He’s seen this before. If she had a phone, she’d have it out by now. Her hands are empty. But not her heart. It’s filled with fear, and she’s earned every bit of it. She just didn’t know when to stop, did she? You don’t do what she did to him.
He pulls a swatch of purple fabric off a branch. Look at that, will you? There she goes again. She just can’t keep ’em on.
Now she’s less than a hundred feet away. So tired she’s bent over. Wet, torn clothes clinging to her, showing off lots of everything. She’s trying to stand straight so she can look back this way. Hasn’t done that in a while. Got herself all chesty now, sticking them out, rising up and down. Big breaths.
There’s someone in the woods and he’s coming after you. There’s someone in the woods … Talking to himself as he steps out from behind a tree, waving both arms in the air. Her eyes go as big as pinecones. She starts to back away, falls, drags herself to her feet.
There’s someone in the woods … He’s running hard enough to pound the earth to death.… And he’s coming after you.
CHAPTER 10
Jenna appeared on The Morning Show four more times in the next hour and a half as the thunderheads drenched the thirsty city, overwhelming storm drains and New York’s beleaguered sewer system, which sent what was flushed out of toilets right into the Hudson and East rivers. Lots of “brown trout” this morning. All 840 miles of the subway system also shut down after water rushed over the third rail. And the downpour sent scores of kids into the flooded streets to play and splash. On Fifth Avenue the water rose so high that pedestrians had to take off their shoes and dodge rooster tails of water from passing taxis. But the real nightmare—a tornado—hadn’t formed. They were rare in New York, but by no means unheard of.
When Jenna collapsed next to Dafoe on the couch in her office at a little after 9:00 A.M., she felt drained.
“You earn your money,” he said.
“Some of it.” Sometimes it was hard to believe she earned far more in a month than nurses, cops, and teachers earned in a year. Not to mention dairy farmers or her deceased parents on their hardscrabble family farm.
“Come on.” Jenna stood and grabbed Dafoe’s hand. “I want to see firsthand what I’ve been talking about.”
She didn’t let go of him as they hurried to the elevator, despite the openly curious glances of her coworkers. She didn’t much care. His warm touch felt positively delicious.
They hurried out of the building’s grand entrance—all brass and marble and crystal sconces—to find every seam in the sky still wide open; but the rain was warm, the air warmer still.
The two of them sprinted under a jewelry store awning—bearing one of New York’s most notable names—and watched the world trudge by under umbrellas or with the collars of their slickers cinched to their chins. No one noticed the handsome couple huddling together; the weather, ironically enough, was granting her precious minutes of anonymity.
“See all that water.” She pointed to the overflow now inching onto the sidewalk. “That’s exciting. Not good,” she added quickly, “but exciting: Nature’s reclaiming the city for a few hours.”
Buoyant over Dafoe, the rain on her skin, and the percolating thrill of these ebullient seconds, Jenna scooted to the curb and dipped the toe of one red shoe into the rippled rainwater rushing by. “I hate these shoes,” she said, face beading with droplets. “They’re so tight they make my toes ache. I told the Barbie Master that I’d never wear them again.”
With that, she took them off and splashed into the water. She had a wild impulse to scoop up handfuls and drench Dafoe, but a crazier urge overtook her instead, and this one proved irresistible: She pinched his open collar, lured him even closer with a look, and kissed him lusciously, right there in the pouring rain.
Almost instantly she pulled away in alarm, realizing that one unflattering cell phone photo could land her on Page Six, the New York Post’s notorious gossip column. But in a city under siege, no one offered more than a glance at the romantic couple.
Jenna kissed him again and took his hand. “My apartment’s a ten-minute walk from here.”
“What about work? Your—”
“It’s done for now. What about your cows?”
“A friend’s getting them milked.”
They ran through the rain, wetter with every step. By