He limped to the living room. The tall windows were grimy and draped with gauzy curtains, letting in little light. But it didn’t take much light to see that the place had long since fallen to disrepair. Still, Jake was grateful to have a roof over his head.
The high ceilings were water stained. In some places the plaster had chipped away and fallen to the floor. A fireplace constructed of crumbling brick dominated the room. An antique potbellied stove sat in the corner. The only piece of furniture was a table that looked as if it had been used for a workbench.
Not the Ritz-Carlton, but it was going to have to do.
Moving to the front door, Jake opened it and looked out at the porch. Relief swept through him when he spotted the firewood stacked haphazardly. If they burned wood conservatively, it might get them through the night.
Not wanting to think of spending the night with Leigh in a cold farmhouse, he limped to the woodpile and gathered as much as he could carry into his arms. He locked the door behind him and went over to the hearth. A surge of light-headedness hit him when he saw Leigh standing in the kitchen doorway. He wasn’t sure if it was from the bullet wound or the effect she always had on him, but it was enough to make him break into a sweat.
“I’ll make a fire,” he said.
Quickly she set the first-aid kit and blanket on the table and came to him. “Let me help you.”
He didn’t want her help. He didn’t like the way he was reacting to her. But the pain was wearing down his bravado. He let her take some of the firewood from his arms.
“Are you sure we weren’t followed?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
“How long will we stay?”
“Long enough to get my wound cleaned up and grab a couple of hours of sleep.”
“Then what?”
He put a match to the newspaper he’d set under the wood and watched it burst into flames. “Hopefully Rasmussen will be in custody by then.”
“And if he isn’t?”
He looked at her and felt another surge of light-headedness. “We cross that path when we come to it.”
Jake rose and carried some wood to the potbellied stove. When both the fireplace and stove were blazing, he walked to the kitchen where Leigh had set out the first-aid kit.
“Nice kit,” she said.
“Courtesy of the MIDNIGHT Agency,” he said.
She opened the lid and picked up a wrapped syringe. “Looks like they thought of everything.”
“Yeah, I think Cutter used to be a Boy Scout.”
Her smile was short-lived. “I’m sorry you left the agency on bad terms. I know how much your career means to you.”
Jake said nothing.
“Was it because of me?”
“It was because of a difference of opinion between Sean Cutter and me. It’s not the first time.”
“Will you be able to go back?”
Jake sighed, the gravity of what he had done this morning weighing him down. “I don’t think he’ll ask me to come back.”
Not wanting to deal with that at the moment, he looked down to where the blood was still seeping through his coat. “Are you up to handling this bullet wound?”
“I was ready hours ago.” But he didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She motioned to ward the table. “Why don’t you take off your coat and have a seat?”
Jake worked the coat off his shoulders. He tugged his shirt from the waistband and was dismayed to see so much blood. The bullet had gone though his coat, through his blue jeans and grazed his right hip, close to the muscular part of the buttock. Terrific. He pondered the dilemma, but there was no way around it. He was going to have to remove his pants.
“I hate to do this to you, Leigh, but I’m going to have to lose the pants.”
She looked more horrified by the idea of seeing his bare butt than she did at the prospect of treating a potentially serious bullet wound. But she quickly regained her composure. “It won’t be the first time I’ve seen you without them.”
Her cheeks were flushed. Jake could feel that same heat creeping up his own cheeks. And other parts of his body he didn’t want to think about.
Without looking at her, he unsnapped his jeans, tugged them down and stepped out of them. He wore plain white boxer briefs. He glanced at the blood-soaked material. “Going to need a new wardrobe after this,” he muttered. “Bullet put a hole in everything but my shoes.”
Leigh was looking everywhere but into his eyes. Jake wasn’t shy, but he didn’t like the idea of dropping his pants in front of a woman he’d spent the past six years trying to get out of his system. One stray thought, and his body might just react in a way he didn’t want it to. Something like that was hard to hide when you were half naked.
Because he needed something to do, he reached into the first-aid kit and picked up the syringe. “Think you can get some antibiotics into me?”
“I have a feeling you’re not talking about a pill.”
He smiled as he tore the wrapper from the syringe. “Penicillin. Intramuscular injection. Needs to go in the hip.” He patted his left hip. “Alcohol swabs are in the kit.”