7

As Dr. Fitzgerald screamed, Evan moved quickly to her side, afraid that Ira had missed and shot the wrong person. Despite his confidence in Ira’s abilities, this one had been a little close. “It’s OK, Dr. Fitzgerald. You’re safe now. Ira, call the police.”

He led her to the bed and set her down on the edge of it. “It’s OK. It’s over now. I did tell you that Mr. Miles was a good shot.” He drew the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’m OK. W—what are you doing here?”

“As you shut your window, we could see a man wearing a balaclava behind you. He was obviously up to no good. We were coming to investigate.”

“G-glad you did.”

“You’re bleeding. Let me see.” Tugging his clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he pressed it to the wound on her neck.

Dr. Fitzgerald flinched and bit her bottom lip but made no sound. She appeared almost embarrassed, even though there was no need. Her gaze flickered past him to the man on the floor. “Is—is he dead?”

“No, but he won’t give you any more trouble.” Evan glanced over at Ira, who still held the gun on the man, despite the fact he was now tied up. “Will he?”

Ira shook his head. “No, it’s only a leg wound. The police and paramedics are on their way.”

“Thank you. Can you also call another ambulance for Dr. Fitzgerald?”

“I’m fine. It’s only a scratch. Please, I don’t want a fuss. I’ve done worse in my time than a simple cut.”

Peering under the handkerchief, he was dismayed to discover the cut was still oozing blood. “Then allow me to administer first aid. This needs a dressing on it.”

“OK. There’s a first aid kit in my pack. It’s a field one, so it’s quite comprehensive.”

He nodded. “Hold this for one moment.” He placed her hand over his makeshift dressing. “You will need to press quite firmly.”

Dr. Fitzgerald held his hand briefly. “Thank you, Mr. Close. If you and Mr. Miles hadn’t arrived when you did, I…” her voice faltered, and she shook harder.

Evan patted her hand, aware of Ira talking on the phone in the background. “I’m just glad we got here.” He moved over to her pack and undid it. Fortunately, the first aid kit was near the top. She wasn’t kidding about the size of it. “And I think we’re past the Mr. Close formalities now, don’t you, Dr. Fitzgerald? My name is Evan.”

She held his gaze. “Louisa. But my friends call me Lou. In fact, most people do, apart from when I’m in trouble. Then Mum uses my full name.”

He smiled. “My mother does the same. How many names do you have?”

“Four.”

“Four?” he repeated, knowing full well that she did.

“Yes.” She paused. “You don’t seem that surprised, but then I guess you’ve checked me out on the Internet the same way I have you.”

A slight smile crossed his lips. “Guilty.”

She nodded as he crossed back over to her. “It’s quite a mouthful. Fitzgerald is my stepfather’s surname. I kept my original as a middle name when he adopted me.”

Evan put the first aid kit on the bedside unit and opened it. “You must care for him a lot.”

“Yeah, I do. He’s always there when I need him. It’s as if he knows instinctively somehow.” Lou nodded. “He literally saved my life many years ago. Then when he married Mum and adopted me, it only seemed right.” She paused. “I don’t make it a habit of needing to be saved.”

“I wasn’t making that assumption. Let me see your neck.” He peeled back the handkerchief and frowned. The wound was no longer gushing but he suspected it wasn’t as superficial as she’d tried to make it out to be. He glanced at the first aid kit, noting the steri-strips in the top compartment. He’d make use of them. “I need to clean it up a little first. Hold this again.”

Taking some cotton wool from the box, he headed into the small bathroom to dampen it under the cold tap. Her toiletries were arranged on the glass shelf above the sink in a neat row: shampoo, conditioner, shower crème, and shaving foam all lined up with labels outermost, with toothpaste, toothbrush, and a razor in the glass at the end.

As he came out of the bathroom, there was a knock on the door.

Lou started to get up.

“I’ll get it. You keep still, and don’t let go of that hanky.”

Evan strode to the partly closed door and opened it. Two uniformed officers, a couple of paramedics, and a rather agitated hotel manager stood there. “Sergeant Drake, do come in. I’m afraid the suspect will need medical attention as it was necessary to shoot him in order to save Dr. Fitzgerald. It is a mere flesh wound; he is in no immediate danger of dying. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will tend to Dr. Fitzgerald’s injuries while you speak to her.”

