~Far away and left behind~

"It's done," the gruff voice muttered into the phone.

"Are you sure?" came the cool, crisp retort.

"Yeah, he's dead." Or soon would be. "Dumped the body along the coast on some country road."

"Good. You can expect a deposit to your account first thing in the morning." The line clicked and was silent.

Kyra Montgomery climbed the stone steps leading up to the road that would take her to the villa she had purchased just two months prior. She reached into the basket for her sweater, it was late spring and evenings on the coast tended to be chilly-even without the light breeze that was blowing errant strands of red hair around her face. Sighing she let her gaze wander, on one side, the steep granite cliffs gave way to the spectacular hues of the Adriatic below. On the other side, soft green fields stretched out in front of her, masses of wildflowers in riotous colors dotted the landscape and mixed in with groves of leafy green trees. As she walked down the narrow lane, she debated with herself over which pleased her the most, and vowed to never to take the breathtaking views for granted.

She was at her front door before she knew it. Hurrying inside she was intent on being settled on the patio with a glass of wine in time to bask in the glory of the sun setting over the Adriatic.

Sitting the shopping basket on the marble top of the island separating the kitchen from the living room, she unloaded her purchases; bread, cheese, and wine from the basket. She retrieved a small plate and knife along with a glass from the open cabinets along the wall. The realization of how much she loved this place struck her as she prepared a light snack for herself. The Italian coast was the perfect place to relax and decide what she truly wanted to do with her life. She'd spent two months holed up in her penthouse apartment mourning the loss of her beloved father before setting off at his behest to create herself. Tiny tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she remembered the reading of his will. Sometimes when she closed her eyes she could hear his voice reciting the advice he'd left for her.

So here she was, doing what she wanted instead of what everyone else thought she should. She arranged chunks of bread and cheese on the plate alongside a divine garlic and olive oil sauce, then poured herself a glass of wine. Picking them up she headed out the door to the ivy covered patio. She frowned as she passed the half finished water color resting on an easel, she told herself she would work on it after dinner.

Settling into the oversize chair, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up under her. Dusk was just beginning to fall as she took her first sip of wine. Absently she noted a bird singing somewhere close, and the rustle of some animal moving through the underbrush in grove of trees to her right. The rustling increased, she heard a twig snap and sighed at the absolute tranquility surrounding her. She turned to reach for the small plate and nearly screamed at the sight that met her eyes. A man was slouched against the stone archway leading onto the patio.

"Help me...please..." The words rasped from his lips a fraction of a second before he crumpled to his knees.

Kyra's eyes darted over his disheveled face and clothing, coming to rest on the dark stain blossoming across the front of his shirt. "Shit!"

She leapt to her feet and instinct kicked in as she moved to kneel in front of him, she could smell the blood and gunpowder as she reached for his arm. "You've been shot," she stated the obvious. "Let's get you inside, can you walk?"

He started to nod, but the shooting pain behind his eyes cut the movement short. She maneuvered his arm over her shoulder and helped him back to his feet. It took several minutes with her supporting the bulk of his weight, to make it inside the villa. She eased his lanky frame onto the sofa. It didn't occur to her to be afraid; she was running on instinct and adrenaline. The grunts and moans of pain barely registered as she stripped the ruined shirt from his chest.

"You need a hospital!" she exclaimed, seeing the bullet hole on the right side of his chest still oozing dark, sticky blood. She felt his fingers curl around her wrist.

"No!" The word hissed past clenched teeth.

The fear began to creep up her spine then. "Okay...what...what do you want me to do?"

"You...help me," he muttered opening his eyes. The intense blue orbs were glazed with pain and the lines of his patrician features were etched with fear.

"Okay, I'm going to get a few things. I'll be right back."

She raced to the bathroom and wet several wash clothes. She grabbed the extensive first aid kit as well as a couple of bottles from the shelf. She hurried back to his side, telling herself that he couldn't possibly be some criminal. Criminals didn't wear Versace and Armani.

She knelt in front of him. "I'm Kyra. What's your name?" she asked, trying to distract him as she began to gently clean the blood from his chest. He didn't answer her, and when she looked up she noted that his eyes were shut and his face was slack. "Fuck!" She reached for his hand, sliding her fingers to his wrist. She felt for a pulse, and when she found it she noted that although a bit irregular it was strong.

She slid a hand behind him and eased his body forward, praying that she would find the corresponding exit wound. She sighed with relief when she located the larger wound on his back.

