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I swear. I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly. Their fingers still locked, he pulled her up. They sat on the bed. Pressing her back to his chest, his arms cradled her.
    “I said what I did to get those men off the boat. I want to help you.” He dug inside his pocket and pressed the knife into her soft palm. “You have a weapon. If you feel I’m about to hurt you, use it.” He closed her fingers around the instrument, hoping she was reassured enough not to take him up on the offer.
    “You have a gun,” she said, her tone accusing.
    An arm still draped around her, he reached behind him with the other and slid the gun from his waistband.
    “Hold out your hand.”
    She opened her free hand. He pulled out the weapon’s magazine and dropped it in her hand.
    “You’ve been through hell,” he said, his tone mirroring compassion. “You’re frightened. If I intended to hurt you, would I give you a weapon? Bag Lou’s knife for evidence?”
    “You know his name.”
    “I never set eyes on the man before tonight. I asked his name and the jackass gave it to me. When we’re ready, we can track him down and see him punished.”
    She remained pressed against his chest, nestled securely in his embrace. Neither said a word. Chase held her close, patiently waiting, prepared for her to make the first move.
    “When they were finished, they were going to kill me,” she whispered, breaking the silence.
    Her pitiful voice broke his heart. “No one will hurt you. I promise.”
    “Your father.”
    “They tossed his name out to justify breaking into my boat. My father’s a bragger, not a murderer.” Chase kept his cheek pressed to hers, hoping the gesture offered comfort and assurance. Her body stiffened, but she didn’t jerk from him.
    “Laura, I’m in the dark. I was expecting a quiet night on my boat and walked into hell.” He paused, and waited. “Tell me how I can help you.”
    There was a long silence. “I hurt all over.”
    “I’ll get the first aid kit. Okay?” His tone sought her approval.
    He remained quiet, not moving while Laura took a few minutes mulling his offer.
    “Okay.”
    “Lie down. Hold the knife if you’re scared,” he added gently.
    He eased off the bed, walked to the desk, and grabbed the metal box along with a water bottle. After walking back to the bed, he sat down, facing her. She was on her back, head deep into the pillows. Blood from the cut on her chin had dripped and pasted itself on her neck. Dry crimson dotted her blond hair. Her wary stare continued. He opened the kit and took out a brown jar and a stack of square white gauze pads. Her right fist tightly gripped the knife, her other the revolver’s magazine.
    He inspected the contusions. Her right eye was surrounded by a twinge of blue. A purplish yellow bruise marked her cheek.
    “This will sting a little.” With a light touch, he dabbed the saturated pad on the wounded area.
    Laura flinched as the healing lotion touched its mark, but she didn’t whimper or protest. He turned his attention to the cut, running about an inch, along her jaw. He patted away blood remnants from her chin and neck, until all that remained was a pink line where the knife had met her flesh.
    “Will I have a scar?” she asked timidly.
    He took a smaller clear jar from the kit. Twisting the cap off, a small brush, similar to a child’s watercolor brush was inside. He dipped the brush in the liquid and stroked along the injured jaw area.
    “No scar. This stuff will take care of that.”
    Next, he soothed the thin slices around her ankles and wiped away the caked blood. She was silent, her eyes fixed on his every gesture.
    Chase’s demeanor turned somber. “Laura, are those the only places where you’re hurt? Do I need to take you to a hospital? I will.” He didn’t want to, unsure how to explain to personnel who would undoubtedly want information. They would want to call the police, which would put Chase in an uncomfortable position. He