you a ride home.” Did I just say that out loud? Miller will have a fit. Fuck it . I don’t care. She needs a ride home and I want to know 100 percent if she’s the girl who kissed me. The one who wants a new life and—this is just a wild guess—to leave her husband. “My car’s not as nice as yours, though,” I warn. Understatement of the century. That ’05 Toyota Corolla has been through hell and back with me. It’s clean, but it’s definitely past its prime.
I’m expecting a “thanks but no thanks.” So when she tucks her textbook back into her bag and looks up at me, her full lips stretched wide, her eyes dancing with nervous excitement, and says, “I’d really like that,” it takes me a moment to answer.
“Okay. Let me just get my keys and—”
Heavy footsteps behind me cut my words off. “Viktor is outside, waiting for you,” Miller’s sudden gruff voice calls out from behind me.
Her back stiffens. “Viktor’s here ?” Immediately she’s unfolding her legs and sliding pretty feet into her heels, her wide-eyed gaze passing by me to search the hall through the windows. Reaching up, she yanks the elastic out of her ponytail, letting her hair fall down over her shoulders and back. It looks silky soft. I want to reach out and touch it.
Because that would go over well.
“I’m sorry if Jesse was bothering you,” Miller mutters, and I roll my eyes.
“He wasn’t, at all. Thank you, Mr. Miller.” Standing, she pulls her jacket on and begins smoothing her pants and adjusting her clothes. It’s becoming glaringly obvious to me that her appearance is very important around her husband. “Where is he?”
“Out front, talking to Tabbs.”
She rushes past me, her eyes sliding over mine for the briefest of seconds before she drops her gaze, heading toward the door. No “’bye,” no “thanks for the offer.” I watch her go, and see her feet falter just as her hand touches the handle. But then she lifts her head high, pushes through the door, and is gone.
I feel my body slump with disappointment.
“I don’t care if you can turn a Pinto engine into a flying spacecraft. I don’t pay you to stand around here and chat with pretty wives .”
“I was just telling her that we need to order a part for her car,” I retort, annoyed by his insinuation. I’m not after anyone’s wife.
I’m after the girl who kissed me on the side of the road one rainy night.
His chubby finger pokes the air. “I like you, Welles. But don’t grow an attitude problem.”
Great. It’s like I’m working for my father.
“Now, get back to that Enclave before I dock your pay. And stay the hell away from Alexandria Petrova.”
I toss him the keys and don’t bother to hide my dry tone when I say, “It’s done.”
His frown eases. “Already?” Shaking his head as he walks back to his office, I hear a mutter of, “Damn fast, kid.”
Alexandria .
Knowing her name makes me smile.
EIGHT
Jane Doe
now
“She sleeps like the dead.”
I crack an eyelid at the unfamiliar voice. A thin woman with short, dove-gray hair occupies the bed next to me, a square piece of fabric in hand, a glower pulling her brow down as she threads a needle through the material. There’s no one else in the room, so I assume she’s talking to herself. I really don’t care, though.
Because I finally have a roommate.
When they moved me from critical care to this ward, Dr. Alwood warned me I’d probably have to share the room. She made it sound like that would be a bad thing. I guess for most people, it might be. They’d rather have privacy while they visit with friends and family.
But for me, I’m desperate for the company. For human interaction.
I’m sick of being alone.
I’ve been here for three months. Three months . No one besides the nurses, Dr. Alwood, and occasionally Sheriff Welles comes by. Peace is a myth when I’m lying in bed all day and night¸ drowning my time with sitcoms, thinking about everything . . .
I’m expecting a “thanks but no thanks.” So when she tucks her textbook back into her bag and looks up at me, her full lips stretched wide, her eyes dancing with nervous excitement, and says, “I’d really like that,” it takes me a moment to answer.
“Okay. Let me just get my keys and—”
Heavy footsteps behind me cut my words off. “Viktor is outside, waiting for you,” Miller’s sudden gruff voice calls out from behind me.
Her back stiffens. “Viktor’s here ?” Immediately she’s unfolding her legs and sliding pretty feet into her heels, her wide-eyed gaze passing by me to search the hall through the windows. Reaching up, she yanks the elastic out of her ponytail, letting her hair fall down over her shoulders and back. It looks silky soft. I want to reach out and touch it.
Because that would go over well.
“I’m sorry if Jesse was bothering you,” Miller mutters, and I roll my eyes.
“He wasn’t, at all. Thank you, Mr. Miller.” Standing, she pulls her jacket on and begins smoothing her pants and adjusting her clothes. It’s becoming glaringly obvious to me that her appearance is very important around her husband. “Where is he?”
“Out front, talking to Tabbs.”
She rushes past me, her eyes sliding over mine for the briefest of seconds before she drops her gaze, heading toward the door. No “’bye,” no “thanks for the offer.” I watch her go, and see her feet falter just as her hand touches the handle. But then she lifts her head high, pushes through the door, and is gone.
I feel my body slump with disappointment.
“I don’t care if you can turn a Pinto engine into a flying spacecraft. I don’t pay you to stand around here and chat with pretty wives .”
“I was just telling her that we need to order a part for her car,” I retort, annoyed by his insinuation. I’m not after anyone’s wife.
I’m after the girl who kissed me on the side of the road one rainy night.
His chubby finger pokes the air. “I like you, Welles. But don’t grow an attitude problem.”
Great. It’s like I’m working for my father.
“Now, get back to that Enclave before I dock your pay. And stay the hell away from Alexandria Petrova.”
I toss him the keys and don’t bother to hide my dry tone when I say, “It’s done.”
His frown eases. “Already?” Shaking his head as he walks back to his office, I hear a mutter of, “Damn fast, kid.”
Alexandria .
Knowing her name makes me smile.
EIGHT
Jane Doe
now
“She sleeps like the dead.”
I crack an eyelid at the unfamiliar voice. A thin woman with short, dove-gray hair occupies the bed next to me, a square piece of fabric in hand, a glower pulling her brow down as she threads a needle through the material. There’s no one else in the room, so I assume she’s talking to herself. I really don’t care, though.
Because I finally have a roommate.
When they moved me from critical care to this ward, Dr. Alwood warned me I’d probably have to share the room. She made it sound like that would be a bad thing. I guess for most people, it might be. They’d rather have privacy while they visit with friends and family.
But for me, I’m desperate for the company. For human interaction.
I’m sick of being alone.
I’ve been here for three months. Three months . No one besides the nurses, Dr. Alwood, and occasionally Sheriff Welles comes by. Peace is a myth when I’m lying in bed all day and night¸ drowning my time with sitcoms, thinking about everything . . .
Similar Books
