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"Yes, me. You must want to help her if you brought her to me, so get out of my way and stay out of my way. If you're squeamish, go far away, because if the bullet's still inside, I'm going to have to get it out of her shoulder before she bleeds to death." |
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Chris hesitated. He hated turning D.J. over to anyone, but she needed a kind of help he couldn't give. He moved aside reluctantly. "I looked for an exit wound on her back, but there wasn't one." |
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"Damn," the doctor muttered as he shouldered past him to lean over the table, blocking Chris's view of D.J.'s face. He could still see the rest of her, blue blouse caked with blood, pale skin stained by rivulets of rusty red. For some reason the sight made Chris sick, though he'd never been bothered by blood before. Perhaps he was having a reaction to all that had happened to them that dayand the clock didn't even read 9 A.M. Or perhaps he was just disgusted with himself. D.J. had been hurt while trying to protect him. She could have been killed, and he'd need to look no further than the mirror for someone to blame. He should never have allowed her to stay with him once he knew of the danger to their lives. But he'd been so certain he could protect her. |
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Look where you conceit got D.J., smart guy. Flat on her back and bleeding in a backwoods doctor's office. |
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"She's lost a lot of blood, but I think she'll be all right as soon as I get the bullet out and stitch her up." The doctor turned toward him. He frowned |
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