Page 44 of Beloved Sacrifice

And maybe she hadn’t.

Marek took the steps two at a time, grabbing the bags and coming down the stairs just as quickly.

One bag held smaller wax paper sacks of buttery, golden-fried cod and thick-cut chips, both items piping hot. The second bag had two soda cups, kept in place by wads of napkins, plastic cutlery, and two paper plates.

He was about to offer to wash her hands, but the way she was staring at the bags had him rethinking that. Instead, he passed her a wad of napkins, a drink, and a straw, then set the plates on the floor and tipped out most of the chips and three of the four pieces of fish onto the plate. She tapped the straw against the step to push it through the wrapper, then stuffed the end into the drink, using only one hand for the whole procedure.

Seeing that, he opened a packet of malt vinegar and drizzled it over the chips, dumped on some salt.

“Be careful, it’s hot.” He passed her the plate, then dug around in the bag and found a fork, reaching over to ground it in some of the chips as she balanced it on her knees.

She snatched up the fork, speared two chips on the white plastic tines and blew on them, two quick, shallow puffs, then shoved them into her mouth. Her eyes widened, probably from the heat, then slid closed in apparent enjoyment.

Marek watched her eat, occasionally reaching out to place two fingers on the edge of her plate to keep it from tipping onto the floor.

Watching her eat and drink hungrily made his heart ache for her. The poor woman obviously hadn’t had anything in days.

Once she slowed, her plate half empty, she looked at him. “You aren’t going to eat?”

“I ate not long ago.”

“It isn’t poisoned,” she said.

“I didn’t think it was.”

She chewed a chip thoughtfully. “True. If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me already. If he wanted you dead, he would have shot you.”

“Yes, Wesley Derrick had time to kill us.”

“Wesley Derrick?”

“That’s his name.”

“Wesley…Wes. That makes sense.”

Marek waited, aware that time was something of a luxury. He would need to move before too much longer, but this was also a rare opportunity to speak with the woman he’d been tasked to save.

She sucked down the last of the soda in her cup. He grabbed the second one and passed it to her.

“You should have it,” she said.

“I’m fine, but thank you for thinking of me. Go ahead.”

She shook her head, and went back to eating her fish and chips. Wanting to be companionable, he reached into the bag and snagged a still-hot chip, popping it into his mouth. She watched him for a moment, then glanced down at her own food. They ate in silence.

Finally, she set the plate aside.

There was tension in the silence now. Rose wiped her fingers, brows drawn together. Marek took her plate, tipping the food back into the bag. In a hostage situation, it was good to save all resources. He wiped his own fingers on a napkin.

“I’d like to ask you a question,” he said. “Actually, I’d like to re-ask a question.”

She stiffened.

“Who did you try to kill?”

Her expression didn’t change. “Jumping right into it, huh?”

Marek winced. Foolish choice to ask like that. He’d thought perhaps a blunt question might startle her into answering. But now her guard was up.

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