Eye of the Storm - By Hannah Alexander Page 0,19
mother seems to know a whole lot more about you than I do.” Lynley’s voice held a curious mixture of suspicion and envy, and there was a slight lilt to her words that resembled Kirstie’s warm vocal mannerisms. “She mentioned talking to you, but I didn’t know you were actually coming here.”
“For a talkative woman it sounds as if Kirstie can keep her own counsel when she wants to.” He gestured to the bloodstains on the floor. “Were the wounds bad?”
“They’ll heal quickly if she’ll just stay off her feet for a while. That won’t happen. Do you mind telling me how you know my mother so well?”
“I reached her by phone when I was searching for Megan.”
“Did it occur to you that if Megan had wanted you to find her she’d have told you where she was?”
Gerard nodded with approval. She was loyal to her friends. “The relationship between Megan and me is strictly between Megan and me.”
“What happened in Corpus Christi?”
Not for the first time, he was glad the whole story hadn’t been released to the press, and he was still fighting to keep the specifics from the public. Megan didn’t need the additional grief, and the rescue mission didn’t need the notoriety.
“A couple of killers have slipped past our sentinels in recent months,” he told Lynley.
“And?”
“Working in a mission clinic can be a dangerous job. Did she tell you about it?”
Lynley looked away, shook her head, glanced up toward one of the cameras.
“We’ve beefed up our guard,” he assured Lynley.
“She’ll never go back.”
Gerard felt stiffening in his chest. Her words resonated with assurance. He suspected she might know what she was talking about. But things could change.
For instance, his presence here wasn’t simply meant to satisfy his curiosity—nor was he here to satisfy the curiosity of Megan’s friends. He was a more intentional man than that. But several times he had questioned himself on the drive: Was he serious about planning a future here when the woman he loved didn’t even seem to want him in Jolly Mill?
“So you’re an ex-cop,” Lynley said quietly, studying him.
He nodded.
“You know about my mother, obviously. Has she told you she’s been misdiagnosed?”
He held Lynley’s gaze for a moment then nodded.
She looked away, and moisture filmed her eyes. “I just finished dragging her out of the mill pond. She could’ve drowned. She needs help, Mr. Vance, and no one seems interested in giving it to her, not even Megan.”
“Haven’t you always been able to trust Megan?” he asked.
Lynley met his gaze.
“Hasn’t she always been there for you?”
She hesitated before nodding. “But people change.”
“You’re absolutely right. People either grow and mature from the impact of life’s punches or they grow sour and old before their time. I can tell you for a fact that Megan’s one of the good ones, no matter what your experiences have been with other people in your life.”
Before Lynley could question him or reply, Carmen returned from the back room. “Coffee’s brewing and your tea is steeping, Mistress Lynley,” she said with an overdone curtsy. “Nora said she was baking a fresh batch of cookies today, and Mr. Vance, you do not want to miss that treat.”
“Call me Gerard,” he said as he stood.
“Wow, and a real gentleman.” Carmen sank into the deep cushion of the chair beside him. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”
He grinned as he ventured to his chair. Exactly what he’d hoped for—a chance to get acquainted with Megan’s friends, and Kirstie’s. Now…where to start…
FIVE
Megan was jotting down vitals when she heard a watery sniff. She glanced toward the exam bed to find a tear caressing a clean portion of Kirstie’s smooth porcelain cheek with the trajectory of a falling star. It splattered on the thick fold of the blanket Megan had tucked around Kirstie after checking her over and treating her cut and bruised feet.
“Still hurting?”
Kirstie shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are. You act fine.” Every vital number so far was within normal parameters, except the blood pressure was slightly elevated because of the pain.
“I want you to draw blood,” Kirstie said. “I think I may be getting poisoned.”
There, the subject had been brought up at last. Megan’s patience rewarded. Another tear trickled down Kirstie’s face. In that moment, she seemed younger than Megan by twenty years, not older. The chin-length curls of her blond hair nearly blended with the paleness of her skin. The hazel eyes, barely touched by evidence of the lines of laughter that had