'Please don't let him die,' she prayed. She had no idea how she would explain a dead American to the Polizia di Stato. He needed stitches and antibiotics and as she got to her feet she said a silent prayer of thanks to her father.

She moved to the hall closet and retrieved one of the few items she'd brought to Italy with her from America. The medical bag with her father's name on a brass plaque had been a gift from his own father when he'd graduated from medical school. He'd told her how he'd scoffed at the old fashioned gift at first, but over the years it had came in handy more than once and he'd kept it stocked with all manner of supplies. She'd taken it on a whim; now she was thankful she had.

She moved back to the young man's side, sitting the bag on the low coffee table, opening it she pulled out disinfectant, a local anesthetic, a needle, and suture thread. As much as she'd hated being a nurse, she was glad her father had taught her a few things.

She concentrated on the task at hand- filling four syringes with the anesthetic. "This is gonna sting and burn. I need you to hold still. You are going to need numerous stitches," she told him calmly.

He opened his eyes, searching her face. Though for what, she wasn't quite sure. "I know what I'm doing. I promise."

He nodded almost imperceptibly and closed his eyes once again.

After scrubbing his chest with betadine she injected the antiseptic in several location surrounding the entrance wound. The smaller wound would be the easiest to suture so she started there. When she finished she told him to lay face down on the couch. Then she began to clean the larger, more jagged wound on his back. As she did she tried her best not to speculate on what he might have done to get himself shot. He didn't make a sound as she went to work suturing the wound, and she wondered if he'd passed out from the pain and blood loss or if he was just that strong willed.

She leaned back when she finished, running a hand across her face. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue to take care of the situation. She reached out, touching his shoulder gently. "Okay, we need to get some antibiotics and pain medicine in you, then I want to get you comfortable in bed."

He struggled to sit up and she reached out to help him. "So are you going to at least tell me your name?" she asked as she stood.

"I would...if I knew myself."

Her face showed the surprise and concern. "You can't remember anything at all?" she asked sitting next to him, her hands going to his head. Gently she felt for any tell tale signs of a head injury.

"Nothing," he whispered. She watched his face and saw him wince when her fingers grazed the large knot behind his left ear.

"Okay...that's a nasty bump but your memory will most likely return on its own. Do you have any ID on you?" she asked.

His hand immediately went to his pocket. "No wallet...just this." He pulled out a scrap of yellow paper, she noticed it was torn along one edge as he held it out to her, she took the paper from his trembling fingers

Kyra looked down at it, "Neal, call El," she read it out loud. "Okay, that's probably you. Neal. It looks like it's from some sort of message pad, like a sticky note."

"Neal," he said the name out loud. What should have been the most familiar thing about him, seemed strange and foreign on his lips.

"Let me get you a drink, then we'll get you cleaned up and in bed. You are going to need to rest."

He shifted on the couch to watch her as she made her way to the kitchen, the pain shooting though his shoulder. He swallowed the whimper as he took in the red hair cascading over her shoulders, which were left bare by the lacy camisole gracing her ample cleavage. The rounded curve of her hips was hidden by the flowing white skirt. She turned back to him and a soft smile played at her full lips. His eyes never left her as she walked back over to him.

She sat down next to him again and her vibrant turquoise eyes met his. She offered him the glass and he took it gratefully. When she reached for the prescription bottles on the table though, he caught her hand in his. "No drugs."

"You have to at least have the antibiotics," she murmured as her skin tingled under his touch.

"Just the antibiotic," he agreed and let her go.

He took a swig of the ice cold water as she opened the bottle and handed him a pill. He swallowed it, along with the remainder of the water.

"Okay, let me just finish cleaning the blood up and we will get you tucked in."

Her hands were soft and gentle as she cleaned the blood from his arm and then moved to his face.

Dabbing gently at the cuts and abrasions, she noticed for the first time just how handsome he was. A slight five o'clock shadow graced the strong jaw and accentuated the full, utterly kissable lips. She was willing to bet his smile was devastating. Her eyes flicked down to his chest and abdomen. Not overly muscular, just enough to tell that he cared about his body and took care of it. If they'd met under normal circumstances she probably would have flirted with him.

But these were not normal circumstances, and this wasn't a cocktail party in some swanky New York club. She had no idea who this man was, or what he had done. But for some reason she wasn't worried about anything other than his welfare at that moment. They'd figure the rest out later. "Okay, let's get you into bed."

"Shouldn't that be my line?" he said with a half hearted smirk.

She chuckled. "I don't think you are up to it quite yet." She stood and offered him her hand.

He took it and felt the spark dance across the palm of his hand. He watched her face, but if she felt it, she was effectively shielding it.

