Chapter 21 #2
“Except by water. We’re on an island, surrounded by a network of bayous, which you have to know like the back of your hand to find the place. That track we took from the highway to the garage is the only way to drive on and off it.”
“It’s an inconvenient location.”
“Not for moonshiners and bootleggers.” He grinned. “But that was a century ago. Now, it’s sorta John’s secret hideout. Maybe I should’ve blindfolded you before I got to the turnoff.”
“Don’t worry. If tortured I couldn’t tell anyone where I am. Do you come here often?”
“Yeah. John and I spend a lot of time here. Well, we did,” he said and shrugged ruefully. “I’ll be right back.” He turned away.
Unable to suppress her sudden panic, she said, “Where are you going?”
“To wash the blood off my hands. If you need a bathroom… through there.” He pointed to a doorway on the far side of the large room.
He went into a room on the opposite side and closed the door.
She stayed where she was, feeling the glassy eyes of the stuffed animals staring down at her.
Eventually she ventured into the kitchen area, set the drugstore bag on the dining table, and washed her hands in the large, utilitarian sink, using liquid soap from a dispenser.
As she was drying them with a paper towel, Mitch rejoined her.
He took two bottles of water from the refrigerator and passed one to her. She was too thirsty to refuse it, but after taking a long draught, she said, “Mitch, we can’t possibly stay here.”
“It’s rustic in character, but it’s got electricity and a freezer full of good Cajun cooking. After John and Beth married, she insisted on upgrading the bathroom fixtures. A toilet hasn’t backed up since, so you’re safe on that score.”
He looked down at her evening shoes, which the walk from the garage had all but finished off. “I’m sure Beth’s got some shoes here that you can swap out for those. You appear to be about the same size.”
“It’s not the amenities, Mitch. It’s—”
“I know what it is. You’re afraid you won’t be able to resist my animal magnetism.
Hey, it happens. Especially in a secret and sultry atmosphere.
Tell you what. To avoid temptation, you can bunk in John and Beth’s bed.
I’ll use the guest room, where I sleep when I’m here.
” He indicated the room he’d gone into to wash his hands.
“I have a designated drawer and everything.”
She exhaled. “Stop being funny. I’m telling you seriously that Roland was busy in the restaurant all evening. From eight o’clock when I arrived until you saw us come out, I can vouch that he was in the dining room.
“When the fight in the median started, he was livid, cursing a blue streak, which isn’t the reaction of someone who expected or planned it. He blamed it on the homeless infiltration of the neighborhood.
“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.”
“Nevertheless,” she said, “hold that towel under it while I douse it.” She used the peroxide, which he told her didn’t burn like the alcohol had. “But you can still blow on it.” She rolled her eyes up toward him, and he grinned. “A guy can try.”
“Some have to try harder out of necessity.”
“Oh, now that hurt, and I’m not talking about whatever that stuff is you’re smearing on me now.”
“Antiseptic cream.”
He flinched a few times, although her touch was light, and he liked looking down on the crown of her head. As she turned it this way and that, her hair slid from one shoulder to the other, all sleek and satiny.
Fantasizing how it would feel sliding over his belly and thighs fell into the category of “impure thoughts,” which required extra time in the confessional booth. He tried to sweep them from his mind and picked up on what she’d said a moment ago. “Others have tried?”
Carefully dabbing on the cream, she asked absently, “Hmm?”
“Men.”
She raised her head from her task and looked up at him.
“Others have tried?” he repeated. “Did any succeed? Or give up and go away? Are any still trying, lurking about in the desperate hope that you’ll change your mind?”
“Are you asking if I’ve had affairs?”
“I’m on pins and needles.”
She returned to applying the salve. “I thought we’d established that I don’t talk about my personal life with patients.”
“Before we decide whether or not to talk about it, let’s establish whether or not you have one. Do you?”
“If I answer that, I’m talking about it.”
He smiled, although she was looking at his belly and didn’t see it. “I didn’t want it to come down to this, Dr. Reede.”
At his stern tone of voice, she raised her head again.
“I could play the cop card, you know. Take you to the station for formal questioning.”
“About my private life?”
“With a focus on your friendship with Roland Malone.”
“He’s a patient, not a friend.”
“So say you now. But I’d be interested to hear what you have to say after spending countless hours in an uncomfortable interrogation room.”
“I would say the same.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that. When I really start applying the heat, big, burly bad guys crack after only an hour or two. It wouldn’t take near that long with you. I think the CAP unit has a pair of thumbscrews in a junk drawer somewhere.”
He saw her trying to conceal the smile tugging at the corners of her God-I-want-that-mouth-on-me mouth, but she calmly returned her attention to his wound.
She squeezed a dab of the cream from the tube onto her fingertip and began smoothing it over the thinnest part of the cut, which was just beneath his navel. She applied it in a swirling motion.
Sweet Jesus, if lust could kill you, this would be a mortal wound.
When satisfied that she’d covered the area, she capped the tube of antiseptic and reached for the box of butterfly closures. Taking out several, she lined them up with precision.
“What’s it going to be, doc?” he asked. “You talk to me here, or I haul you in.”
“Please do,” she said. “I could tell John Bowie about your escapade tonight. I would accuse you of kidnapping, you would be severely reprimanded for questioning me without an attorney present, and I would file a lawsuit against the police department for harassment and false arrest.” She opened the first closure and held it above the deepest part of the gash. “This may hurt.”