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“And Lucas told you to trust no one?”
Jesus, who was this woman?
She grunted at my silent non-answer that was more an answer than any I could have uttered. “You can trust me. Lucas does. I promise I’m not going to do anything to hurt either of you. Here.” She reached behind her back and was suddenly offering me a gun. A big gun. The kind you see on cop shows. “Take this. If you think I’m not doing right by him, you can shoot me with it.”
I gaped at her. At the gun.
She jiggled it about in her hand toward me. “Take it. It’s loaded. The safety is on though, so you’ll need to fix that if you plan to pull the trigger.”
When I didn’t move, she placed the gun on the coffee table beside us and smiled.
God, she had a gorgeous smile. It didn’t, I noticed, reach her eyes though. Not really.
“Now I need to get to work,” she said, shucking her jacket off. She had beautiful, toned arms and shoulders and smooth sun-kissed skin. Her snug white sleeveless shirt made her breasts look amazing. “If you’re not into the sight of blood, you might want to look away.”
“Who are you?” I demanded. “Who is Lucas? What the fuck is going on?”
She made a clicking tsking noise and smiled more. This time it did make it to her eyes. “I’m the doctor who is going to fix him up. As for Lucas? It’s not my place to tell you.”
And with that, she turned to Lucas as if I was no longer there.
Chapter 3
She did things to Lucas I didn’t ever want to see. The first one was to inject him with something that looked like it should never be injected into a human. I watched her, wishing to fuck I had even an iota of medical knowledge.
“Get me some warm water and a washcloth,” she instructed as she removed the needled from Lucas’s butt.
It was a big needle. I swear to God, I’m positive I could see the hole at the tip of it.
I was halfway to the bathroom when it occurred to me the request for warm water and a washcloth was possibly a ruse to get me out of the room. My heart slammed into my throat and I ran back to the living room.
Doctor Winchester looked up from the open medical bag at her knee and gave me a sharp look with a raised eyebrow.
I swallowed. Stared at her.
“Veronica,” she said, obviously struggling to keep her voice calm. The fact she knew my name was Veronica—a name I rarely ever use—told me a lot. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “I am not going to hurt him or kill him. I promise. Now I really need that water and cloth. I’m about to poke my finger around in his wounds to make sure there’s nothing in there that will cause complications before I stitch him up. It’s going to get bloody.”
A shaky breath burst from me and, with a stuttering kind of nod, I made my way to the bathr
oom.
When I returned, with as many washcloths as I could find, she raised her attention from one the wounds in his side and offered me a smile. A real smile. “Thank you. Make sure the water isn’t too hot, okay?”
After I delivered the lukewarm water—in a salad bowl that looked more expensive than my car, I sat in the chair opposite the sofa and watched her do her thing.
I have no idea if she was doing her thing well or not, but efficiency and competency radiated from her.
At one point, she flicked me a quick look. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”
Before I could ask her what she meant, she sliced at the swollen, bruised flesh beneath Lucas’s right eye with a scalpel.
Blood oozed from the cut, bright red and thick.
I didn’t pass out, but damn, I came close. My head swam, my eyes filled with black swirly smudges and my skin grew prickly.
It took my brain a few minutes to recover enough to register the fact she was now gluing the fresh cut back together.
Glue. It looked just like super glue.