She lead him to her room, letting go of his hand to turn down the soft, fluffy comforter and sheets. When she turned, he'd toed off his shoes and was in the process of pulling the socks from his feet. "Are you wearing anything underneath those?" She gestured at the tailored Armani pants.

He gave her a lopsided grin "I'm not sure..."

"Well, check and if you are take them off too. They are muddy."

He did as she asked, and when she saw his hands go to the buckle of his belt she couldn't make herself look away. He undid them and let the trousers fall to the floor, revealing a pair of gray boxer briefs hugging his hips. His long legs were well developed and just as tan as the rest of his body. 'Good God ,' she thought to herself. He was as breathtaking as the scenery around here.

She shook her head at her thoughts, and cleared her throat. "Okay, in bed. I'll check on you in a couple of hours. If you need anything just call for me."

He followed her instructions, and as she pulled the comforter up over him he caught her hand. "Kyra...thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome Neal."

She flipped the light off as she exited the room, leaving the door open so she could hear him if he called out to her.

She went straight to the kitchen and poured another glass of wine, downing it in one long drink. When she sat the empty glass back on the counter, her hands were trembling. Her mind tumbled with questions, scenarios about how he had ended up wounded and bleeding to death on a lonely road along the Italian coast.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she tried to focus on what to do next. He'd need food, along with the rest and antibiotics, so she set about making a simple meal. Soup and bread would be easy enough on his system, she decided. She tried not to think as she chopped vegetables and browned meat in a skillet.

As she moved around the kitchen she wondered if he had family or friends. Maybe even a wife and kids who were missing him. She hadn't seen a ring, or the telltale lack of tan on his ring finger, so she doubted that he was married but it wasn't irrefutable proof.

Once the soup was simmering on the stove, she found herself drawn back to her room. Standing in the doorway she watched him as he slept, virtually motionless in her bed. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he was still alive and she vowed to do her damndest to keep him that way. They were a long way from proper medical care, but she'd do the best she could. She knew going to a hospital wasn't an option; that whoever had shot him might come back to finish the job if they found out their first attempt had failed. The fact that they'd dumped him along this out of the way road told her it hadn't been accidental.

Once the meal was ready, she put everything on a tray and returned to her room. "Neal," she called his name but he didn't stir. She sat the tray on the bedside table and reached for his shoulder, shaking it gently. "Neal, you need to eat."

He woke, groggy and disoriented. He felt the pain shoot trough his shoulder and chest as he struggled to sit up.

"Let me help you," she said softly.

He looked up at her as he settled against the headboard, propped on the pillows. "Kyra." It scared him to think that the only thing familiar to him was a woman he had just met.

She placed the tray over his lap. "Soup and juice."

He looked down at it and felt his stomach roll. "Not sure I can..."

"At least a little bit. You need nutrition to help the wounds heal and regain your strength."

He started to nod but thought better of it as his head throbbed. He reached for the spoon and the searing pain made him drop it.

"Hurt that much?" she asked.

"Yeah, it does," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes.

"Let me help you." She sat facing him and picked up the spoon.

"I wish you would take something for the pain, no need to be a tough guy. It's just me and you here," she said as she fed him.

"No." He reiterated his earlier answer. He couldn't afford to be drugged right now.

She sighed. "Drink."

He lifted the juice glass with his left hand and drank.

A few more bites along with the rest of the juice, and he was sweating from the effort. "Okay Neal, lets tuck you back in," she said as she removed the tray and helped him lay back down.

She took the tray and left the room.

Neal lay in the darkness for several minutes, trying to remember something, anything. He finally closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

Kyra ate some food herself, sitting on the couch. She looked down and noticed the blood stains on the cream colored couch. With a sigh, she went to get something to clean it up. She scrubbed until it was almost gone then stood and flipped the cushion's over.

With a sigh she went to the hall closet and pulled out an extra blanket and pillow before settling back onto the couch. Reaching for the small alarm clock next to her, she set it to give her four hours sleep, then it would be time to wake him up and give him some more antibiotics.

Over the next three days they followed much the same pattern. Kyra would wake him every few hours to feed him and give him antibiotics. After the first time he woke up with a fever, she convinced him to at least take some Tylenol. It helped ease the pain, if only minimally. She slept on the couch at night and wandered the house during the day, afraid to leave him alone. She took care of his every need, even helping him to the bathroom when the need arose. She knew at some point she would have to go into town to get supplies, but she didn't feel comfortable leaving him until he was at least a little bit better.