Her eyes are heavy now, but she forces them open. “After she checks me, don’t vanish without saying goodbye. That’s rude as hell.”
I should promise nothing.
“I will say goodbye,” I tell her.
Nara arrives with a medical bag, soaked hair, and the hard expression of a woman prepared to fight anything between herself and her patient, including me. She looks me up and down once in the bakery’s rear hall, takes in the blood on my knuckles, the scars on my face, the size of me, and the absence of threat in my posture because I make very certain she sees my hands.
“You Kauss?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You hurt her?”
“No.”
“You hurt the men who did?”
“Yes.”
“How many are breathing?”
“All of them.”
“Good enough for tonight. Move.”
I move.
Nara spends forty minutes examining Evie, cleaning wounds, sealing the small cut near her hairline, dosing her for pain and inflammation, and lecturing her with the kind of vicious affection Darlene would respect. I remain near the kitchen entrance unless asked to help. Twice, Evie’s gaze drifts to me to ensure I am still there. Twice, I wish that did not matter.
Finally, Nara packs her kit and points at Evie. “You sleep sitting partly elevated. You wake every two hours for checks. You do not open the bakery tomorrow.”
Evie makes a wounded sound. “Absolutely not.”
“Try me.”
“I have orders.”
“Darlene can handle them.”
“Darlene will smoke inside if unsupervised.”
Nara glances at me. “Can you scare Darlene?”
“No,” I say.
Evie smiles faintly. “See? He’s smart.”
Nara does not smile. “I’m staying the night.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are concussed and annoying.”
“I’m always annoying.”
“Then this is a complex case.”
I step toward the door. “She is safe now.”
