She darted down the hall past his computer room to the spare bath. While she hated the thought of putting back on her grungy clothes, at least a shower would slosh away the grime. She whipped open the door and stopped short.
Resting on the edge of the vanity waited an old pair of her shorts and a Spoletto Festival T-shirt. A half-empty bottle of shampoo nestled on top of the stack. Her brand. Things she'd left at his place.
Cottony thickness wedged in her throat like a wadded T-shirt. Why hadn't he tossed them out? He wasn't a neat freak by any stretch, but he kept a clean apartment, especially for a bachelor.
A horrible thought blindsided her. Could he have let some other woman use her things?
Unable to stop the green-eyed monster from rearing its ugly head, Lori leaped forward and buried her nose in the T-shirt. It held the same detergent scent as Gray's flight suit. There were no lingering flowery fragrances to fan the green-eyed monster's flames.
Not that it was any of her business or concern.
Lori bumped the door shut with her hip, stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the tub. The shower stung her eyes as she stared at her old shampoo bottle. Soap didn't have an expiration date, like milk and bad relationships, did it?
The bottle all but seared her hand. They'd come out of more than one shower together smelling like peaches.
Enough daydreaming about Gray.
She scrubbed through her shower and toweled dry, staring at the little pile of clothes. Too bad she hadn't left behind fresh underwear, not that she really needed a bra. Hating the thought of putting on anything she'd worn the day before, Lori whipped the T-shirt over her bare chest and stepped into the shorts.
The hall echoed with her light footsteps. Gray's door stood open to an empty bedroom. Her eyes traveled to his rumpled bed, then skittered away.
Ping. The tinny sound reverberated from the kitchen, followed by a grunt from Gray. "Yeah… Uh-huh…What's her temp now…? And when do those sputum cultures come in from the lab…? Well, page me… Yeah, thanks. I'll check back later."
Ping.
Odd. It tinkled like a spoon lightly tapping a dish, but without the rhythm or force that accompanied eating. She walked toward the kitchen.
Ping.
Lori closed the last few feet to the kitchen archway where a fresh flight suit dangled from a hanger hooked on the molding. She stepped around it to find Gray sitting at the table in his boxers and a plain, black T-shirt. His left leg lay propped on the white tiled table.
What was he doing? His broad shoulders hunched forward, blocking her view.
She inched closer. A large blue towel draped half the table. The cordless phone and a notepad rested beside a small medical kit.
And a dish with pieces of bloody metal inside.
Gray's hand extended toward the bowl, tweezers firmly in his grip, and released another fragment of metal.
Ping.
"Ohmigosh!"
Gray jerked, then glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, Lori."
She rushed forward, staring horrified at his shrapnel-splattered leg. Nausea stung the back of her throat.
Flecks of metal and rock the size of peas and pinheads dotted the upper back of his left calf. Blood oozed from the small wounds already cleared of debris.
Lori grabbed the edge of the table and sank into a chair. "'Hey, Lori'? That's all you can say? You're digging chunks out of your leg and all you can say is 'Hey, Lori'?"
"It beats flinging crew dog curses your way. And believe me, hon, I've got a few of those floating around in my head right now."
"When did this happen?"
He shrugged and resumed picking. "Sometime yesterday."
Ping. She winced. Her mouth burned with bile. She'd seen worse injuries just yesterday, tending the children, but somehow this sent her stomach hurtling in roller-coaster flips.