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She peeked over her shoulder. “I’m fine,” she repeated.
I wasn’t certain she would be once she saw the amount of blood that had seeped into her hair and my handkerchief. Head wounds tended to bleed a lot, but at the rate hers was, she had no choice but to see a physician to get it closed up.
“Wait here,” I said, eyeing a roll of paper towels on the counter in what looked like a small kitchen. Grabbing a few in one hand, I gently removed the blood-soaked cloth and then folded another few into a square. I took her right hand and brought it up to hold it in place. “You really need to see a physician,” I said again.
“Right,” she murmured, continuing down the hallway into an office that I would have immediately known was hers, even without her in it. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why; it was just a feeling I got when I crossed the threshold.
“Sorry for the mess, I’m…reorganizing,” she muttered as she opened a desk drawer and pointed to a large red case with a white cross on the top. “Could you please help me with this?”
“Of course.” The box looked big enough to supply a mobile critical care unit and as though it weighed a metric ton. I hoisted it onto the desk. “Are you the paramedic on staff for all of MIT?”
Ignoring my remark, she opened the lid and rummaged through the contents. Evidently, the first aid kit was also slated for reorganization.
“Here it is,” she said, pulling a smaller box from the case. “Would you mind?” she asked, handing it to me.
I stared at her, incredulous. “What am I doing with that?”
Emerson pulled out a small vial and stopper. “It’s a liquid bandage. It should work fine.”
“Are you suggesting that I put this on your laceration as opposed to seeking medical attention?”
“Never mind,” she said, grabbing the items from my hand and stalking out of her office. Once again, I was on her heels.
“You can either wait in my office, or we can reschedule for another time,” she said when she realized I was behind her.
“No,” I said at the same time Irish walked into the lobby from the other direction.
“What happened?” He gasped with a horrified expression when he saw the bloody towels Emerson held to her head. Then, his gaze landed on my drenched trousers.
“A little accident. I spilled water, and then things just got…worse,” she said, trying to get around him.
When he grabbed her arm and led her over to a chair in the lobby, it was all I could do not to throttle him.
“Sit there and don’t move,” he barked and then turned to me. “She has a first aid kit in her office.”
“Yes,” I said, pointing to the vial of liquid she held tight in her hand.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking from me to her.
“It’s a liquid bandage. If you’d just put some on my cut, it will stop the bleeding.”
“Is she kidding?”
“I’m afraid she’s somewhat intransigent.” While my irritation with the undercover agent posing as her assistant was reaching an epic proportion, I found Emerson’s stubbornness absolutely adorable.
“Let me have a look.” Irish moved her hand and lifted the sopping paper towels. “It’s bleeding a lot and looks to be about five centimeters. I’m sorry, Emme, but you’re going to have to go to the emergency room.”
“No!”she shrieked, startling us both. “No hospitals.”
I nudged Irish out of the way and knelt in front of her. I put my hand on her knee, but what I really wanted to do was scoop her into my arms.
“The laceration is this long,” I said, holding my thumb and index finger apart. “Your desired treatment won’t stop the bleeding. You need to see a doctor.”
Emerson’s eyes bored into mine as though she was pleading with me to understand, and I did, or at least, I thought I did. It wasn’t about seeing a doctor; there was something about going to a hospital that set her off.
“Medical services is closed until two,” Irish said, looking at his watch. “What about Cambridge Urgent Care?”
Emerson’s eyes opened wide like they had when he mentioned the emergency room.
