Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
His captor leaned into the light, but Gus’s vision was blurry so all he got was the impression of dark hair that was precisely styled in a side part and pale skin. The eyes were just a pair of pupils, pits of black. The smell, though, was unforgettable.
Dark… spices. Like expensive cologne, although no brand that was immediately identifiable.
“You have been a revelation. Thank you.”
A chaste kiss was pressed to Gus’s forehead, as if they had had dirty sex that had been satisfying on a spiritual level.
As his captor straightened, Gus felt two cool points on the side of his throat, right over his jugular vein.
The Taser, he thought. Finally—
“Goodbye, Dr. St. Claire.”
The electrical volts rocked through Gus’s body, throwing him into a seizure that stiffened his limbs and threw his head back and locked his molars.
No more vision.
No more hearing.
No more copper smell.
Nothing. And unlike the other times, not even… any last thoughts.
* * *
“Come back in forty-eight hours.”
As Lydia stood over a laconic, recumbent, navy-robed Sheriff Eastwind, she shook her head. Which was better than cursing or throwing something in frustration. “Why.”
“Because I said so.”
To keep herself from losing it, she glanced around, noting the First Nations’ woven textiles on the walls, the pottery lamp that was glowing next to Eastwind’s recliner, the fireplace that was set with hardwood logs and fresh newspaper. Through an archway, the dim contours of a kitchen were visible, and there was no table or set of chairs in there. No clutter on the countertops or on the top of the old-fashioned stove, either.
“And what’s going to be different,” she demanded.
“It’s going to be forty-eight hours from now.” The man cocked an eyebrow. “That’s two days, FYI.”
“I can count.”
“Clever girl.”
Lydia glanced over at Daniel, who just shrugged. “And then what,” she snapped. “What happens.”
“That’s my offer.” Eastwind reached down the side of his chair, pulled on the lever, and was propelled into a sitting position. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed—”
“No.” She stamped her foot on the rug. “This is not good enough—”
“Plattsburgh is not my jurisdiction.” Eastwind paused in the process of getting up, his broad palms planted on the padded sides of the chair, his arms bowed out at the elbows. “I have no power there in the big city. And before you point out that Gus St. Claire works here in Walters, the crime happened at his home, not Ms. Phalen’s lab. Now I’m going to say goodnight. Goodnight.”
Finishing the job with the vertical stuff, he nodded at Daniel. “Hope you still do okay.”
Then he nodded at Lydia, and went to the stairs like he didn’t care if they camped out underneath him, or left without closing things behind themselves. As the sound of his footfalls ascended and then crossed above, all she could do was look to the farmhouse’s ceiling and track the progress in disbelief.
“Are you kidding me,” she muttered as bedsprings squeaked under a heavy weight. “And he didn’t even show us to the door.”
From above, a muffled voice: “If you can’t find it, you need more help than you asked for.”
Daniel eased his way up to his feet, catching himself on the arm of the couch as he wobbled. “Let’s go.”
Lydia looked around one more time. “I hate this.”
The state of being out of control felt like it had consumed her life, and she missed the sense that she could make decisions, take action, effect change. Lately, everything had been about adapting to situations she despised and was trapped in, iron bars everywhere.
Daniel touched her shoulder. “There’s nothing for us here.”
Even though she wanted to argue with that, she let herself be led over to the door—and as she stepped out into the night, she had the urge to slam the thing. Like a dozen times.
Instead, she drifted over to the SUV on a cloud of distraction, the cold, damp air tingling in her sinuses, her body shivering, even though she wouldn’t have said she had a chill. As she hauled herself into the vehicle, she glanced back at the house—and a strange premonition crept up her spine.
She was going to see this place again, she thought.
Then again, of course she would. She was damn well coming back in two frickin’ days.
The intention resonated all the way through her as she drew the seatbelt across her heart and clicked it into place. Starting the engine, she put her hands on the wheel, fully intending to get herself and Daniel into reverse and take them back up to the county road.
Except she just sat there, staring out over the dashboard at Eastwind’s garage.
On the other side of the Suburban, Daniel opened the passenger door and got in with the help of his cane. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not. But I just need to take us home.” She glanced back at the farmhouse. “I mean, to Phalen’s.”