The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,143

crisp, white dress shirt beneath, which stretches across the muscles in his arms as he drapes the jacket over the chair beside me. I wonder if those muscles held her up against the wall when he banged her. She’s small enough.

Stop it, Céleste.

For chrissakes.

It’s when Thierry crouches in front of his sister and takes her hand in his that my head clears its cookies of those unsavory visuals, and my heart damn near explodes inside my ribs. Such a strange contradiction from his ordinarily cold and detached demeanor.

“Bonjour, Frannie. Ça va?”

She doesn’t say anything in response, of course.

I swallow back the nervous tremble still humming beneath my skin, feeling every bit an intruder.

“I’ve brought someone with me this time. She’s been a pain in the ass for me, but I bet you’ll like her.”

“How sweet of you,” I grumble, crossing my legs as I turn slightly away from him.

A flicker of movement in my periphery draws my attention back to where Frannie has turned to look at me. The surprised expression sketched on Thierry’s face tells me this is unusual for her.

He pushes to his feet and takes the seat beside me, offering only a small modicum of comfort, while the girl appears to be fixated on me, her pale gray eyes almost looking right through me.

My skin feels as if it’s been peeled back under the weight of her stare, and I shift in my seat, wanting nothing more than to crawl away. Far, far away.

The brush of cold fingers against my thigh narrows my attention to where she’s leaned forward, reaching for the scar there. Eyes wide, she trails a shaky finger over my skin, and I try not to flinch at her touch. Some incoherent mumble passes her lips, and I glance back at Thierry, whose equally confused face tells me he didn’t understand, either.

“Babies,” she whispers a bit clearer. “The babies.”

Leaning back into my chair, I kick my head to the side, never taking my eyes off her. “Did she say babies?”

“Ssss’ve. B-b-babies.” Brow flickering, she pushes harder at my scar. “Sssave. B-b-babies.”

“Frannie, what’s wrong?” Thierry reaches around me, grabbing for his sister’s hand, but she bats him away.

“Ssssave! Ssssave! Babies!”

The sharp digging of her nails into my scar has me jerking back into Thierry as I take in the panicked look in the girl’s eyes.

“Save them! Save the babies! Save the babies! Babies! The babies!”

“What babies, Frannie? What babies are you talking about?” Thierry says from behind.

She lunges forward toward my leg again, but I take her hand in mine, and her gaze slices upward.

“Frannie? What is it? What baby?” I ask, forcing calm into my voice.

Tears well in her eyes, her lips trembling as hard as her cold hand cupped in my palms. “You,” she whispers. “You.”

Swallowing hard, I release her.

“Save the babies! Save the babies! Save the babies! Save the babies!” Over and over, she screams, as Thierry jumps out of his seat, and the nurse comes rushing in.

While the two of them scramble for her, I back myself to the door, my head spinning.

Bad idea, coming here.

“Poor dear.” At the sound of the woman’s voice , I turn to find Jude standing behind me, shaking her head. “Any idea what set her off?”

Shrugging, I turn my attention back toward the girl, who kicks and screams as her brother and the nurse attempt to restrain her. “She reached out to touch me and started screaming something about saving babies.”

“Reached a hand out? Do you know what she was reaching for?”

“A scar on my leg.”

“May I see it?”

For whatever reason, the sensation of fingertips crawling down the back of my neck hits me.

Brows winged up, she waves her hand in dismissal. “Of course, you don’t have to show it. Forgive me. Everything is so clinical here, I sometimes forget the real world doesn’t work that way.”

Showing her the scar doesn’t bother me. It’s the strange feeling creeping over me at the request. Perhaps just the lingering effect of Thierry’s sister freaking out at the sight of it. Twisting to the side, I point to the mangled bit of flesh just below the hem of my dress.

“Oh.” Slipping on her spectacles, she leans forward, keeping her hands pressed close to her body. “What a strange marking. Almost looks like an inverted triangle? How long have you had it, dear?”

“For as long as I can remember.”

Sliding her glasses onto her head, she sighs. “The mind is a strange place, isn’t it? What odd things can trigger