“I don’t think you’re in any condition to do much of anything.”
As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. “Look, if it’s bad we’ll do what we need to do. For now, let’s get it cleaned up and see what we’re dealing with.”
A sigh of resignation shuddered out of her. “I’m a waitress. I don’t know anything about treating bullet wounds.”
He managed a smile. “Yeah, but you’re a quick study.”
Chapter Nine
Up until two days ago Jess hadn’t so much as seen a bullet wound, let alone get shot at, sustain one herself or administer first aid. Angela’s murder had changed everything. She wasn’t squeamish; she’d treated her own bullet wound just days before. But treating someone else’s was a completely different endeavor.
Next to her, Madrid draped his jacket over the back of his chair and proceeded to remove his shirt. In the yellow glow of the candles she saw wide shoulders and a broad chest covered with a thatch of dark hair. She swallowed hard as his washboard abs came into view. He was muscular, but not overdeveloped. She knew it was silly considering the circumstances, but she’d never seen such a magnificent male body.
She didn’t know if it was the utter maleness of him or the thought of treating a potentially serious wound, but she began to tremble. She could feel the hot zing of nerves running through her body, making her knees weak, her fingers twitchy. Not a good reaction considering what she was about to do.
She picked up the first aid kit, opened it, closed it, then repeated the action. When she ran out of things to do, she turned back to Madrid.
He’d settled into the chair. Leaning against the back, he might have look relaxed, if he hadn’t been cradling his left arm. Jess didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to treat him or look at the wound. But with nowhere to turn, nowhere to go, no one to call for help, she knew she didn’t have a choice.
Pulling up a chair beside his, she sat and peered at the wound. The blood looked black in the candlelight. The surrounding skin was beginning to swell, but there was too much blood for her to assess the wound fully.
“There’s probably alcohol in the kit.”
She started at the sound of Madrid’s voice. She glanced at him to find his eyes already on her. Gathering the jagged remains of her composure, she reached for the kit. Sure enough, a dozen or so alcohol packets were nestled inside next to a roll of sterile gauze and a suture kit.
“Pretty extensive first aid kit,” she muttered.
“Practical for our line of work.”
She tried not to think about that as she opened a package and carefully disinfected her hands.
“Your hands are shaking.”
“Yeah, well, bullet wounds make me nervous.”
With his good arm he reached out and touched her. “We’re safe for now,” he said, misinterpreting the cause of her shakiness. “We’ve got a few hours. Try to relax.”
“That’s only part of it, Madrid.” She motioned toward the wound. “It looks bad, and I’m not very good at this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll let you know when it hurts.”
“If you don’t pass out first.”
“I’m not going to pass out, okay?”
“Like you have any control.”
Grimacing, he turned his arm so he could get a better look. “Did the bullet go in and out?”
She’d been putting off looking at it, but she had no choice. “There’s some swelling. I’ll need to wipe off some of this blood.”
He handed her an alcohol packet. “Do what you can. Don’t worry about hurting me. I’m okay.”
But would he be okay once she started probing the wound? Taking the swab, she took a deep breath and dabbed at the bloody skin.
Next to her, Madrid sat stone still, watching. “No exit wound,” he said. “See if you can feel the bullet.”
Jess palpated the area as gently as she could, jerking her hand away when he hissed out a curse. “Sorry.”
“Dig it out.”
She looked up to find his gaze already on hers. In the dim light she could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The grim line of his mouth. “Madrid…”
“Infection will set in if you don’t.” He paused. “Come on, Jess. It’s not deep.”
Her own wound hadn’t been nearly as bad. It had bled a lot, but the bullet had grazed her. Still, hers had gotten infected and could have become extremely serious if Madrid hadn’t given her antibiotics.
“Madrid, you need to see a doctor.”
“I need to be able to function,” he snapped. “Now, either you’re going to dig it out or I am.”
Jess could only imagine the pain it would cause him for her to dig the bullet out. But like a lot of other things that were happening at the moment, all choice had been taken from her.
Reaching into the kit, she found a package of ibuprofen and handed it to him. “You’re going to need these.”
“Kind of like trying to put out a fire with a squirt gun.” He swallowed the pills dry, then gingerly set his arm on the table. “Just think of it as a big splinter.”