It didn’t look to Hank as if she was set up for three-inch superficial knife wounds, either, but he liked the feel of her fingers on his skin. “I should at least have followed him,” he said. “I don’t think he had his gun on him when he came after me. I could have kept him from getting it—”

“What if you were wrong and he did have the gun? What if you’d passed out?”

“I wouldn’t have passed out.”

She added one last piece of tape, then waited, appraising her handiwork, he assumed. “Ty not only could take on this guy outside, but he could bandage your wound. He jumps out of helicopters with a fifty-pound med ruck strapped to him—”

“I know. He jumped out of my helicopter enough times.”

She nodded absently, and he could tell her mind wasn’t on Tyler North or helicopters, or even Hank’s wound now that it was bandaged. She wasn’t trying to distract him anymore. She was trying to distract herself. She peeked out the window. “Tell me what he looked like to you,” she said quietly.

“You saw him—”

“I didn’t get a close look—I was more worried about you. And you’re objective. I’m not. Not if it’s who I think it is.”

Hank didn’t push her for more information. “White male in his mid-twenties. Five-eight. Blond. Cleanshaven. His hair was medium-blond, curly, long enough to put in a ponytail if he wanted to. He was quick—quicker than you’d expect at first glance.”

“Physically, you mean?”

“Yes. Mentally, I’d say he’s a survivor. He wanted me to think about what would happen if I went after him and didn’t succeed—I fell for it. It distracted me long enough for him to clear out.”

“If not for the hurricane—”

“I’d have his ass.”

Antonia smiled faintly, but was still clearly distracted. She nodded at his bandaged arm. “I can’t vouch for the ointment, but the bandage is just about perfect. How’s the pain?”

“I hurt more where he smacked me with your kayak paddle.”

She didn’t smile. “There’s not much I can do about that with anything Babs has left behind. Just let me know if you pee blood.”

“Sure, Doc, I’ll do that.” He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t make her smile again. “I can take on bad guys if I have to?”

“I have plenty of bandages.”

He winked at her. “That’s the spirit.”

“Hank—”

“We’ll get out of this mess, Antonia.” He got to his feet, avoiding standing near a window, and slipped his shirt back on. It was damp and bloody, but he was running out of dry clothes. “You recognize this guy, don’t you?”

She sighed, nodding reluctantly. “It’s Robert Prancer.”