He tuned out the two officers and shifted his concentration to Lou’s neck, trying not to let his mind run rampant. His fingertips burned as they grazed her skin as he worked to gently clean the wound. He applied the steri-strips, finding four were ample. He took his time, each gentle touch sending powerful surges of electricity through him, making his taut body react in a way he didn’t expect or want.

Something akin to relief surged through him as he finished attaching the small dressing to her neck. Touching her shoulder briefly, he smiled. “All done.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.” He went into the bathroom to wash his hands. He caught sight of Ira in the mirror watching him. “Before you say anything, I’m being careful. And thank you. Your aim, as always, is excellent.”

Ira nodded.

“Bring the car around. Dr. Fitzgerald will be staying at the manor house for the duration of her time in Dark Lake. This place isn’t safe.”

“And the fact you can keep a close eye on her—”

“Will be an advantage,” Evan finished. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

Ira hesitated as if he were about to say something, then changed his mind, and nodded. “I’ll go and get the car.”

Evan dragged his gaze away from the woman and dried his hands before heading back into the other room. He moved protectively to Lou’s side, but didn’t sit.

Sergeant Drake put his notebook away. “We’ll be off, Dr. Fitzgerald. It all seems fairly cut and dried, but if we need you again, we’ll let you know.”

“Who is he?” Evan asked, noting that the intruder was no longer in the room.

“Bart Manchester. He escaped from Tanmoor in the laundry van this morning.”

Lou frowned. “But the sirens only just went off.”

Sergeant Drake shook his head. “They went off this morning.”

“But we heard them only a short time ago in the fog.” She shifted her gaze to Evan. “You said that’s what they were.”

“I must have been mistaken. Perhaps it was a fog horn from somewhere.”

The two officers left as the hotel manager spoke for the first time. “I’m really sorry about this, Dr. Fitzgerald. We’ll move you to another room.”

“There is no need,” Evan told him in a no-nonsense tone. “Dr. Fitzgerald is coming to stay with me.”

Lou shook her head. “Evan, that’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to put yourself out on my account. I’m perfectly fine here.”

He shoved aside the thrill he got from hearing his name fall from her lips. “I have to disagree. There is every need and you are quite evidently not fine. Besides, the manor is closer to your work, and I won’t be charging you exorbitant rates for somewhere that isn’t safe.”

“I have a colleague arriving tomorrow. He’ll be here mid-morning.”

“Then he is more than welcome to stay as well. It’s been a while since I’ve had guests. We’ll collect your car in the morning rather than you getting lost in this fog. I’ll help you pack your things. Ira is waiting out front with the car.”

“I really…”

“I insist, Lou. I wouldn’t sleep tonight knowing you were here alone.”

Not giving her time to object any further, Evan turned his attention to the hotel manager. He tugged out his wallet and handed the manager three twenty pound notes “This should cover this evening. Even though I’m sure you weren’t going to charge Dr. Fitzgerald for tonight after this. However, you will need to get the room cleaned and blood can be very difficult to remove.”

The manager pocketed the money and left.

Evan gave Lou his full attention. Her eyes had narrowed and her lips pursed into a thin line. She wasn’t happy about this arrangement. He held up a hand. “Let me guess. Your mother told you never to sleep with someone you hardly knew.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that.” Colour tinted her cheeks, and it was all Evan could do not to smirk.

“Let me assure you, sleeping with you isn’t on the agenda now or later. At least, not until after marriage. I do have some morals after all.”

“Married?” she spluttered.

“A turn of phrase,” he insisted. “My mother always told me to keep myself pure for my future wife and that is what I intend to do. Whether you eventually become the aforementioned wife or not, only time will tell. But right now, what I’m offering is a place to sleep where no one will break in and try to kill you. Or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse than being murdered?” she demanded, sticking her hands on her hips.

“My, my, you’re pretty when you’re angry.” He raised an eyebrow. “You really wish me to go into detail as to what a serial rapist, who tortures his victims for hours at a time, might have planned for you?”

He noted her squirm. “I didn’t think so. Now, I’ll help you pack up and then take your case for you. Ira will be waiting.”