I sniffed, but at least he was feeling lively. No shock. No disorientation. His color was okay.
“Stay here,” I commanded as I stood and headed for the bathroom in the hall.
His handsome face was darkly amused. “I wasn’t planning on getting up and river dancing.”
“Good. Because you’d look stupid.”
I hurried into the bathroom and dug through the medicine chest. Declan had plenty of painkillers, serious ones that I didn’t want to know where he’d stolen them from. He also had antibiotics that weren’t expired. I let out a sigh of relief when I found a trauma medic kit. It was some kind of survivalist field medic kit, but inside, it had gauze pads, paramedic scissors, and a suture kit.
Leon was sitting where I’d put him on the couch. He watched with interest as I set out everything on the coffee table.
But he frowned at the bottles of Percocet I’d brought with me—oxycodone with acetaminophen would really take the edge off any pain.
“I popped some of that about an hour ago.”
“And you were driving? Shot and bleeding and on pain meds through New York traffic?”
He shrugged his good shoulder. “Didn’t have much choice.”
I put on neoprene gloves and cut away the blood-soaked cloth he’d wrapped around the wound. It looked and felt like cotton bed sheeting. High thread count, though, so there was that.
The wound was not inconsequential but not life-threatening unless it grew seriously infected. The bleeding had slowed. The bullet had grazed the outside of his arm at the bottom of the deltoid muscle. It had bled, but the bullet wasn’t inside his arm, so I didn’t need to worry about removing it. Something that should be done at a hospital, not on a couch.
“How’s it look, Doc?”
“I’m not a doctor yet,” I murmured, although I liked “Doc” a lot more than “Princess.” I probed at the wound, examining it closely. He was watching me, his brow knitting at the pain caused by my touch. I glanced at him, feeling his stare.
He grinned. “You’re beautiful when you’re concentrating like that.”
“Patients aren’t supposed to harass their medical provider,” I told him curtly, returning my attention to his wound. “The bullet only grazed you.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
I glared at him. “Stop screwing around and start being serious.” I began to organize my instruments, such as they were. “I’m guessing you’ll refuse to let me take you to a hospital.”
“You guess right.”
I didn’t know why I’d bothered asking. Doctors had to report gunshot wounds to the police. He wasn’t going to want the attention.
“Fine. I’ll do my best, but no promises.”
Leon nodded. He seemed completely confident in my abilities, even though I’d only done this kind of thing a few times. I wasinmed school, not doing my residency. I was touched by his confidence, but he was an idiot to have such faith in my skills.
I painstakingly cleaned and disinfected the wound, which was a pain in the butt because the bullet had driven in pieces of fabric from his shirt and jacket. Then I stitched him up. He never made a sound louder than a grunt and once an indrawn breath when the hooked needle first pierced him.
When it was done, I wrapped the wound in clean gauze and bandages, keeping it tight. I gave him antibiotics and lectured him on taking them regularly. Men could be terrible with that kind of thing. Especially a tough guy like Leon, who was strong and in top shape and clearly believed himself invincible. But an infection didn’t care how much muscle mass you had on your frame or how much you could bench press.
He slowly tested out his bandaged arm until I warned him to keep it as still as possible and not risk pulling out the stitches. For once, he obeyed, and I was ready to declare that a miracle.
It was only after I had him patched up that the reaction hit me. At last it sank in that Leon had left here perfectly fine and returned covered in blood. It left me feeling shaken and hollow. The nightmare scenario I’d imagined when he drove away without me had almost come true. In that scenario, I learned of his death on the news. This time he’d survived. But how long would his luck last?
After last night and all our passion, I felt something powerful for him. I knew I could fall in love with Leon and feel safe. He was the kind of man who would overturn the world to give me whatever I needed. Nothing could keep us apart because he wouldn’t allow it.
Except a bullet. That would keep us apart. Or prison. That would keep us apart…
I couldn’t live a life where Leon walked out the door and I dreaded the phone call telling me that he was dead. Or the cops showed up at the door telling me he was dead. Or one day he vanished and I wouldn’t know if he was dead or had simply left me for good.
“How did you end up shot?” I asked, staring at the cold fireplace, wishing there was a fire inside to warm me. My voice sounded casual, but there was nothing relaxed about my emotions.
