Antonia set an ancient first-aid kit she’d pulled out from under the bed on the table and rummaged in it. He could see her tension, but knew she had the training and experience to focus on what she was doing. “You should have stitches.”

Hank grunted. His arm throbbed, but he’d endured worse injuries. “I should have fed the bastard that goddamn knife.”

“Ty would have.”

“North’s trained to feed people knives.” Hank smiled, because he knew she’d deliberately made that comment to get him to smile. The doctor easing her patient’s mind. “I’m just a mild-mannered helicopter pilot.”

“Ah.” She found a tube of antibiotic ointment and squeezed a bit onto a supposedly sterile gauze pad—the stuff had to be long past its “use by” date. “That’s just what I thought when I saw you take the kayak paddle from our friend outside. Mild-mannered helicopter pilot.”

“Scared the hell out of you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He has a gun—”

“I know, but first he has to get to us.”

She glanced at him. “You’re not saying we have the upper hand, are you?”

“I’m saying right now we’re okay. First things first, Antonia. We’re doing everything we can.”

If possible, she was even more pale, but she wasn’t one to panic. “Let’s see this arm of yours.”

She helped him get his shirt off, and he’d been touched when she blanched at his injury—not because she didn’t see worse every day, Hank assumed, but because this time it was him. She worked quickly and efficiently. He watched her, noticed that her hands were steady as she swabbed and dabbed and bandaged.

“You won’t have to amputate if I don’t get stitches, will you?” he asked lightly.

“Only if you get a nasty infection and we can’t get to proper help.”

“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate a straight answer. You’re supposed to say no, you’ll be fine.”

She managed a smile. “No, you’ll be fine.”

He moved his arm the wrong way and caused himself a stab of pain. “Now I feel a lot better,” he said with good-natured sarcasm. He wasn’t worried about his arm. He’d done worse working on boats as a kid. What he worried about was the bastard outside with the gun. He peered through the rain and wind, but saw no sign of their guy. “I can’t believe I let that SOB nail me.”

Antonia taped a gauze bandage over the ointment-covered wound with a few deft moves. “You’re lucky. The cut’s not deep, which is a good thing. I’m not set up here for major wounds and fractures.”