Dropping the bloody T-shirt on the floor, he swabbed it around with his foot, ignoring Sam’s bark of laughter. “Cleanup’s a snap.”
“Says you.” Levi didn’t move from his position leaning against the wall.
“How did you get shot?” Sam asked as he dropped his med kit on the bed. Too bad they couldn’t fast-forward to the next part of the night.
“The usual way,” he snorted. “Someone aimed and pulled the trigger. I failed to move in time.”
“Lucky for you his aim was off.” Sam patted the bed. “Sit. The doctor is in.”
If he sat, he wouldn’t get back up. He gripped the edge of the sink. “I’m good here.”
“The medical equivalent of a drive-through. Excellent.” Sam moved up behind him, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Are you planning on dying on me?”
“Not tonight,” he gritted out. Even the most superficial bullet wounds hurt like a bitch. He always forgot how much.
“Good to know.” Sam carefully prodded, and Gray’s breath hissed out through his teeth. The key to dealing with an injury was to patch it up and ignore it. Too bad the patching part was so unpleasant.
“Slap a Band-Aid on it and call it good.” The second SEAL team was moving Marcos’s advance team to an American vessel as they spoke, and he wanted to keep an eye on the transfer.
Before Sam could answer—and undoubtedly protest—the door opened and closed again.
“Is this a goddamned party?” Gray knew the question came out more growl than not, but now he felt like a sideshow. He’d shake this off, but it would be easier if he were alone.
“If it is, it’s the worst party I’ve ever been to.” Ashley strode toward him and eyed Gray’s side as if he was a painting in a freaking art gallery. Not that her camo and boots were opening-night attire, but Gray had a bad feeling he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Wow. You need to move faster.”
She looked at Sam. “How bad is it?”
He shrugged. “I’m a field medic. It looks fairly superficial to me, but we’re in the tropics. The possibility for infection is high.”
“I’m not pulling out.” Tight timeline aside, he wasn’t sending his unit in against Marcos alone. They needed every man. The advance team hadn’t gone down easily, and security would be tighter around Marcos.
Ashley cursed. For a pretty girl, she sure had a potty mouth. It was no wonder she fit in so well with the SEAL unit. They weren’t pretty, either.
“Laney’s a doctor,” she suggested. “Get her to fix you.”
Laney was also a civilian. Under no circumstances was he dragging her into his operation.
“Not an option,” he snapped. “Give me a shot of antibiotic and bandage up the damage. Think you can do that?”
Sam growled right back, but he also moved away and grabbed his bag and started sorting out supplies, which meant Gray got his way tonight.
Ashley wouldn’t let it go. “Laney’s a trauma surgeon. She’s one of the best there is, and you want Sam to patch you up, instead? No offense, Sam.”
“None taken.” The medic added a roll of gauze to his stack of supplies. The gauze was harmless. The scissors, however, were one more item in a pile of sharp, pointy objects Gray had no desire to examine too closely. This was going to hurt.
“She’s a civilian.” And that was certainly part of the truth.
Laney wasn’t part of the SEAL unit. She didn’t have combat training, and he wanted to keep her far, far away from Marcos and his goons. So, yeah, she was a doctor. And she had undoubtedly patched up far worse in the ER chutes, but he didn’t want to be one more gunshot victim asking for help. Hell. He didn’t ask for help period, plus, looking helpless in front of Laney was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
“She’s a trauma surgeon,” Ashley repeated. “She’s seen worse, and if anyone can get you back up and running quickly, it’s Laney.”
“Laney stays out of this.” He sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on the sink as Sam began to explore the wound.
“At least lie down.” Ashley sounded impatient. “Do you have an aversion to mattresses, as well?”
Not at all. If he lay down, however, he wouldn’t be getting back up in the near future. He’d also make one hell of a mess on the sheets and that would be harder to conceal.
“Sam’s going to be quick.” Please God. The medic did something that sent fire blazing through his side, and Gray started counting. Get to ten and then reassess. He could do that.
Sam grunted, focused on his work. “Take an aspirin. You’ll live.”