Read Online Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) by S.G. Redling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S.G. Redling
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superpower.”
“Are you coming back?”
The question felt serious and Dani surprised herself by blushing. “I hope so. But I’ve never flown with Angel before.”
He stared at her long enough that getting nervous became an option. Then he winked. “Good. Maybe I’ll still be here. If you’re lucky. Are you lucky, Dani?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. She pushed past him and called over her shoulder. “But I’m smart, and that’s better.”
Murfreesboro, TN
1:10pm, 82° F
“You see, it’s really just one chain that you loop back onto itself. You do that over and over with alternating rows, and before you know it, you have a peony!”
“Isn’t that clever?” Booker turned the fluffy pink bundle of yarn over in his fingers, examining the stitching. “And then, what? You sew it onto a hat or a scarf?”
Mrs. Beverly turned the flower over, showing him where the stitches came together. “It’s called appliqué, and you can put it on a hat or a scarf or even on baby blankets and afghans. My granddaughter made the most darling bed throw using different types of flowers appliquéd to a pale green throw. It looked just darling.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’ll ever reach that level. I’m a rank beginner.” He crossed his legs, pulling the skein of yellow yarn closer to him. “That’s why I stopped by here today, hoping to pick up a few tips.”
Mrs. Beverly patted him with a veiny hand, her milky eye winking girlishly at him. “You’re doing just fine, Tom. Just fine. I think it’s just wonderful that you stopped in here with us today for our class.”
“Here” was the Linebaugh Public Library in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and the class was a free workshop called Hooks and Gabbers, a crochet class and discussion group, complete with sweet tea and wedding cookies.
Booker checked his stitches. He’d finally found the right shade of yellow he’d been looking for, the same yellow of a certain duvet cover he so vividly remembered snuggling up under all those months ago. An afghan wouldn’t be quite as good, but really, what would?
The crochet had been part of his physical therapy. What a surprise that had been—waking up chained to a bed, breathing tubes down his throat, his head screwed in place with a monstrous halo, his face numb and bandaged. They told him he’d been lucky. He hadn’t felt very lucky, but looking back he realized they were right.
When Dani had thrown herself over that railing into the blackness of the Tidal Basin—and how many of his dreams had featured that unbelievable sight?—she’d slammed his head down against the metal fence, shattering his cheekbone, nearly blinding him, and giving him a whopper of a concussion. The doctors told him that that damage is what saved his life, that going unconscious kept him from moving. If he had been leaning just another inch or two forward, his neck would have taken the weight of Dani’s fall. That damned pouch would have snapped his neck, if not ripped his head clean off. As it was, he suffered severe esophageal trauma, dislocated neck vertebrae, and he had to have the left side of his face reconstructed.
They’d done an amazing job.
Once the bandages came off and the swelling went down, Booker saw no signs of the incisions. They’d gone in through his nose, and he was happy to see his eyes looked the same, his mouth eventually moved the way it was supposed to, and the headaches came less and less frequently. The biggest problem had been pinched nerves and stiffness in his shoulders and arms. That’s where the crochet came in, to rebuild fine motor skills.
Well, that and to help him pass the psych evals.
He’d expected more interrogations. He knew he’d missed quite a bit of them, zonked out on the endless painkillers running through his bloodstream. He’d told them about the money, some of it at least, because as soon as they released him, he checked, and three of his five accounts had been emptied. Figured. It
“Are you coming back?”
The question felt serious and Dani surprised herself by blushing. “I hope so. But I’ve never flown with Angel before.”
He stared at her long enough that getting nervous became an option. Then he winked. “Good. Maybe I’ll still be here. If you’re lucky. Are you lucky, Dani?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. She pushed past him and called over her shoulder. “But I’m smart, and that’s better.”
Murfreesboro, TN
1:10pm, 82° F
“You see, it’s really just one chain that you loop back onto itself. You do that over and over with alternating rows, and before you know it, you have a peony!”
“Isn’t that clever?” Booker turned the fluffy pink bundle of yarn over in his fingers, examining the stitching. “And then, what? You sew it onto a hat or a scarf?”
Mrs. Beverly turned the flower over, showing him where the stitches came together. “It’s called appliqué, and you can put it on a hat or a scarf or even on baby blankets and afghans. My granddaughter made the most darling bed throw using different types of flowers appliquéd to a pale green throw. It looked just darling.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’ll ever reach that level. I’m a rank beginner.” He crossed his legs, pulling the skein of yellow yarn closer to him. “That’s why I stopped by here today, hoping to pick up a few tips.”
Mrs. Beverly patted him with a veiny hand, her milky eye winking girlishly at him. “You’re doing just fine, Tom. Just fine. I think it’s just wonderful that you stopped in here with us today for our class.”
“Here” was the Linebaugh Public Library in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and the class was a free workshop called Hooks and Gabbers, a crochet class and discussion group, complete with sweet tea and wedding cookies.
Booker checked his stitches. He’d finally found the right shade of yellow he’d been looking for, the same yellow of a certain duvet cover he so vividly remembered snuggling up under all those months ago. An afghan wouldn’t be quite as good, but really, what would?
The crochet had been part of his physical therapy. What a surprise that had been—waking up chained to a bed, breathing tubes down his throat, his head screwed in place with a monstrous halo, his face numb and bandaged. They told him he’d been lucky. He hadn’t felt very lucky, but looking back he realized they were right.
When Dani had thrown herself over that railing into the blackness of the Tidal Basin—and how many of his dreams had featured that unbelievable sight?—she’d slammed his head down against the metal fence, shattering his cheekbone, nearly blinding him, and giving him a whopper of a concussion. The doctors told him that that damage is what saved his life, that going unconscious kept him from moving. If he had been leaning just another inch or two forward, his neck would have taken the weight of Dani’s fall. That damned pouch would have snapped his neck, if not ripped his head clean off. As it was, he suffered severe esophageal trauma, dislocated neck vertebrae, and he had to have the left side of his face reconstructed.
They’d done an amazing job.
Once the bandages came off and the swelling went down, Booker saw no signs of the incisions. They’d gone in through his nose, and he was happy to see his eyes looked the same, his mouth eventually moved the way it was supposed to, and the headaches came less and less frequently. The biggest problem had been pinched nerves and stiffness in his shoulders and arms. That’s where the crochet came in, to rebuild fine motor skills.
Well, that and to help him pass the psych evals.
He’d expected more interrogations. He knew he’d missed quite a bit of them, zonked out on the endless painkillers running through his bloodstream. He’d told them about the money, some of it at least, because as soon as they released him, he checked, and three of his five accounts had been emptied. Figured. It
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