He lifted a brow. “You look a bit pale.”
Who the hell was this guy? I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to bother me or whether this was how people in small towns were—overly helpful and incapable of minding their own business.
As I continued to stare at him without speaking, he grabbed some paper towels, uncapped the water, and dampened them. He held them out to me expectantly.
“For the blood,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t sure I was comprehending.
Heat flushed up my neck and into my cheeks, making me more annoyed. I grabbed the wet paper towels with my free hand and set them on the tabletop as I clumsily tried to wipe my fingers clean.
I took another breath, then inched my other hand away from my forehead. The handkerchief stuck a little, but no fresh blood trickled down my skin. That was something, at least.
I placed the bloodstained fabric on the desk and used the wet paper towels to dab the wound, hissing through my teeth at the sting. Before I could ask for another, he was already handing me one.
“You don’t have to help me,” I snapped.
“I know.”
My jaw clenched, aggravated by his insistence on bothering me and the time that was ticking by. I had to hurry.
I used the fresh paper towels to wipe away the rest of the blood I could see. When my hands were clean, I grabbed my phone from my bag and turned on the front-facing camera. I groaned when I saw myself.
This could not happen today.
A large welt had already formed on my forehead, bruising around the edges. Lines of dried blood trailed from the gash in the center of the lump. The only good thing was that the cut wasn’t deep.
I blotted and cleaned the remaining blood from my face, trying not to disturb my makeup. Getting too close to the welt hurt like hell, but what would hurt more would be showing up to court looking like this.
I couldn’t believe it. The biggest case of my career—and I was going to look like hell.
I stared at my own pale eyes. Right now, they almost glowed in the dim library light.
Something shifted beside me. The man had opened the first-aid kit and pushed it toward me. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth as I quickly cleaned the wound with the supplies inside and covered it with a bandage.
I still looked ridiculous when I was done. It was infuriating.
“Feel better?”
I glared at the man. “Why the hell is there a cat in the public library again?”
He sat up straighter, gaze catching on my bandage. He didn’t seem bothered by my obvious hostility.
“This is Calliope’s home too,” he said mildly. “She’s really never bothered anyone before you.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered.
I checked my watch again, wincing. I’d had so much I wanted to get done this morning, and this had thrown everything off. My head throbbed, anxiety rising like an army of ants under my skin.
I grabbed my phone again, studying myself in the camera. Even though the bandage almost matched my skin tone, the swelling was impossible to hide. There was no way I’d be able to cover it with makeup, and the last thing I needed was my witness distracted by a damn bandage.
I let out a long sigh. I couldn’t even cover it with my hair—it hung in a dark curtain past my shoulders. My lips pursed as my mind ran through possible solutions, landing on only one that might work.
“Do you know where I can find some scissors?” I asked.
The man didn’t reply right away, but he rummaged through the first-aid kit.
“Will these work?”
I glanced at him as he held out a small pair of steel scissors, the kind meant to cut tape or gauze.
