Page 78 of Silent Threat
“Omnipotent?”
“Damn near.”
If her head didn’t hurt, she would have shaken it.
He pulled a paperback from a side pocket of his BDU and handed the book to her. Derek Daley:Revenge Games.
“Pretty good thriller. Friend of mine wrote it.” Pride crept into his voice. “Derek was one of the other POWs with me. He kept himself alive by making up stories in his head. And then he kept us alive by telling us the stories. After we got back, he wrote one down in the rehab hospital, and it got published. He’s doing pretty well. Big-time author now.”
She set the book on the table. “Thanks.”
“If you start getting sleepy, start reading.” He held out his hand. “Keys?”
“I don’t lock the side door on the garage. There’s nothing of value in there.”
His gaze sharpened with disapproval. “Someone could be in there waiting for you when you go in.”
Before today, she would have laughed that off. Now a shiver ran down her spine. “I’m not sure if I ever had a key to that door. I don’t think I got one when I bought the house.”
He looked back from the door. “I’ll put on a new lock for you in the morning.”
“Cole!” she called before he could turn away. But suddenly she didn’t know what she wanted to say exactly or how to say it. “I don’t expect your help. None of this is your responsibility.”
Then she wanted to groan because that didn’t come out right either.
He held her gaze for a long moment. She thought she caught a flash of longing, but that wasn’t possible, was it?
“Lock the door behind me. And don’t fall asleep,” he ordered before he walked away.
All day, Cole had had a weird itchy feeling, not anything as pronounced as a premonition, but a sense that something bad was about to happen. The same sixth sense that had saved his life at least half a dozen times overseas.Better not go into that cave. Better drive in the middle of the road instead of on the right side of the bridge.
Back then, he’d paid attention. Now, he shook the faint prickling off. He wasn’t in hostile territory any longer. Random bad moods and anxiety were part of the whole PTSD mind trip.
He drove to Annie’s place, parked at the end of her street, walked to the house, and walked around the property.
Nobody in the backyard, or at the edge of the cornfield. Nobody in the house. Nobody in the garage.
He managed to feed the skunks without getting sprayed.
He lay down like Annie usually did and let the little stinkers crawl all over him. Their soft warmth felt nice. Just lying there in the straw with the folded-up comforter under his head, he could see there was peace to be found here, maybe even for someone like him.
He wouldn’t have minded staying a few extra minutes. But because he didn’t want to leave Annie alone too long, he got going.
Hope Hill slept as he walked in. Her door was locked. He knocked. She opened.
“Didn’t I tell you not to open this door unless you ask who it is first?”
She looked like she was fighting not to roll her eyes. “I was expecting you.”
He walked in, locked up. The clock on the nightstand showed one in the morning.
She yawned. “I’m tired. When can I sleep?”
“Is the headache getting worse or better?”
“Better.”
“Let’s stay up a few more hours.”
