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Kate's mind raced through an entire gamut of scenarios as Laura tilted the bedside lamp to shine its light on the bullet hole in the man's torso.
What was he involved in? Drugs? Weapons? Human trafficking? Endless possibilities, none of them good. All of them requiring her to get in touch with the local police sooner rather than later.
And to be hyper-alert until she reached them.
She thought of the handgun she'd brought with her from Ottawa. Was it serendipity that she'd driven straight down after work on Monday and hadn't stopped to secure it in her apartment? Perhaps. Though it wouldn't do her much good locked in its box at the back of her childhood bedroom closet upstairs. She'd have to figure out a way to retrieve it without alerting Laura.
"He's lucky," Laura said. "The shot was far enough over to have missed any organs. It just needs cleaning and dressing."
"And the leg?"
"Clean. Missed the bone. Good thing he's still out, though. Even with the local I gave him, this is going to hurt like mad."
Kate studied the man on the bed as her sister flushed the torso wound with saline solution. Thick, dark lashes lay unmoving against high cheekbones, and black hair fell in damp waves over a forehead smeared with mud and blood. Prominent nose, stubborn chin; his was a strong face, nothing delicate about it. It went well with his powerful body...
Kate blinked, startled at the direction in which her thoughts had veered. Giving herself a mental shake, she lifted the edge of the pressure bandage and peered at the hole beneath it. Good. The bleeding had almost stopped.
"How long to clean him up?" she asked her sister.
"Another few minutes. Why?"
"I want to try the phone again. I need to report this to the OPP and get someone out—" Strong fingers closed over her wrist, cutting her off. Her gaze darted up to the man's angular face. Across the bed, Laura gave a sharp inhale, and her hands stilled.
Blue, Kate thought as a tingle ran up her arm. His eyes are blue.
The brightest, clearest, most startling blue she'd ever seen. And above them, sweat beaded on his forehead. So. He hadn't been unconscious after all.
"No cops," he grated. His gaze held hers, intense and obstinate. She made herself remain relaxed under his grip.
Calm. Casual. Don't let him know you know. Not until Laura's safe. Not until you have your gun.
"You've been shot," she said. "You need to tell the police."
"No," he muttered. "Just get me patched up and I'll be on my way. No questions. No trouble."
"I can't do that." Kate shook her head, and his gaze turned belligerent.
"You don't understand," he grated. "I need to leave. Now."
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Laura's voice intruded, "but you won't be going anywhere for a while. Both bullets passed through you, but you've lost a lot of blood. You'll need at least a couple days of rest before you're mobile."
Beneath Kate's fingers, thigh muscles clenched. Anticipating his attempt to rise, she put her free hand on the mud-spattered forehead, holding him in place.
"Don't," she said. "You'll start the bleeding again."
He stared at her, defeat shadowing his expression. His eyelids drifted shut. Somehow, against the crisp white of the pillow against which he lay, he looked more vulnerable than defiant, and Kate found herself warding off an unnerving surge of compassion.
"Kate?"
Laura's voice drew her attention, and Kate looked over. Her sister's gaze flicked toward their patient and then back again, flashing a warning.
"I'm going to have to mix more saline," she said, her voice studiedly casual. "The distilled water you found under the bathroom sink yesterday..."
"Still there."
Her sister nodded. "Good. While I'm doing that, you should get out of those wet clothes. The last thing we need right now is you catching a chill."
Sibling-speak for meet me in the hallway, we need to talk.
Kate cast a last glance at the man on the bed and the pain etched into the lines around his mouth and closed eyes. She withdrew her wrist from his grasp. His hand tightened briefly, convulsively, and then dropped to his side. Laura shook out a blanket and spread it over him, then touched his shoulder with the gentleness that made her such a beloved nurse in the region.
"We'll be back in a few minutes," she said. "And then I'll give you something for the pain."
Tight-lipped, Kate followed her sister from the room.
***
Jonas Burke waited until the door clicked shut, then slammed a fisted hand against the mattress. Pain clawed through his side. He seized on it, needing it to feed the fury. The fear. Needing it to spur him to action when all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole somewhere and die.
