need right now. I cross the small space and unlock the front door.
I see Shelby is slumped back in her seat in the cab of the truck. Her eyes are closed. For a brief second I think she’s just fallen asleep , but then I realize that if she’s dozed off, she’s likely passed out, which is a very bad sign.
Rushing to the truck, I find myself terrified that something has happened to her. I fear the wound is worse than I thought and that I’m going to regret not taking her to the hospital. Inside the cab , her breathing is labored and shallow. I scoop her up into my arms and kick the cab door shut. Her eyes fly open, and she appears disoriented before her body slumps. Fuck . My emergency response training seems dismal right about now. I think I know what I’m doing, but I’m not certain enough to avoid the rising panic. If I were a better cop, we wouldn’t be in this situation.
I bring Shelby into the cabin and place her as gently as I can atop the bed. Slowly, she comes to. I sit on the edge of the bed, hip to hip. Her eyes flutter and she’s panting.
She points to the bathroom. “First aid kit under the sink,” she says.
I walk to the bathroom and dig out the first aid kit. It’s larger than I expect, a least a foot wide and nearly as deep. It looks more like a small metal treasure chest than a first aid kit, actually. I carry the gargantuan kit to the bed and set it on the small table close to Shelby’s head. She lifts her eyes to meet mine, and a bit of clarity washes over her face.
“Do you know any first aid, because I don’t know any first aid—and I just realized that maybe I should have let you take me to the hospital after all. I really don’t want to die of an infection—or your stupidity—and well, I don’t know . . . you don’t look like you’re prepared for this. You’re just a baby. I just . . .” She trails off, finally taking a breath.
The panicked look on her face makes me laugh. I throw my head back and let out a real guttural chuckle.
“And why in the hell are you laughin’ at me?” she asks, spunking up a bit.
I calm myself, aware I’m shaking the entire bed. I straighten my back and fix her a strong look.
“Miss Connor, I am an officer of the law, trained by the New Orleans Police Department,” I say, readying to dig into my first aid training. It’s not so extensive, but I figure I can work it out in a way that’ll make Shelby think it is. Last thing I need to tell her is that I nearly dozed off in my suture training course.
“Brignac,” she says , confusing me.
I hold my breath and stare down at her. “Huh?”
“Brignac. My last name is Brignac.”
I shake my head, keep my face straight, and avoid letting my anger show. I don’t know this woman, and I have no reason to feel hurt or annoyed that she’s lied to me. Not that I should be surprised. I remind myself of why I’m in this cabin in the woods and why she took a knife to the thigh. This woman is trouble. I vow here and now that the moment she and her friend are safe and Victor is behind bars I’m done with troubled women and women with troubles. And I’m definitely done with Shelby. I have learned my damn lesson and quick.
“Okay, Ms. Brignac. I need to look at your wound.”
I hope she understands what I’m saying. I’d rather not verbalize that I need her to take her pants off. I don’t care how many times I might have to say it in the future, I just don’t think it’ll ever sound like I’m not telling a woman I want to fuck her. She nods her head but makes no move. I look down at my shirt wrapped around her thigh and see the blood seeping through. I dig a pair of scissors out of the first aid kit.
“I have to cut your jeans off.”
“I’m not comfortable with that,” she says, dragging herself up.
“You comfortable bleeding out on the bed?”
Her lips pucker and she looks at her leg. Finally, she nods her head in agreement.
I set the scissors down and pull off her dark
I see Shelby is slumped back in her seat in the cab of the truck. Her eyes are closed. For a brief second I think she’s just fallen asleep , but then I realize that if she’s dozed off, she’s likely passed out, which is a very bad sign.
Rushing to the truck, I find myself terrified that something has happened to her. I fear the wound is worse than I thought and that I’m going to regret not taking her to the hospital. Inside the cab , her breathing is labored and shallow. I scoop her up into my arms and kick the cab door shut. Her eyes fly open, and she appears disoriented before her body slumps. Fuck . My emergency response training seems dismal right about now. I think I know what I’m doing, but I’m not certain enough to avoid the rising panic. If I were a better cop, we wouldn’t be in this situation.
I bring Shelby into the cabin and place her as gently as I can atop the bed. Slowly, she comes to. I sit on the edge of the bed, hip to hip. Her eyes flutter and she’s panting.
She points to the bathroom. “First aid kit under the sink,” she says.
I walk to the bathroom and dig out the first aid kit. It’s larger than I expect, a least a foot wide and nearly as deep. It looks more like a small metal treasure chest than a first aid kit, actually. I carry the gargantuan kit to the bed and set it on the small table close to Shelby’s head. She lifts her eyes to meet mine, and a bit of clarity washes over her face.
“Do you know any first aid, because I don’t know any first aid—and I just realized that maybe I should have let you take me to the hospital after all. I really don’t want to die of an infection—or your stupidity—and well, I don’t know . . . you don’t look like you’re prepared for this. You’re just a baby. I just . . .” She trails off, finally taking a breath.
The panicked look on her face makes me laugh. I throw my head back and let out a real guttural chuckle.
“And why in the hell are you laughin’ at me?” she asks, spunking up a bit.
I calm myself, aware I’m shaking the entire bed. I straighten my back and fix her a strong look.
“Miss Connor, I am an officer of the law, trained by the New Orleans Police Department,” I say, readying to dig into my first aid training. It’s not so extensive, but I figure I can work it out in a way that’ll make Shelby think it is. Last thing I need to tell her is that I nearly dozed off in my suture training course.
“Brignac,” she says , confusing me.
I hold my breath and stare down at her. “Huh?”
“Brignac. My last name is Brignac.”
I shake my head, keep my face straight, and avoid letting my anger show. I don’t know this woman, and I have no reason to feel hurt or annoyed that she’s lied to me. Not that I should be surprised. I remind myself of why I’m in this cabin in the woods and why she took a knife to the thigh. This woman is trouble. I vow here and now that the moment she and her friend are safe and Victor is behind bars I’m done with troubled women and women with troubles. And I’m definitely done with Shelby. I have learned my damn lesson and quick.
“Okay, Ms. Brignac. I need to look at your wound.”
I hope she understands what I’m saying. I’d rather not verbalize that I need her to take her pants off. I don’t care how many times I might have to say it in the future, I just don’t think it’ll ever sound like I’m not telling a woman I want to fuck her. She nods her head but makes no move. I look down at my shirt wrapped around her thigh and see the blood seeping through. I dig a pair of scissors out of the first aid kit.
“I have to cut your jeans off.”
“I’m not comfortable with that,” she says, dragging herself up.
“You comfortable bleeding out on the bed?”
Her lips pucker and she looks at her leg. Finally, she nods her head in agreement.
I set the scissors down and pull off her dark
Similar Books
