Kill Shot (Code 11-KPD SWAT 6)

He glowered at me.

He hated Dr. Milford more than he hated me.

And I kind of liked the way he glared at the mention of Dr. Milford.

Apparently, a few years ago, the two of them had fought over a woman, and Dr. Milford had won.

Which wasn’t really hard for me to see.

Dr. Milford was nicer, cuter, and younger. No wonder he’d won.

“Fine,” he sneered, standing up and walking to Bennett’s room.

I decided that the two of them were probably made for each other with their bad attitudes, so I didn’t go back in there until twenty minutes later when the knife was removed from Bennett’s hand.

“You can stitch him up, can’t you Ms. Jane?” Dr. Steven’s asked with disdain.

I barely contained the urge to flip him off as I nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”

Bennett stayed quiet during the confrontation. However, I knew that he was aware of the tension between the two of us.

Finally, Dr. Steven’s left and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“What was that all about?” Bennett asked when he could stand it no more.

I grimaced. “Long story.”

He snorted. “I think I have time if you want to tell me. Maybe it’ll take my mind off the pain.”

My brows lowered. “You shouldn’t be feeling any pain.”

He grimaced. “I couldn’t take the pain meds. I have to go back to work after this. Then I have to make it to my daughter’s recital in less than four hours. Drugs will just make me miss it, and then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

My mouth opened.

“You really want me to do this to you without pain meds? Not even a local?” I asked in shock.

He shook his head. “No. So get on with it.”

Back snapping straight, I went to the tray where the still full vial of lidocaine sat, and then proceeded to numb him up. Without his permission.

“Hey!” He snapped indignantly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t perform stitches on men without at least some form of pain meds. I’ll be sure to call you a cab later, though,” I smiled.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “No. You’ll be taking me to the recital is what you’ll be doing.”

I shook my head. “Um, no. I won’t be. But you shouldn’t be going to work either. This needs time to heal; at least forty-eight hours. Only minor lifting if possible.”

Then I proceeded to put ten stitches into the gash on his hand, and six stitches into the knife wound on both sides.

Throughout the entire thing, he didn’t say a word.

Only stayed silent while I did my work.

“When you go home and take a shower, be sure to keep these dry for at least forty eight hours. You’ll need to get them taken out in ten to fourteen days; but, if you want to come by my house, I’ll do it for you,” I said, snipping the last thread on the suture.

Why had I said that?

I shouldn’t be offering those services.

At all.

He was a patient. I was a PA.

He had kids…and was probably married!

Yet, I couldn’t help but ask it.

When he didn’t reply, I looked up at him to see him staring at me. No expression whatsoever on his face.

“What?” I asked, tossing the scissors onto the tray and standing up.

He still didn’t say anything, and I was starting to get distinctly uncomfortable.

To hide my discomfort, I started to babble as I stripped off my gloves and washed my hands.

“When I was fourteen, I tried to climb a chain link fence and fell before I was halfway over. I ripped open my thigh and hand, requiring eighteen stitches in one, and twelve in the other. It was an extremely painful experience. Then when I was fifteen, I was chasing my sister around the house when she turned sharply and threw a stone coaster at me. It bounced off my face and split my eye open, requiring four stitches. Then, when I was…”

“Lennox?” Bennett asked, interrupting my nervous chatter.

I blinked and turned to see him still sitting on the gurney, arm placed in his lap palm up.

“What?” I asked, ripping a few paper towels from the dispenser and turning to survey him.

He looked so good.

His brown hair was a little scragglier today, with the ends going every which way. His eyes were alight with humor at what I guessed was my annoying diatribe.

I really had a problem giving away too much information.

Like really.

“Nothing. I just wanted you to slow down so I could thank you and ask you what time and day would be good for me to come by,” he said laughingly.

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

“Since today is Tuesday, next Friday or Saturday would be good. Although, I’ll be at Truman Smith for their annual walk-a-thon on Saturday morning, so Friday would probably work better for me,” I rambled.

“Do you work there?” He asked, standing to his full height and walking next to me to stand by the sink.

When he started to put his hand under the water, I caught his wrist and stopped him from getting it wet. “What part of don’t get your hands wet did you not understand?”

He snorted. “The part where I have blood caked all over my hands, and I can’t very well get it without washing my hands.”

I narrowed my eyes up at his laughing ones and turned around to grab an alcohol pad. Then got to work removing the caked blood from his hand.

Jesus, the man had huge hands. I’m talking massive. He could probably engulf my entire face with his one hand!

I could feel his eyes on me while I held the one close to my breast and scrubbed carefully.

Once I had it as good as it was going to get, I grabbed his other hand, and held it under the water where I quickly washed his hand clean with both of my own.

It was an intimate gesture, and just by touching him somewhere so simple, I was damn close to asking him to come home with me tonight, but I was saved.