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)
“—and you shouldn’t try to. It just wastes what time you have.”
As Candy fell silent, it was on the tip of Lydia’s tongue to deny everything. To say she wasn’t running. To point out that it wasn’t possible when she was sleeping next to Daniel every night and worrying about him every day—no matter what else was going on.
Except she wasn’t fooling anybody. Not even herself.
And as she thought of that symphath in the red robes, and how the light of dawn had found him and flashed, brilliant as a nuclear bomb, she felt her soul crack.
“I can’t think of what comes next,” she said roughly. “I have no future. Only the present.”
Becoming aware that she had a crushing hold on the bear, she put the toy carefully back in its place and brushed off her perfectly clean pants.
“I’m sorry we bothered you.” Hadn’t she already said that? “I mean—”
“You didn’t.” Candy got to her feet, too. “I still got to have the last piece of pie, and I wanted a coffee anyway. So, where you guys headed next? Grocery shopping? Or does that Phalen woman have half a Price Chopper airdropped into her front yard once a month—does she actually feed all those guards of hers? Not that I don’t get why someone would want them around. If I were a younger woman, I’d have admired the view, if you know what I mean.”
Candy was talking her way to the door, like nothing of any significance had been discussed, and as Daniel started following her, Lydia looked back at the Christmas tree. It was an artificial one, and collections of ornaments were grouped together on the branches: Disney princesses in holiday-themed dresses in one quadrant, traditional bulbs in another… and there was a whole section on cats. The lights were blinkers. Some white, some colored.
Six weeks until December 25th.
She couldn’t fathom thinking that far ahead.
As a cold swirl circled her legs, she jumped and stumbled back—but it wasn’t some evil portent or metaphysical intruder. It was just the door getting opened and the weather coming in like a dog sniffing around.
And hey, at least it got her out of the way of the train that Candy had set up with such great care.
Lydia floated out into the weak noontime sun, feeling like it was the middle of the night. At the end of the driveway, there was a second black Suburban, sitting like a Doberman that needed to be fed. The guards had followed them at a not-at-all-discreet distance, and overhead, drones buzzed on the periphery. As she regarded the protection, she had the sense that the tenacity of the men in those uniforms wasn’t so much that they were running interference on any potential threats, but rather they were monitoring to make sure there were no security breaches.
“You guys take care of yourselves,” Candy said from the front door.
“You, too,” Daniel responded—even though he wasn’t looking at the woman, but rather focused out on the rural road.
Lifting a hand, Lydia murmured, “I’ll see you soon, ’kay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Candy said. “Anytime. You know where to find me.”
It was hard to turn around, and walk to the SUV. She felt like she was never going to see the receptionist again, although whether that was paranoia or prediction, she wasn’t sure. Neither was a great way to feel.
Back at their Suburban, she got behind the wheel, and when the doors were shut, she glanced across the console.
“I have no idea what to think. About anything.”
Daniel’s face was grave. “Do you want me to drive?”
No, I want you to be well, and for me to be back at the WSP, worrying about nothing more than wolf migration and breeding seasons.
“No, I can get us home. Back to Phalen’s, I mean.” She pushed the start button for the engine. “And then… who the hell knows.”
THIRTY-ONE
WAITING WAS ITS own special kind of torture, Daniel decided as he paced around Phalen’s sleek, anonymous mansion.
Following an afternoon of toe-tapping and twitching, and a dinner that had been made with care but tasted like something that had come out of a truck stop vending machine, he’d started making rounds of the house. The route he established took him from the kitchen and private eating room, down by the library that was all closed up, past Phalen’s study, and into the bedroom, where Lydia was sleeping.
And back. And again. And again.
He told himself that at least he was getting a little exercise.
He told himself that the improvement in his stamina was a good sign.
He also ignored the shortness of breath, the way his right leg dragged, and how his stomach couldn’t decide whether it was hungry or nauseous.
His mindless gerbil activity had persisted even after Lydia had gone off for a snooze, and the kitchen had been shut down for the night. After Phalen’s obnoxious chef and his skeleton crew had left, it was just the guards and him. He had no idea where Gus and their hostess were. They hadn’t shown up to eat.