Page 5 of Her Only Hero

Completely inappropriately, my mind rolled into the gutter.

The doctor rummaged through the cupboards below. “No, doesn’t look like it. Sorry about that, just large. I’ll leave you to it. A nurse should be in shortly.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” he said and grabbed a pair of the large gloves—the vinyl stretched tightly over his fingers. I tried toavert my thoughts. He poured water onto a square piece of gauze. I tensed, anticipating the coolness. When it didn’t happen, I looked up at him.

“You know, this will not hurt,” he said.

“I hope not.” I tried to speak lightly.

When he touched the cool, wet fabric to my skin, shivers skittered up my arm. With smooth, even strokes, he wiped off all the caked blood. As suspected, the blood wasn’t mine. I had no cut. He unscrewed the lid and placed the bloody gauze into the sterile jar.

“There, done,” he said. “Hopefully this person’s DNA is on record.” He dropped the specimen container onto the mobile tray. His jaw tensed as he disinfected my arm with an alcohol wipe.

“June, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for putting you in harm’s way. I shouldn’t have taken you on that call.”

“What happened is my fault, not yours. I didn’t stay in the car like you asked.”

“I should have cuffed and locked you in the back seat.”

I laughed. “Maybe next time.”

His lips curled up. Did he smile because I had suggested there may be a next time?

The curtain flung open, and a junior nurse entered.

“Hi, I’m Sophie. I need to take some blood and clean your wounds. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

She smiled and flashed a set of straight white teeth at Patrick. He didn’t seem to notice, and I almost smiled. She worked efficiently, and I cringed at being treated for minor scratches. I barely felt the needle prick when she performed the venipuncture. Later, Dr. Carter said my result was negative for a TBI, and that I should come back if I had any new or worsening symptoms.

With my forearm disinfected and my palms and knees bandaged, Patrick and I headed out. We walked down the hallway toward the exit when the elevator door opened and out stepped Victoria Silverstone—a previous co-worker. I gasped audibly. She held a large manilla envelope and looked at me with frosty green eyes. Her flawless complexion could be described as porcelain perfect, and her thin pink lips were pressed taut. I remembered how she had mastered keeping an emotionless poker face, no matter what the topic.

“Hello, June,” she said in an even, pleasantly fake tone.

“Hello, Victoria,” I said and kept moving. I had nothing to say to her.

I stormed through the automatic sliding doors into the chilly air. Goose bumps spread along my arms, but I welcomed them. Anything to be free of that place. Patrick caught up to me and crooked a brow without asking questions. He put the swabbed blood specimen in the trunk and opened the passenger car door.

“All set?”

I nodded.

“Time to get you home in one piece, like I originally intended.”

After this evening’s unimaginable events, I trusted he’d finally get me home safely.

But then again, this crazy evening wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Three

Patrick parked in front of my place—a century-old home converted into two apartments. I lived on the main floor of the duplex which was adorned with antique glass bay windows in the front and at the side. I gripped the beverage bottle in my hand and looped my purse handle over my forearm.

“Thank you for the ride home,” I said. “And for the adventure.”

Patrick frowned. “It’s very gracious of you to downplay what happened.”

“I think I’m still processing it.” I opened the car door. “Well, good night.”

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