Page 15 of Fear No Evil

“It hasn’t healed yet?”

“Of course, it’s healed.” The lie slipped out of her.

He clearly didn’t buy it. “Stand up. Let me look at it.”

“Non!”She wasn’t giving him any excuse to force her off this assignment. Bolting off the chair, she dodged past him toward the marble-tiled bathroom, where she promptly closed the door in his face and then locked it.

With a calming breath, Maggie flicked on the light and turned down the waistband of her slacks while regarding the upper curve of her right hip, where the microchip had been implanted. She sucked in a breath at what she saw.

The Band-Aid she had stuck on that morning was blood soaked. Peeling it back, she was disturbed to see a small, gaping cut. What had happened to the single stitch that was keeping it closed? Had it dissolved? Rubbed off?

Sterilize.As her training kicked in, she washed her hands under scalding water, soaping them thoroughly. After drying them on a towel, she tugged fresh tissues from a tissue box, applied pressure to the wound, then rolled her pants back up to keep the tissue in place while she went to fetch her first-aid kit.

Exiting the bathroom, she ran smack-dab into Jake, who was standing just outside the door.

She reared back. “Don’teverstand outside the bathroom when I’m in it!” In her outrage, it was all she could do to speak French.

He sent her an easy shrug. “Pas de problème. There aren’t any bathrooms where we’re headed.”

Annoyed that he was back to undermining her confidence, she shoved him out of her way‍—which was a lot harder than it used to be‍—and crossed the room to get to her pack.

“It’s bleeding,” he guessed as she unzipped the pouch on the side and pulled out the first-aid kit.

As she marched back toward the bathroom, Jake stepped into her path. His hand closed like a manacle around her wrist.

“Écoute-moi.”Listen to me. His gentle tone was oddly menacing when paired with his steely grip. “Even the smallest cut will fester in the wilderness. I can’t let you proceed with this assignment.”

Tempted to stamp as hard as she could onto his booted foot, Maggie drew a deep breath and summoned logic to argue her case. “What are you going to do? Call Gordon and tell him I’ve got a little cut? I’ve also got a hangnail.” She held her right hand up in front of his face, tempted to hold up just her middle finger. “Does that disqualify me, too?”

“I have a new word for your vocabulary.” He seemed to change the subject while tightening his grip as she tried unsuccessfully to twist her arm free. “Travail d’équipe.”Teamwork. He articulated the syllables clearly. “That’s how Navy SEALs operate. That’s why our casualty rate is as low as it is. We watch each other’s backs. I know you’re used to working alone, Lena. But how’s that been working for you?”

She’d needed rescuing twice, and he knew it.

“Nous sommes partenaires maintenant.”We’re partners now. “That means if you’re going to wind up getting sick over an infection, then I have the right to know.”

She’d always admired Jake for his unflappable logic. Where she tended to be hotheaded and impulsive, he was ever calm and reasonable.

“Bien. Whatever. I’ll show you the cut, and you’ll see that it’s nothing.”

“Good.” With a nod and a grimace of apology, he released her wrist.

As Maggie marched back into the bathroom, he followed, making the spacious room feel half its actual size. Planting herself before the mirror, she was conscious of heat stealing intoher face as she rolled down the waistline of her slacks and pulled back the tissue, which, to her relief, had only the smallest speck of blood on it. “See?” She switched to English, speaking quietly. “No big deal.”

Jake bent over, putting himself at eye level with the incision. A furrow appeared on his forehead. “Looks like you rubbed the stitch off. Have you been running? You were told not to run.”

“No.” An outright lie. She’d run at least twenty-five miles since Saturday.

He straightened with a disappointed look. “I’ll need to stitch it again.”

“What!?”

“Relax. I’ve had plenty of practice. Let’s see what’s in your kit.” He opened the box she’d placed by the sink and peered hard at the contents while proceeding to sterilize his hands. “Good. We have two needles and even a vial of lidocaine.”

“You’re not stitching my hip. It’s just a little cut. It’ll heal.”

The implacable look he sent her was one she didn’t recognize.

“You will let me close the incision, or you’re not my partner anymore.”