Pain twisted again at his torso wound. Christ almighty, how the hell was he going to get out of this one? Of all the binds he'd been in over the years, this had to be the all-time winner. Shot and dumped out in the middle of nowhere, a wounded animal just waiting to be found...
The blond woman was probably on the phone with the cops right now. Depending on how remote this place was, he'd give himself less than a half hour before they got here. Cops tended to move fast for a gunshot wound. Assuming his ID had been cleaned out, it would take them a day to identify him, plus another for Ramirez and Lewis to drive up to get him and finish what they'd started. Unless...
He flexed his leg experimentally, hissing as white-hot agony washed over him, stealing his breath and churning through his belly. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached.
Slowly, the pain receded to more manageable, dull excruciation. Jonas's fists unclenched, and he stared up at the ceiling from an unfamiliar place of defeat. He'd lived life on the edge for so long, he hadn't bothered worrying about what it might be like to stare death in the face. He’d always figured the end would come so fast, he wouldn't have time to reflect on it.
He would have preferred it that way.
He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, pausing when his fingers found instead the spot where the golden-haired woman's fingers had touched his forehead. Kate, the other woman had called her. He massaged his temple thoughtfully, a tiny hope flickering in his chest. He could have sworn he’d seen a flash of sympathy in her eyes. If the phone was still out, if she hadn't been able to call the cops yet, maybe he could talk to her. Convince her to hold off until he'd been stitched up and could get out of here. As long as he didn't move too fast—
Reality gusted back, callously snuffing out the hope. And if he did get away? What then? He'd recognized the OPP Kate had mentioned as an abbreviation for the Ontario Provincial Police, which put him in Canada. Wounded, most likely without ID, and on the run. No matter how he played it, he was screwed six ways to Sunday.
A sudden chill rattled through him, and his teeth chattered. Jonas raised his head from the pillow to gaze at the other blankets piled on the dresser across the room. So close, he thought, dropping back again as fatigue swamped him, and yet so very far. Kind of like his grasp on consciousness right now.
Damn.
***
Out in the hallway, Laura stripped off her latex gloves and glared up at Kate. "Spill," she ordered.
"I don't know what you mean," Kate hedged, tucking a bedraggled lock of hair behind her ear.
"You're worried about something."
"Aside from having run over a gunshot victim?"
"Aside from that, yes. You're my sister, Katie. I know when you're trying to hide something from me." Concerned gray eyes studied her. "What is it?"
"It's noth—" Kate broke off in the face of her sister's scowl. She sighed. "He's served time."
"The tattoos?"
"How did you—"
"I watch television like everyone else." Laura's gaze slid toward the bedroom they'd left. "Is he dangerous?"
"Given the tats and the bullet holes, I'm going to assume yes. At the very least, he's mixed up with dangerous people."
"Who may still be looking for him."
"Maybe."
"What do we do?"
"Keep trying the OPP. Don't let him know we recognized the tats. Stay calm. I don't suppose you can knock him out with something, can you?"
"Sorry." Laura shook her head. "The strongest thing I carry is codeine. It'll make him drowsy, but that's about it. For what it's worth, though, I really don't think he'll try anything—at least, not tonight. I wasn't kidding when I said he'd lost a lot of blood."
"All right," Kate said, eyeing the closed door. What she wouldn't give for a pair of handcuffs right now. Or at least a headboard on the bed that she could tie him to. "You make the saline you need, and I'll try calling the OPP after I change." She indicated her soaked, bloodstained jeans with a grimace.
She turned to head up the staircase to the second floor of the old farmhouse. Laura's voice stopped her on the third step.
"Your shoulder. How bad is it?"
Bad. But if Kate admitted as much, Laura would insist on codeine for her, too, and Kate had no intention of letting drugs cloud her capacity to act if she needed to. She flashed her sister a reassuring smile.
"Surprisingly good," she lied, resuming her climb toward dry clothing and her service pistol.