Page 27 of The Promise
The pounding on the door stopped, and she looked up in time to see the doorknob turn. She didn't have time for this, but obviously, the man on the other side wasn't going to take no for an answer. She sighed and stood up, ready to do what it took to get rid of him. Corabeth needed her. She could feel it.
The door swung open revealing the man on the boardwalk. He was a stranger, which in and of itself wasn't all that unusual,but he didn't have the look of the men who frequented the cribs. In fact, he really didn't look like the type who needed to hire a woman at all, but it wasn't her place to judge.
He stepped into the room, hat in hand. Well that was a first. Her empty excuses died on her lips. "Are you Loralee?"
Something in the timbre of his voice tugged at her subconscious. She knew that voice. Or at least she thought she did.
"Yeah, but I'm not open for business right now. I've got things need tendin' to."
The man actually blushed, and she bit back a desire to reassure him.
"I didn't come here for…" His face turned even more crimson.
She frowned. Now that he was standing in the light from the window, she recognized him. Or at least she recognized his features. There was no mistaking that inky hair. "You're one of Duncan's boys."
The man nodded. "Patrick."
She moved past him, the smell of leather and lye soap filling her nose. Closing the door, she turned around to face him. "I'm so sorry about your father. He was a good man."
His cool green gaze searched her face, looking for answers she couldn't give him. "You were with him last night." It was a statement not a question.
"I was. And I want to talk to you about it."
He raised his eyebrows. "But?"
He must have seen it in her face. "But, I need to check on a friend. I think she might be in trouble."
His look changed to concern. "Can I help?"
She nodded gratefully. Duncan's son was a lot like his father. A good man at heart. She led him out the door onto the misshapen boardwalk. "It's just down here." She pounded onthe rickety door. "Corabeth? Are you in there?" Silence. "It's me, Loralee." Still no one answered.
"Maybe she's out."
Loralee looked up at the tall man beside her. "That's what I thought, too. But the door's locked." She met his puzzled gaze. "From the inside."
In an instant his expression changed. The confusion was gone. In its place, Loralee saw a competence that she knew she could rely on. "How long as it been locked?"
"Most the day." She looked down at her feet. "I only just realized—about the bar, I mean." She felt guilt welling up inside her.
He touched her arm, the simple gesture absolving her of any wrongdoing. "Is there a back door?"
"No. Corabeth has one of the smaller rooms. There's only the one door."
"All right then, stand back."
She stood aside, watching as he leaned slightly forward, leading with a shoulder and ran toward the door, ramming into the thin planks of wood. There was a sickly thud as muscle met board. The door cracked off the hinges and fell forward into the room.
The room was ominously quiet.
"Let me go first." He stepped gingerly over the splintered door, reaching back to help her step around it. The room was heavily shadowed, the curtain tightly drawn, the oil lamp unlit.
Loralee pushed past Patrick, her heart thudding in her chest. "Corabeth? Honey, are you in here?"
The bedstead was in the far corner, turned so that the foot faced the window. Corabeth always said she liked to see the sun first thing when she woke. A wash of sunlight from the now permanently open door illuminated the girl on the bed.
"Corabeth." The name came out more a shriek than a word. Loralee swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. She rushed to the side of the bed, almost tripping over an empty bottle, and knelt beside her friend. Corabeth's soft brown eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Her half-clothed body lay askew on the bed, like a rag doll abandoned and forgotten.
Loralee, frantically rubbed one cold hand between both of hers, willing her own body's heat into Corabeth's, tears streaming down her face. She anxiously watched Corabeth's face, still holding fast to her hand, waiting for a smile, for some sign that this was nothing more than a twisted prank. But Corabeth didn't move, couldn't move.
