just turned, as a man in tattered board shorts and a bright Hawaiian-print shirt emerged from the van.

      A very tall man, thickset.

      With very broad shoulders.

      Her heart might have skipped a beat but that didn’t stop her medical mind checking the man out.

      He didn’t seem to be bleeding, and he wasn’t limping or doubled over in pain, so sending him on to the hospital was definitely the best idea …

       Definitely!

      But do it politely.

      Don’t freak him out.

      Calm voice, no sudden moves.

      ‘I’m sorry but the clinic is closed,’ she called out to him. Took a deep breath and added, ‘If you follow the main road down through two roundabouts then turn right at the third you’ll find the hospital. It has twenty-four-hour Accident and Emergency cover.’

      Jo—Dr Joanna Harris to give her full title—carefully unlocked the door she’d just locked, and prayed that she sounded confident. The man didn’t move, standing motionless beside the van, studying her with a slight frown on his face, as if her words hadn’t made sense.

      Then, like the sun bursting through clouds on a showery day, the frown cleared and the big man smiled.

      Against all common sense Jo felt her tension ease, which was ridiculous given that the local pharmacy had been robbed three times in the last six months.

      ‘Shouldn’t there be more than one person locking up a medical clinic?’ the giant asked, his deep voice rumbling up from somewhere inside a broad chest that was barely hidden by the hula girls, hibiscus flowers and palm trees—a lot of palm trees.

      Tension returned despite the fact the voice was warm—teasing almost—and held no hint of threat.

      ‘There are no drugs kept on the premises,’ Jo told him, pointing to a large sign posted on the glass door.

      ‘Do people actually believe those signs?’ the stranger asked, and though she knew people probably didn’t, Jo defended her sign.

      ‘Of course they do! And we’ve got cameras.’ She pointed to the camera angled downward from the corner of the building. ‘Now, if you’d just move your vehicle, I can put up the chain across the car-park entrance. We’re not open at all on Sunday. I was doing some tidying up.’

      Stupid thing to say—now he’d know there was no one else around—although he’d probably guessed that when he’d

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