Primary Suspect. Laura Scott

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      * * *

      Dana tried not to think too much about what she was about to do as she gathered everything she needed to replace the three sutures in Mitch’s incision. How had this happened? How was it that she had ended up here, providing care to Mitch Callahan while he hid from the law? This kind of thing didn’t happen to her. Her life was boring—well, other than the variety of patient scenarios she encountered at work.

      Oddly enough, her earlier exhaustion had vanished, leaving an unusual sense of exhilaration in its wake. She told herself it was because she was just as crazy as Mitch for agreeing to his harebrained scheme, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t really the source.

      The sad truth was that she’d been living by rote. Work, eat, sleep and work. Volunteer at the local food pantry, then go back to repeat the process all over again.

      Giving herself a mental shake, she focused on the task at hand. First she used a match to sterilize the needle, then threaded it with black thread. She washed her hands with the antimicrobial solution.

      “This is going to burn,” she reminded him, before pouring a dollop of hand sanitizer on his neck. Using the tips of her fingers, she cleaned the area around the incision. To Mitch’s credit, he held himself perfectly still and didn’t utter a sound.

      “Okay.” She took a deep breath and picked up the needle and thread. She’d learned how to suture in nursing school, during a rotation in the operating room, but that was different. The patients were under general anesthesia and couldn’t feel the needle poking through their skin. And nurses didn’t place stitches in the ER, doctors did.

      She braced her hip against Mitch’s chair, taking another couple of deep breaths. For some odd reason she was far too aware of the scent of his skin, something pine beneath the faint smell of smoke.

      “Are you okay?” Mitch asked.

      He was the patient, asking her if she was okay. Pathetic. Enough of being a wimp about this.

      “Fine. It’s going to hurt,” she said, pressing the tip of the needle against his skin.

      He sucked in a breath but didn’t move or make any other sound of distress. Sweat beaded at her temples and the room felt impossibly warm. She passed the needle through the other side, then used the thread to pull the edges of his skin together. She tied the knot, cut the thread with the bandage scissors and released her pent-up breath. “One down, two more to go.”

      “You’re doing great,” he encouraged, as if this whole thing was harder on her than it was on him.

      “So are you,” she murmured. She subtly wiped her temple on the sleeve of her scrub jacket, wishing there was a way to do this without hurting him. There wasn’t, so she resolutely picked up the needle again and went back to work. This time, she tried to keep going steadily along, figuring that the sooner she repaired the wound, the sooner she could stop hurting him and the sooner he’d feel better.

      “There! All finished,” she said, clipping the thread to the last suture. “Just let me clean it up one more time, okay?”

      “You’re the boss.”

      That brought forth a rusty chuckle. “Not hardly. No one has ever called me that before.”

      When she finished cleaning the area around the incision, she stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. It wouldn’t win any prizes for being pretty; her sutures were big and clumsy next to the neat ones that Dr. Crowley had placed.

      But they’d hold, which was all that mattered. Now, if only she had some oral antibiotics to give him...

      “Thank you,” Mitch said in a low, husky voice. “I appreciate your expertise.”

      “You’re welcome,” she said, surprised at the lump that had risen in the back of her throat. Why was she getting all emotional about this? She looked into Mitch’s blue eyes and tension shimmered between them, making her hyperaware of him.

      What was wrong with her? She broke away from his mesmerizing gaze and reached out to begin cleaning up the mess. But Mitch reached out and captured her hands in his.

      “I mean it, Dana,” he said. “I feel terrible about how you’ve been dragged into this. I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you.”

      She stared at their joined hands. His grasp was warm, his skin tanned by the summer sun a striking contrast to her pale fingers.

      “I—I have to go.” She pulled her hands from his and turned so quickly she almost plowed face-first into the television perched on the top of a low dresser. “Good night,” she managed, as she rushed through the doorway of their connecting rooms, closing her side and locking it behind her.

      Safe at last, she leaned back against the door and put a hand over her racing heart. She felt breathless and dizzy, as if she’d run a marathon rather than briefly holding hands with Mitch Callahan.

      No, they hadn’t been holding hands. She tipped her head back, thudding it against the door as if to knock some sense into her brain. He’d been thanking her, that’s all. Apologizing for her being attacked at the hospital.

      She needed to pull herself together. She’d loved and lost Kent and their baby. She was not going down that path again.

      And especially not with a guy like Mitch, with ties to the firefighting community. Loving people who put their lives on the line each day wasn’t for her.

      With resolute determination, she pushed herself away from the door and made her way into the bathroom. First thing tomorrow, she was going home.

      Mitch was a threat to her emotional equilibrium. She needed to return to the mundane routine of her life.

      And stay far, far away from Mitch Callahan.

       THREE

      Mitch groaned when he heard Dana’s side of the connecting door slam shut followed by the unmistakable click of the dead bolt shooting into place.

      What was the matter with him? Dana might have come over to his ER room to thank him, but that didn’t mean she liked him.

      In fact, dragging her into his mess likely made her dislike him even more. And it was understandable. He had failed her husband and placed her in danger. He absolutely needed to ensure her safety.

      But how?

      The throbbing in his temples pulsed along with the ache in his neck. He pushed himself upright and went into the bathroom to wash up. His reflection in the mirror made him grimace.

      His skin was streaked with black soot mixed with blood. His looks alone could have scared her away. Craning his head to the right, he checked out the incision. It looked good, although he would have given a lot for a bottle of ibuprofen.

      After washing away the grime while steering clear of the incision, he went over to stretch out on the bed. He needed some sort of action plan because clearly Dana wasn’t going to stick around for long.

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