I hurried back over to Carter and knelt in front of him, already ripping apart the shiny wrapping paper and the plastic covering.
“Is that my Christmas present?” he asked, and I could hear humor in his voice, despite the seriousness of our situation.
“Yes. And you’re lucky that I decided to come over and bring it to you,” I muttered, pressing a couple of folded t-shirts against his torn, oozing flesh. I didn’t mention I’d also come to give him back his rings. Not the best time for that. Instead, I tried not to gulp when I saw his wound close up, but my expression must have betrayed my fear.
“Looks bad, huh?” he said.
“Pretty bad.” There was no point in lying. “Looks like he gave you a really good slice starting somewhere along your fifth rib and going down.”
“Would’ve been worse…if you hadn’t been here.”
Maybe it was my imagination, but his voice sounded breathier. Fainter. Worried, I glanced up at his face. He definitely looked sickly. His head was drooping to the side.
“Here. Press these shirts against the wound. I’m going to get some towels from the bathroom to tie around you, okay? Soon as I get this done we’re going to the hospital.”
“No, no hospital,” he tried to object even as I headed for the bathroom, crossing my fingers, hoping for some clean, unused towels.
“Yes, a hospital,” I replied firmly. A stack of clean towels was on a shelf beside the shower. I grabbed two bath towels and hurried back out. “At the very least, that’s going to need stitches. You’ll probably need an antibiotic. You’re definitely going to need pain killers.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but I forestalled him with, “Do you have a knife in here?”’
“Pocket knife.” He nodded towards the nightstand alongside the bed. “Over there.”
It lay beside his wallet, keys, a hotel key card, and some loose change. I scooped it up, flicked it open, and used it to make a cut in the towel’s hem so I could easily rip the towels into strips. Finished, I closed the blade and stuck it in my jeans pocket in case I needed it before kneeling in front of him again.
“I told you those t-shirts were a thoughtful and practical gift,” I said, hoping to distract him from potential pain as I began winding the strips of towel about his waist.
“Because I always lose my sh—shirt when I shift.”
“I guess that’s a good thing this time. I didn’t have to pick any fabric out of the wound.”
I said it matter-of-factly, my hands never pausing, but in reality, despite the gravity of the moment, I couldn’t help but be aware of me down on my knees, practically between his knees, and the leanness of his waist, supporting his well sculpted torso sprinkled with black hair. My face was nearly touching his stomach a couple of times when I had to lean into him to pull the strips around him.
You’re a nurse. You deal with half-naked and naked patients all the time. Get over it.
That was true, and I thought I was maintaining a professional demeanor. But it was also true most of those patients were not attractive men who also technically happened to be my husband.
That thought sparked unexpectedly, making heat rise in my cheeks. I bent my head, focusing on tying off the ends of my makeshift bandages, hoping Carter didn’t notice my discomfort, and also really hoping he didn’t have some secret shifter ability to read my mind.
“There,” I said. “I think that should hold you till I can get you to the hospital. Can you walk?”
“If I can’t, we’re in trouble. Don’t think you can carry me.”
“No arguments there. Sit tight a second while I gather stuff up. Don’t move until I’m back. I don’t want you trying to stand and passing out from blood loss. I’d have to call an ambulance, and I really don’t want to wait on one.”
“I’m not going to pass out,” he called after me as I raced around the room, grabbing his personal effects off the nightstand and sweeping them into my purse. I also took my Kimber off the bed and slid it back inside the concealed holder in my handbag. Carter saw me do it and said, “Pretty impressive the way you handle that thing.”
“It’s a good thing my parents made sure I knew how to handle firearms. Lucky for you too.”
“Yeah, it was. Glad you started carrying like you said you would.”
He was maintaining a conversation. I noted that mentally. Good sign.
“Seeing humans turn into freakish monsters trying to kill you can have that effect on someone,” I answered dryly. “Hey, do you have some kind of shirt we can slip on over those bandages?” I asked, stooping in front of his overnight bag.
Carter swiveled in the chair to see what I was doing.
“Feel free to go through my stuff, by the way.”
“Thanks, I will,” I said, already tugging on the zipper and riffling through.
“Nosy. Acting like a wife,” I heard him mutter.
I ignored him, pulling out a long-sleeved button up. “This will do.”
I brought it over and assisted him in getting his arms through the sleeves. Without saying a word, I buttoned a few of the middle buttons for him, enough to semi-conceal the bandages on his waist.
“There,” I said, stepping back, slinging my purse strap over my shoulder. “That’ll work till we get to the hospital. It’s just a few blocks away. Take my hand, and I’ll help you up.”
Carter rolled his eyes.
“I’m not an invalid, Ellie. I’ve been wounded worse than this and managed to survive. You sound like a mother.”
“I’m not a mom, but I am a nurse,” I reminded him.
“I know, I know. You’re going by your training. So, tell me, nurse,” he said, pushing down on the arms of the chair and climbing slowly to his feet, unaided. “What story will we tell the hospital? They’re going to ask how I got cut. Should I tell them it was domestic violence and you assaulted me?”
I glowered at him. “Ha ha, very funny.”
“I’m serious, though. What’s our cover story?”
My brain whirled. I hadn’t considered a cover story, but he was right. The hospital would ask, and the cops would likely be called.
“You’re the security expert. What do you say? This isn’t exactly my forte.”
“When we leave, tell the hotel manager that I’d left my door open, Blake came inside and tried to rob me. There was a scuffle. He wounded me, then you came along. He ran when you got there.”
“Tell them Joab’s name?”
I was confused.
“No, Ellie,” he snapped. “Give them a brief description. The cops will be able to pick him up on hotel cameras.”
“Will the story hold?” I fretted. I sidled up next to him, whether he wanted me to or not, slid an arm under his shoulders and started walking him to the door, silently inviting him to lean on me, if need be.
“It’s a dead end case. We haven’t done anything wrong. Even if they check hotel security footage they’ll see Joab entering my room, you entering after, and Joab leaving before us with me injured.”
“What about fingerprints? What if they check for those?”
“Fingerprints?” Carter scoffed. “Why would they? Besides, it’s a hotel room. They’d probably find dozens if they bothered to check. Which they won’t. They’ll work the scene briefly and give up. It’ll hold until I get out of here in the morning. I’m flying back to Texas tomorrow, remember? When they can’t find him—and they won’t—they’ll drop it. No big—big deal.”