Instead, I pulled out my first aid kit and set it beside her. I followed with a glass of water and some painkillers.
“Here.”
“I don’t need them.”
“You’ve lost a decent amount of blood. You need the fluids, and that has to hurt.” I cocked my head. “Don’t be a baby.”
She shot me a mutinous look, but it did the trick. She snatched up the pills and gulped the water down.
I started wiping the blood away and cleaning her wound.
“I can do that myself.”
“But you’re not going to.” I felt tension quiver through her body. I could tell she was skittish, feeling the urge to run.
It was clear she wasn’t used to someone tending to her. She had to have been injured on jobs before. It was the nature of the work we did. Who took care of her then?
My muscles tensed. I already knew the answer. No one. I could picture her, alone in some shitty apartment or hotel room, wiping her own blood off her skin, sewing up her own cuts.
My jaw clenched. She was done with that.
If she got hurt, I’d look after her. I stared at the cut. It needed medical glue. I pulled it out of the kit and unscrewed the cap. I carefully sealed the wound. She stared over my shoulder as I worked.
I straightened. “We have matching stab wounds now.”
Her gaze flicked to my shoulder like she could see the bandage through my shirt. “I doubt I hit anything vital in your shoulder.”
I pressed my hands to the counter, on either side of her hips, and leaned in. “Because you didn’t really want to kill me.”
Things moved in her big, brown eyes. “Only because you move fast.”
I reached up and touched her hair. It was silky. She tensed, like she was about to leap off the counter and run.
“Don’t think about running, Lark. I’ll catch you.” I sank the promise of that into my voice.
She quivered and remained silent.
My cellphone vibrated. I saw Nash’s name on the screen and pressed it to my ear. “I’m here.”
“You find her?” he asked.
“I did. She’s fine. No thanks to her questionable decision making.”
She shot me a mutinous look and mouthedfuck you.
“Make sure she doesn’t kill you. You can debrief me later.”
“Good night, Nash.” I slipped the phone into my pocket. “Any other wounds?”
“No.”
“Good.” I scooped her off the island.
She grabbed my shoulders, released me, then grabbed me again.
I sank onto the couch, settled her beside me, then pulled the throw rug around her bare shoulders.
Then I grabbed a file resting on the coffee table and set it in her lap.
