told you, no hospitals.”
“That wound isn’t going to heal on its own.” Irritation ratcheted up a notch or two. “No emergency contact number, fine. No hospital? Fine, too. Get in. I’ll take you to the closest urgent-care facility. We’ll make better time if I just drive you. There’s a place off Calhoun Street. We can be there in twenty minutes or less. Or, Roper Hospital isn’t that far. We can—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head so vehemently that water splattered everywhere. “I can’t—”
“—ignore that gash.”
Matt knew wounds and the long, diagonal injury to her hand was a defensive knife wound. Who had she been defending herself against and why?
“I won’t ignore it. Thank you for your help.”
The fact that she averted her eyes as she attempted to dismiss him didn’t go unnoticed. Nor did the ridiculousness of her remark. She was still bleeding profusely, so he opted for a different tack.
He knew his own motivation for not drawing the attention of the local authorities. What he couldn’t fathom was why a woman who’d obviously been in some sort of altercation, obviously jumped or been thrown into the ocean, was so resistant to going through normal channels. Seriously strange behavior.
Tugging his T-shirt over his head, he ripped off a strip of damp cotton and created a second makeshift pressure bandage.
“Thank you.” She kept her elbow bent and her hand above her heart and then took a wobbly step away from the car.
Matt grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her and preventing her from wandering off. “You should see a doctor,” he reiterated.
“It’s not bleeding as much,” she said, lifting her hand in front of his face.
Maybe her weird reaction had something to do with the big bump on her forehead. “You need stitches, a CT scan of your head and you’ve likely got water still in your lungs. You don’t want me to take you to the hospital, okay. Tell me who to call and you can be their problem.”
“Is there a third option?”
He read fear and confusion in her eyes as she tilted her face to his. “Like?” He let the word dangle in the air between them.
“I don’t have anyone to call and I can’t go to a hospital, either.”
Matt knew trouble when he saw it and as a rule, did his best to avoid it when possible. One look at the drenched blonde with the wide, frightened eyes and he knew possible had just taken a vacation.
“What boat were you on?” he asked.
“Boat?” she repeated as if he’d spoken in tongues.
He looked down at her pricey-looking stilettos, which had remained on her feet despite what she’d been through, and said, “You aren’t a mermaid. So I’ll assume you ended up in the water the old-fashioned way.”
“Swimming?”
He actually chuckled at her deadpan delivery. “Most women don’t swim in an evening gown and heels. You must have gone overboard.” His mind raced forward. “There haven’t been any reports of a man—person—overboard or vessels in distress to the Coast Guard,” he said. “Did you go out alone? Capsize, maybe?” He grabbed her good hand and turned it palm up. “You’ve been in the water a long time,” he said as he pressed gently to test the loose skin on her uninjured hand.
“How long?” she asked, and then snatched back her hand to cover her mouth as a raspy cough rumbled in her throat.
“You don’t know?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and sparkled with a flash of what might be anger. “Forgive me, but I guess I lost track of time while I was losing blood, fighting currents and floating in the ocean in the dark.”
She began to slouch and he tightened his arm around her waist. “How about you sit down before you fall down?”
“That might be a good idea,” she agreed, putting up no resistance as he guided her into the car.
Matt lifted her legs and tucked them into the footwell before he walked around the car. On his way to the driver’s seat, he grabbed a fresh shirt out of the back of the Jeep and shrugged it over his head before slipping behind the wheel. He shot her a glance as he stuck the key in the ignition. She looked like a drowned rat.
What do you know? He thought again about Janice.
“Where are we going?”
“You don’t want to go to a hospital. I’m giving you that. But we’re getting you appropriate medical attention.”
“How?”
“A friend of a friend. I’m Matt DeMarco, by the way.”
“Matt DeMarco.”
Again, she seemed to be taking the words for a trial run.
Matt drove quickly back toward Charleston, sometimes ignoring traffic signals and often weaving through cars even if it meant violating no passing zones and rolling through stop signs. “You, ah, seem a little out of it,” he said softly. “Sure you don’t want to rethink the hospital option?”
“Definitely not.” She shifted straighter in the seat. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but you can just drop me at the next corner.”
“Right,” he scoffed. “Do you really want to roam the streets of Charleston bleeding? What do you suppose the folks would make of that?”
Matt veered to the right to cross the Ashley River. On the other side of the bridge, he could see the Battery, a jutting peninsula where the Ashley and Cooper rivers joined. If you were from Charleston—which he wasn’t—you’d smugly proclaim that the Ashley and the Cooper met to create the Atlantic Ocean.
“Are you planning on telling me your name?”
She rested her head on the seat back, “Wasn’t planning on it, no.”
“Are you being mysterious or rude?”
“Neither.”
“Okay, I’ll play.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to catch a glimpse of her. She was struggling to remain conscious. Her long lashes fluttered against her cheeks and her flawless skin had gone pale. “Keep your hand up, the bleeding has started again.” Given the head injury, he decided it was a good idea to keep her talking. “You’ve got the accent, so you’re a native?”
She just shrugged.
“One thing I’ve learned in my short time here is Southerners are rarely rude to strangers and never rude to strangers offering aid and comfort. So what’s the deal? Your ancestors get tossed out of the Confederacy or something?”
“Or something. Who’s this friend?”
“My boss’s niece, actually,” Matt said. “Dr. Kendall Revell. She’s
