Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“You know,” Darius hedged, “Fritz can make you anything if you want to eat. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind indulging him, it would go a long way toward…”
Toward what? he wondered as he let his voice trail off.
There was no response again, but Wrath wasn’t sleeping, and it was doubtful he’d resume any kind of slumber. Then again, for the most part, the brother was fueled by the powerful accelerant of hatred, requiring minimal sustenance, blood, or rest to keep going.
Giving up, Darius backed away and closed the door.
For a moment, he considered just chucking everything and heading out himself. But then he looked into his chamber at the food that had been prepared for him.
With a sense of foreboding for the species, he went to his desk, sat down, and put the damask napkin in his lap. Picking up a sterling silver fork, he lifted the cloche and started to eat. In spite of the dire realities of the war, he found his motivation to hunt lessers, kill them, and take their jars ebbing.
Then again, he had something else on his mind.
Or someone, rather.
Shit.
CHAPTER SIX
Yes… that’s right. A BMW, off the road at Ashley Park—” As Anne spoke into her phone receiver, she walked over to the stove, the curlicue cord expanding from its wall-mounted unit. “Oh, okay. No. That’s it. Sorry to bother you. Thanks.”
Lowering the harvest gold handset from her ear, she stirred her Campbell’s tomato soup. Then she returned to the built-in desk, hung things up, and bent over her yellow pages. Two more tow services to call and it was almost seven o’clock. Taking the receiver back off its cradle, she dialed the seven digits for Salvatore’s Towing. When there was no answer, she moved on to the last entry, T & T Towing 24 Hrs.
No answer.
Maybe it was a sign.
“But it was already after five when I started,” she said as she went over and put two pieces of Wonder Bread in her toaster. “Lot of places had front offices that were closed.”
And it wasn’t like the man had pushed the car home.
Tomorrow. She’d call the others that hadn’t picked up again tomorrow.
When things were warm enough in the pan, she poured some of the soup into a bowl, hit the toast, and grabbed a plate out of her cupboard along with some butter from the fridge. After things popped, she sat down at her table, forgot a spoon for the soup, got back up again—
“Oh, my God!” she shouted as she jumped.
Someone was standing right on her little back porch. Just on the far side of her sliding door. The hulking shape was nothing but a shadow because she hadn’t turned on her security fixture—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Blindly throwing her hand out for the phone, she tried to remember what the number of the police station was. She should have known Bruce would do this. That he couldn’t possibly let things end where they had—
Was that her missing shoe?
“Anne. It’s me.”
For a moment, the muffled words didn’t register. She was too distracted by the voice. That deep, low, beautifully accented voice.
“I don’t mean for this to be awkward or anything,” the man from the ER said through the glass. “But I knocked on your front door a couple of times, and when you didn’t answer, I just—well, I wanted to bring this back and I was worried—”
Anne bolted around her table, unlocked the door, and yanked it open.
And there he was. The man she had thought of all day long… as well as throughout the night before when she hadn’t slept.
He was just as she remembered. Well, maybe a little taller, a little broader, a little more… astounding.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly in that accent of his. “I remembered your address from when you checked in at the emergency room and thought you’d want this back and—”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she choked out.
There was a pause. “You are?”
When she nodded, he stared into her eyes as if he’d forgotten how to speak… or maybe had heard words he hadn’t expected.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m just…”
“What?” she whispered.
“Here. Your shoe.”
As she took the loafer back, she cradled it to her chest like he’d returned a lost pet in the middle of an ice storm.
“Do you want to join me?” She stepped back and indicated the flimsy table with her free hand. “I just made some soup. It’s nothing fancy.”
Well. If that wasn’t the lamest offer he’d ever get. Like asking a tiger whether it would care for a salad. Or maybe a Tic Tac.
“I’d love to come in,” he said. “Thank you.”
As he entered her house, she remeasured his body in her peripheral vision—while trying not to make like she was doing a corporeal inventory on the poor guy. Except then she dropped all pretense and simply stared at him.