“You’ve got it. No crying.” The chief held up both hands. “Terentson, you may come down to the station, and if the Bakers agree to it, you may attend the interview. That’s all I can offer you. If they ask for a lawyer, we’re out anyway. Though you should also know that Skinner is still in town and really wants Millie secured in a cell as we build a case against her.”
Scott pulled her in even tighter, and she willingly let him hold her weight. Just for a moment. “Understood. For now, I’m taking Millie inside.” It wasn’t a question.
The chief shuffled his feet. “You probably haven’t read theRiver City Gazettetoday?”
Millie’s head dropped. “No. Why?”
“There’s an article all about Clay’s murder and you being found in his bed covered in blood.” The chief’s jaw hardened. “I have no idea who talked, but I will find out and can their asses.” He sighed. “There’s a chance the county prosecutor is chatting, trying to flush out information.”
Scott figured the whole town already knew about the case. “Inside, Millie,” he said.
The chief tucked a thumb in his jeans pocket. “I’ll be in after I look at the scene. I called the county coroner and she wants to come out here, so we’re going to do the best we can with the rain. For some reason, she wants to see them where they fell.”
Scott jumped from the ambulance and reached to lift Millie down. His grip was firm and strong as he pivoted to put her on the ground, then set her on her feet. Obvious muscle played beneath his skin when he moved. “We’ll be inside,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Millie faltered, her knees going weak. Without missing a step, Scott swung her up into his arms against his chest.
“Put me down.” Panic choked her. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” He hunched his body over her to protect her from the punishing rain and strode swiftly across the grass and inside the warm home. He walked right through the kitchen to place her at the table. “I’ll get you some coffee.” Turning, he unerringly opened the right cupboard and drew down two mugs before pouring from the ever-full coffeepot on the counter.
Mae hustled into the room. “Are you two okay?”
“Yes.” Millie tried to focus and noted he had already bled through the bandage across his rib cage. Her stomach revolted, and she took several deep breaths. While she often worked with badass agents, as their gadget girl, she normally remained safe back at headquarters. Not in the field with blood and dead bodies. “Here.” She stood, her knees weak, and strode to the hidden cabinet to press her palm against the wood and reach far in the back.
“I don’t think I need another bandage,” he said.
“No, I have something that can stitch you up,” she said, turning around. “Sit down.” She tried to put force in her voice, but she sounded whispery. Must be the shock.
He sat and craned his neck to study the device in her hand, his brow furrowing. “What is that?”
“I created a quick-stitch tool,” she admitted. “My brother’s always getting wounded, and he won’t go to the hospital. So I actually built this in high school.” She looked down at the small handheld device.
Mae chortled. “I’m taking coffee out to the police. Don’t even try to stop me.” She grabbed the thermos and several mugs, quickly disappearing outside into the rain.
Scott leaned back in the chair as if the thing might bite him. “What’s it made of?”
“Hard plastic,” Millie said. “The device began as a stapler.”
“Oh.” He reared farther back, moving the chair a few inches.
Real amusement cut through her shock. “No, it’s okay. I have fishing line and sterilized curved needles, as well as a chamber that releases antiseptic. It’s spring-loaded.”
He stopped moving, his chin still tilted. “All right.” Leaning to the side, he tore off the bandage.
She winced. The gash appeared serious. Blood flowed down his ribs to pool on the waistband of his jeans.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She reached for a kitchen towel to press against the wound.
He didn’t so much as suck in a breath, but the pressure had to hurt. She wiped the blood off as gently as she could. “Hold very still,” she said.
“No problem.”
She immediately set the retrofitted stapler on one end of the wound and drew it gently across the entire gash. Her device stitched him up perfectly, spurting antiseptic as it went.
“That’s fricking impressive,” he said, looking down.
Parts of her started to warm finally. “Thanks.” She returned to the cabinet and drew out another bandage. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”
