Eye of the Storm - By Hannah Alexander Page 0,48
Eugene, spent a lot of time with him when they were growing up. How was he?”
“If I didn’t know he was sick, I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“I hate that all this happened to him.” She unwrapped the food and opened cabinets and drawers for eating plates and utensils. “He had a knack for people, and it wasn’t a fake friendliness—it was genuine.”
“I think that’s why he was interested in the rehab project. If we do get it going here in Jolly Mill,” Gerard continued, “the people who come here will be capable of learning new skills and contributing to the workforce. They will be upstanding members of society with families to feed and children to educate. They will not be killers.”
Megan put ice in two tumblers, watching him askance. “But one out of every twenty-five people is a sociopath. You said so yourself. Do you have a foolproof test to cull out the bad ones?”
“Hans has a psychological screening that he uses for all upper management.”
“That’s not foolproof.”
“Nothing in this life is foolproof. We can only do the best we know how to do.”
“I know the rest of the line. We’re supposed to trust God for the results.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and promise her everything would be all right, but he’d learned long ago that was an empty promise. “You’re still scared to death, aren’t you?”
Her movements slowed as she stacked dinnerware on her tiny dining table. She looked up at him and swallowed. “What if you’re bringing more danger here?”
“Trust me when I say that this won’t be anything like the mission.” He knew as he said the words that she wouldn’t believe him because deep down, though she wouldn’t even admit it to herself, she blamed him for the killer coming through the door.
She took a sharp breath and resumed setting the table. “Kirstie, of course, loves the whole idea.”
He nodded.
Megan leaned over the pizza and inhaled. “Jalapeños!”
He eyed the room divider, behind which must be the bed. “Hottest I could find.”
“I think this food needs to be heated the right way. Why don’t you rest while I turn on the stove and get the cheese sizzling?”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped behind the red room divider, pulled off his shoes and sank onto the mattress. And he slept.
When he awakened it was dark outside. The faint fragrance of pizza continued to linger in the air. He got up and realized he was alone, that he was now ready to eat not only a healthy pizza, but also anything that came with it, including the grease-soaked cardboard box. He found more than half a pizza and a healthy helping of chopped salad waiting for him on Megan’s tiny kitchenette table with a note telling him to rest as long as he wanted. She’d walked back to town to get her car and check on Kirstie.
Of course. Megan couldn’t stop worrying about Kirstie. No matter how traumatized she was, how terrified she might be by what was taking place in Kirstie’s life, Megan would not let Kirstie down. That was the reason she continued to blame herself for Joni’s death. She’d have rather died herself than allow the life of another innocent to slip away. Megan Bradley was a true heroine.
ELEVEN
The first thing Kirstie Marshal noticed when she came to herself in the darkness was that something cold squished between her bare toes. She wiggled them. Mud?
The second thing she noticed was the fragrance of water, the whisper of it rushing through the night, the feel of moist air on her skin. She inhaled deeply the spring bouquet she loved so much.
She was standing barefoot outside, shivering, and she shouldn’t be, not after the long nap she’d had this afternoon…or was that yesterday? What time was it? No watch. She’d taken it off when she took her nap so it wouldn’t snag on the lace of her comforter.
As her eyes focused, she saw stars above and the moon near a horizon—though she couldn’t tell which horizon.
A breeze kicked up, and her shivering increased. And then she panicked. Was she outside naked again? She reached for her thighs. No. Her fingers brushed against soft, thin material. Her nightgown. No robe, but at least this time maybe she wasn’t going to give someone a free show the way she had a couple of weeks ago. If she recalled correctly, she was wearing the pink cotton gown last night…or tonight…or