can. Yeah. A prank. “Okay.”
Gage spoke again. “Think about it, Cory. If they’d really found you, why would they warn you?”
Good question. “You’re right.” She couldn’t quite believe it, but he was right. She drew another shaky breath, and felt her heart start to slow into a more normal rhythm.
“I’m not dismissing it, Cory,” Gage said. “Don’t misunderstand me. But I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain it’s some kind of prank.”
“Of course.” She said goodbye and disconnected, then lay staring at her ceiling. It was an old ceiling, and watermarks made strange patterns, some like faces she could almost identify. Like the face of the man who had killed Jim and almost killed her.
She heard the front door close, the lock turn, the sound of the alarm being turned on. The tone pierced what suddenly seemed like too much silence, too much emptiness.
She heard footsteps and turned her head to see Wade. Still impassive, he looked down at her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Life’s biggest lie, and it rose automatically to her lips.
“Your color is a bit better. Need help getting up?”
“I can do it, thanks.” Yeah, she could do it. Get up, go to the kitchen, put her groceries away and resume the pretense of normalcy. Because there was no other option. All her options had been stolen over a year ago.
Sighing, she pulled her feet off the couch and rolled to her side to get up. A steadying hand was there to grip her elbow, surprising her. She looked into the rigid, unrevealing face of Wade Kendrick and wondered if he were some kind of instinctive caretaker.
She should have protested the touch. But all of a sudden, after a year of avoiding contact with other people, she needed it, even just that little bit of a steadying hand offered out of courtesy.
“Thanks,” she said when she was on her feet. “I need to put groceries away.”
One corner of his mouth hitched up just the tiniest bit. His version of a smile? “I think,” he said slowly, “it might be best if you sit for a bit. I can put your groceries away, and you can supervise.”
She should have argued. The independence thing had become of supreme importance to her since circumstances beyond her control had gutted her entire life. But she didn’t feel like arguing at all. No, with her knees still feeling rubbery, and perishables like frozen food and milk in her two shopping bags, the task needed to be done soon, and she honestly wasn’t sure she could manage it.
Adrenaline jolts had a high price when they wore off. So she led the way into the kitchen, her knees shaking, and sat at the chipped plastic-topped table while he emptied her two bags and then asked where each item went. He went about it with utter efficiency: economy of words and economy of movement both.
And she felt very awkward, unable to engage in conversation. She’d lost most of her conversational ability over the past year because she didn’t have a past, at least not one she could talk about, and lying had never come easy. So she had become limited to the most useless of topics: the weather, work, a recent film. No depth or breadth of any kind.
And when faced by a man like this, one who seemed disinclined to talk, all she could do was sit in her chair and squirm.
“There,” he said when the last item was put away. Then he faced her. “If you’re okay now, I’ll take my stuff upstairs.”
She should have said thank-you and left it at that. That’s what she should have done. But all of a sudden, maybe because of the phone call, being alone was the last thing she wanted. Solitude had been her fortress for a long time, so why she should want to breach the walls now, she couldn’t understand. But she did anyway.
“If I make coffee,” she said, “would you like some?”
One eyebrow seemed to lift, but she couldn’t be quite sure. This was a man who seemed to have lost use of his face. Either that, or he had trained himself to reveal absolutely nothing. And the question about coffee seemed to give him pause. He treated it as if it needed real consideration.
“That would be nice,” he finally said.
Only then did she realize she was almost holding her breath. Maybe she feared rejection of some kind. How could she possibly consider a no over a cup of coffee to be rejection? God, was she beginning to lose her mind?
It was, of course, entirely possible. In the past year she’d come perilously close to living in solitary confinement with only her memories.
“Okay.” She tried a smile and it seemed to work, because he nodded.
“I’ll just take my stuff up and be back down in a minute,” he said.
She watched him walk out of the room and noticed his broad shoulders and narrow hips. The ease with which he moved in his body, like an athlete. Yes, she was definitely slipping a cog somewhere. She hadn’t noticed a man that way in a long time, hadn’t felt the sexual siren song of masculinity, except with Jim, and since Jim not at all.
She didn’t need or want to feel it now.
Shaking her head, she rose and found that her strength seemed to have returned. Making the coffee was an easy, automatic task, one that kept her hands busy while her mind raced.
Surely Gage had been right. The killers wouldn’t warn her they were coming. So it must have been kids pulling a prank. When she thought about it, her own reaction to the call disappointed her. There’d been a time when she would have reached the same conclusion as Gage without needing to consult anyone at all. A time when she hadn’t been a frightened mouse who couldn’t think things through for herself.
She needed to get that woman back if she was to survive, because much more of what she’d gone through the past year would kill her as surely as a bullet.
Piece by piece, she felt her personality disassembling. Piece by piece she was turning into a shadow of the woman she had once been. She might as well have lopped off parts of her own brain and personality.
How long would she let this continue? Because if it went on much longer, she’d be nothing but a robot, an empty husk of a human being. Somehow, somewhere inside her, she had to find purpose again. And a way to connect with the world.
As one of the Marshals had said when she argued she didn’t want to do this, “How many people in this world would give just about anything to have a chance to start completely fresh?”
At the time the comment had seemed a little heartless, but as it echoed inside her head right now, she knew he’d had a point. She hadn’t liked it then, didn’t like it now, but there was a certain truth in it.
A fresh start. No real reason to fear. Not anymore. If they were going to find her, certainly they’d have done so long since.
Wade returned to the kitchen just as the drip coffeemaker finished its task. “How do you like it?” she asked.
“Black as night.”
She carried the carafe to the table, along with two mugs and filled them, then set the pot on a pad in the center
