at Caitlin with something close to regret. He’d made an impression on her, all right, but nothing like he’d planned.
“Forgive me, darling,” he said softly. “Chalk all of this up to worry. I’ll be in touch.” He strode out of the room past Mac, giving him a cold, angry stare.
Other than a narrowing of his eyes, Mac’s reaction to Leibowitz was mute and hard to gauge.
Once they were alone, Mac found himself locked into another staring match, this time with Caitlin. After a few moments of total silence, he took a deep breath, started to speak, then cursed beneath his breath and walked away, closing the door behind him.
Caitlin reached for the bottle of pain pills and shook one out, only realizing afterward that her water glass was empty. Groaning beneath her breath, she swung her legs off the bed and sat up, knowing it was going to hurt like hell to stand. She leaned forward, hoping to use her body weight as leverage, and knocked the empty water glass off the nightstand. It hit the hardwood floor, shattering into pieces. Seconds later, Mac burst into the room.
“What happened? Are you all right? Hellsfire, woman, why didn’t you call for help?”
“I broke a glass, yes, I’m fine, and I only wanted to go to the bathroom to get some water so I could take a pain pill, because I hurt from my teeth to my toenails, and if you yell at me one more time, I am going to cry.” At which point, having stated the obvious, she burst into tears.
Connor McKee felt like the lowest of the low. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from saying anything more and simply walked across the room, scooped her out of the bed and carried her into the bathroom, gingerly stepping over the broken glass as he went. Then he set her on her feet by the commode and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.
Caitlin used the drinking glass on the sink to take her pill and then sat on the closed commode to wait. Mac hadn’t said he would be back, but she knew him well enough to know that since he’d brought her here, he would eventually come back to get her.
She sat, feeling sorry for herself for the mess she was in, and heard Aaron’s cry of surprise, then offer of help as he ran to get a broom and dustpan. When she heard the occasional clink of glass, she guessed Mac was dropping the shards into the wastebasket by her bed.
She sat without moving, straining toward the sound of their voices. They were too low for her to hear what was being said, although she knew they were talking about her. About the letters. And the bomb threat. And the fact that someone wanted her dead.
From where she was sitting, the full-length mirror on the inside of her bathroom door was both a help and a hindrance. She didn’t have to move to see the extent of the damage that had been done to her body. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to see it all at once. Her face was bad enough. If she hadn’t known it was her own reflection, she would not have recognized herself. Half her face was streaked with dark purple hues, and the eyebrow with the stitches was swollen to half again its normal size. Her lower lip was puffy, and there was a series of small abrasions on the left side of her cheek. Still curious, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her pajama top and let it drop off her shoulder.
Her eyes widened in shock at the extent of the contusions. With shaking hands, she pulled her pajama top back in place and redid the buttons. It was difficult to accept that someone wanted her dead, but the facts were too blatant to ignore. She closed her eyes, willing herself to a calm she didn’t feel, and was sitting quietly, her crying spell over, when the knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” she said.
Mac opened the door. “Are you ready to get back in bed?”
“Yes, please,” she said, then held her breath as he came toward her.
He picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her back to her bed, laying her gently down on her
“Forgive me, darling,” he said softly. “Chalk all of this up to worry. I’ll be in touch.” He strode out of the room past Mac, giving him a cold, angry stare.
Other than a narrowing of his eyes, Mac’s reaction to Leibowitz was mute and hard to gauge.
Once they were alone, Mac found himself locked into another staring match, this time with Caitlin. After a few moments of total silence, he took a deep breath, started to speak, then cursed beneath his breath and walked away, closing the door behind him.
Caitlin reached for the bottle of pain pills and shook one out, only realizing afterward that her water glass was empty. Groaning beneath her breath, she swung her legs off the bed and sat up, knowing it was going to hurt like hell to stand. She leaned forward, hoping to use her body weight as leverage, and knocked the empty water glass off the nightstand. It hit the hardwood floor, shattering into pieces. Seconds later, Mac burst into the room.
“What happened? Are you all right? Hellsfire, woman, why didn’t you call for help?”
“I broke a glass, yes, I’m fine, and I only wanted to go to the bathroom to get some water so I could take a pain pill, because I hurt from my teeth to my toenails, and if you yell at me one more time, I am going to cry.” At which point, having stated the obvious, she burst into tears.
Connor McKee felt like the lowest of the low. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from saying anything more and simply walked across the room, scooped her out of the bed and carried her into the bathroom, gingerly stepping over the broken glass as he went. Then he set her on her feet by the commode and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.
Caitlin used the drinking glass on the sink to take her pill and then sat on the closed commode to wait. Mac hadn’t said he would be back, but she knew him well enough to know that since he’d brought her here, he would eventually come back to get her.
She sat, feeling sorry for herself for the mess she was in, and heard Aaron’s cry of surprise, then offer of help as he ran to get a broom and dustpan. When she heard the occasional clink of glass, she guessed Mac was dropping the shards into the wastebasket by her bed.
She sat without moving, straining toward the sound of their voices. They were too low for her to hear what was being said, although she knew they were talking about her. About the letters. And the bomb threat. And the fact that someone wanted her dead.
From where she was sitting, the full-length mirror on the inside of her bathroom door was both a help and a hindrance. She didn’t have to move to see the extent of the damage that had been done to her body. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to see it all at once. Her face was bad enough. If she hadn’t known it was her own reflection, she would not have recognized herself. Half her face was streaked with dark purple hues, and the eyebrow with the stitches was swollen to half again its normal size. Her lower lip was puffy, and there was a series of small abrasions on the left side of her cheek. Still curious, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her pajama top and let it drop off her shoulder.
Her eyes widened in shock at the extent of the contusions. With shaking hands, she pulled her pajama top back in place and redid the buttons. It was difficult to accept that someone wanted her dead, but the facts were too blatant to ignore. She closed her eyes, willing herself to a calm she didn’t feel, and was sitting quietly, her crying spell over, when the knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” she said.
Mac opened the door. “Are you ready to get back in bed?”
“Yes, please,” she said, then held her breath as he came toward her.
He picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her back to her bed, laying her gently down on her
Similar Books
