High Noon Page 0,45

bag."

"Good, then..." He shifted her, sat her down beside him. "If you need, you know, the bathroom? There's one that way and to the right." no I

"Good idea."

When he left her, she sat for a moment, drawing back the reserves. She got achingly to her feet, picked up the purse he'd left on the coffee table, then made her way under graceful arches, over polished floors to the powder room.

The first glimpse of her face in the long oval mirror had her moaning as much in vanity as distress. Her eyes were puffy and red, with the right one sporting an ugly mottle of bruises, accented by the hard black smear of gathering blood under it.

Her jaw was another swollen cloudburst, her bottom lip about double in size and split. The butterfly bandages on her forehead closed the jagged gash, and stood out starkly against the raw, scraped skin. "This isn't a beauty contest, Phoebe, so get over yourself. But God, God, could you look any worse?"

And when she took this face home, she was going to scare everyone half stupid.

Nothing to be done about that, nothing, she reminded herself, and carefully dabbed cold water over her face.

In short order, she discovered that even the elemental task of peeing with a bruised hip and an arm in a sling was an exercise in discomfort and frustration. That tidying herself up brought everything to a dull throb under the layer of medication.

And vanity or no vanity, she was already sick and tired of looking as if she'd run headlong into a brick wall.

Plus, she hated hobbling. As she hobbled her way back into the parlor, Duncan set a tray on the coffee table.

"I don't know what they gave you in the ER, so I figured alcohol was off the menu. You got tea-and my personal remedy for a black eye, and so on, a bag of frozen peas."

She stopped. "You made tea."

"You don't like tea?"

"Of course I do. You made tea, and in a pretty teapot, on a tray. And brought me frozen peas." She held up her good hand. "My emotions are all over the board yet. I'm getting weepy because somebody made me tea in a pot, and thought to offer me frozen peas."

"Good thing I didn't bake cookies."

She picked up the bag of peas, held it to the side of her face that suffered the most damage. "Can you?"

"I have no idea. Anyway, I wasn't sure if you'd be able to chew anything yet. How's that jaw?"

She walked, slowly, to the divan, sat again. "You want me stoic, or you want the truth?"

"I'll take the truth."

"It fucking hurts, that's how it is. I think there might be one square inch of my body that doesn't fucking hurt. And that makes you smile?" He kept smiling. "That you're hurting, no. That you're pissed off about it, yes. Good to see your temper's in working order." He sat beside her, poured out the tea. "Tell me what happened, Phoebe."

"I got jumped in the stairwell at work."

"Jumped? Who?"

"I didn't see him, so I can't say for sure. He was waiting for me," she began, and told him.

He didn't interrupt, but when she spoke of her assailant tearing her clothes, Duncan pushed off the couch. As she had when she'd first entered the room, he walked to the doors, stared out.

And she stopped speaking.

"Go on," he said with his back to her. "I just can't sit right now."

He listened, and he stared through the glass. He didn't see the wild wisteria or the winding trails of the side garden. He saw a dim stairwell, he saw Phoebe hurt and helpless, struggling while some faceless bastard tore at her, pawed at her, terrorized her.

There had to be payment, Duncan thought. He believed strongly in payment.

"You know who it was," he said when she'd finished. "I didn't see him."

Duncan turned now. His face was cool and blank so that the blue of his eyes burned all the stronger against it. "You know who it was."

"I have a strong suspicion. Suspicion isn't proof."

"That's the cop talking. What about the person?"

"I know who did it, and I'm going to find a way to prove it. Do you think I would take this? Do you think that's who I am?" She held up a hand as if stopping herself.

"No, go on. A good pissing rage is as healing as a good cry."

"He hurt me. That fucking bastard. He hurt and humiliated me. He made me think he'd