“He wouldn’t have had an inkling that you were the homeless man. He certainly wouldn’t draw a connection to me. So I assure you that I’m safe to go home.” She scoffed. “You thought my office building was unsafe. This ‘hideout’ has a rocky porch step as a security system. In any case, I’m not bunking here. I’m not going into hiding.”
Following her long monologue, she anticipated he would counter. But really, what was there for him to argue? When he didn’t come back with so much as a murmur, she motioned toward his side. “Since you stupidly refuse to go to an ER, I’ll tend to your side as best I can, then you will take me home.”
“In the morning.”
“Tonight.”
“After the sun comes up.”
“Tonight, Mitch. Otherwise this is kidnapping. You don’t want to add that to your other offenses.” She stepped around him, went to the dining table, and began removing items from the shopping bag. “Your clothes are filthy. Before we start, you should shower. Use a disinfectant soap if there is any.”
He walked to the bedroom he had claimed was his. Before going in, he looked at her over his shoulder and winked. “Three minutes and already you want me naked.”
She turned her back on him. He was chuckling as he pulled the door closed.
He emerged fifteen minutes later, clean and shampooed, his face free of the “dirt” makeup, which had begun to itch. The jeans he’d taken from his assigned drawer in the antique bureau were old and worn with stringy hems. He’d slung a T-shirt over his right shoulder, but hadn’t seen the point of putting it on only to take it off. He was also barefoot, and, seeing that Dylan noticed, he said, “We go casual around here.”
“I gathered.”
“You’ve been busy.” He surveyed the dining table, where she had organized the first aid articles. “You could moonlight as a surgical nurse. Here.” He handed her a bottle of peroxide he’d discovered in the bathroom medicine cabinet. “I might put it in the wrong place, and I’d hate to mess up the system you’ve got going.”
“This is a good addition,” she said, placing the bottle just so. “How’s your side?”
“Stung in the shower. I didn’t want to stain Beth’s white towels, so I scrounged around and was lucky to find this one.”He pulled a gray towel away from his side and peered beneath it. “Still leaking. But not as bad. All the same…”
He looked her over and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That blouse is killer. It would be a shame to get a bloodstain on it. Beth wouldn’t mind loaning you something to change into.”
“I’d only have to change out of it when I leave.”
He withheld his comment on that.
She pulled a chair out from under the table. “Sit.”
“You sit. I’ll stand.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m on my feet and it starts hurting, I can run away.”
She laughed softly. “Mitch, I don’t think you’ve ever run away from anything in your life.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Like what?”
“Idleness. Boredom. Safety.”
“That I can believe.”
“Uh-oh. You’re wishing you had your notepad, aren’t you? You’d jot that down.”
“Maybe the lure of action and danger is something we should talk about in our next session.”
“Maybe not.” He motioned down at the chair. “You sit. You’ll have a better vantage point, and I don’t want you making any mistakes.”
She sat down and inspected the gash. “Well, I don’t think it’s a mortal wound.”
“That’s a relief.”
