Rushing water, capable hands scrubbing at the bloodstains. She’d be able to deal with the clothing and the linens — stain removal wasn’t really all that hard, especially since most folks don’t bother with the luminol until they know somebody’s dead. And for all she knew, that guy could be perfectly fine.
Rushing water held back the sound of her soft cursing; she bit her lips and tongue to try and stop herself, but the fact was — she was disappointed in him, and so angry she half-wanted to leave him to his own devices, right there in the hotel room.
They’d fought before, and over worse things than this, though, so it would probably blow over in only a day or two. Maybe even less. Probably when she walked out the bathroom door and saw him laying there, stitched up and trying to rest.
It was best to go back to the mind-numbing task of scrubbing at the red smears left on all the clothing. That was something she could deal with.
And as a sort of childish payback, since she was dealing with so much of the washing up, she’d leave the severed arm to him.
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