Up Close and Dangerous by Linda Howard

inside the baggage compartment door. See it?”
    She looked where he’d said and there it was, safely secured. Duh. She’d been looking on the floor of the plane, not on the walls. “Yeah, I’ve got it.” Toolbox in hand, she backed out of the plane.
    She felt a little light-headed when she stood, so she remained still for a moment. Was it altitude sickness again, even though she’d been careful to move slowly? Or did she need some of that candy bar? After a moment the dizziness passed, so she voted for the candy bar.
    “I think I need to eat, too,” she said, going to her knees beside him and breaking off a bite of the Snickers bar. “I don’t want to pass out while I’m jabbing a needle into you.” At this rate, she’d be doing good to have him stitched up by sunset.
    Thinking of sunset reminded her of time, and she realized that not once had she checked her watch. She had no idea how long ago she had regained consciousness, or how long it had so far taken her to accomplish her tasks, much less how much time she had left in the day. Automatically she pushed up the cuffs on her left arm, and stared at her bare wrist where her watch had once been.
    “My watch is gone. I wonder how that happened.”
    “Probably you banged your arm against something and a pin snapped, or a link broke. Was it expensive?”
    “No, it was a cheap waterproof deal I bought for vacation. I’m going—I was going—white-water rafting with my brother and his wife.”
    “You can catch up with the guide party tomorrow, or the day after.”
    “Maybe.” Slowly she chewed the candy, not sharing with him her terrible sense of isolation, as if rescue was a long time away.
    She allowed herself only one bite, to stave off the dizziness, then forced herself back to the matter at hand. After carefully folding the wrapper over the remaining portion of candy and putting it aside, she removed the cold pack from his forehead.
    “I have to shift you around, so you’re lying with your head downhill, at least until after I rinse the cut—unless you want mouthwash all over your face and running under you.”
    “No thanks. I can do this myself, though; just tell me what you want me to do.”
    “Slide toward me, first; I don’t want you to get off the blanket into the snow. Okay, good. Now rotate on your butt—wait a minute, let me get this piece of vinyl under your head. That’s it.” His gyrations had caused part of the mound of clothes to fall off and she took a minute to replace them.
    To keep the mouthwash out of his eyes, he tilted his head back as far as it would go. “Okay. Here goes,” said Bailey, using her left hand as a barrier against any stray splashes, and began carefully pouring the mouthwash over the cut. He twitched, once, then held himself very still.
    She watched for any trash or dirt that may have gotten into the wound, but all she saw was blood being washed away. The instructions had said not to dislodge any obvious clots, so she tried not to let the mouthwash splash directly into the cut. When all the mouthwash was gone, she put the cap back on the empty bottle and set it aside, then opened one of the alcohol prep pads and began cleaning around the cut.
    She didn’t let herself think about the seriousness of the gash, or how easy it would be for him to pick up an infection in these less than sterile circumstances. Instead she concentrated on what she had to do, step by step. She wiped her hands, the needle, and the pliers with another alcohol pad. Then she put on the disposable plastic gloves and wiped everything again. She wiped his forehead with an iodine pad. When she had done everything she could possibly do to kill every germ, she prepared a suture, took a deep breath, and began.
    “The instructions say to start in the middle,” she murmured as she punctured his skin with the curved needle and forced it on around to the other side of the cut. “I guess that’s so you don’t end up with a big lump of skin at