Page 34 of Wrecked
“Not from you.”
“Ya didn’t let me finish, Hen.”
She dropped her head back, wanting to yell with frustration. She couldn’t stay here too long. Once she left, she’d have to move toward her next goal.
Heronlygoal. Finding Phoebe.
“Hellie?”
She pulled her chin back down. “I’m here.”
“Let’s ’ave a look deeper. This won’t take hours, just a few ticks.”
Now she felt bad because he had picked up on her impatience. He’d helped her since they’d met in college, and she’d agreed to be his study pal. He’d introduced her to the dark side of the web, and she liked his matching dark sense of humor.
“Sorry if I sound upset, Midnight. It’s not with you. I’m just ... tired. Take whatever time you need.”
“Standby.” The line disconnected.
His lack of saying goodbye wasn’t rude, just efficient.
That would give her time to shower if she didn’t have to fight bugs for floor space to stand on.
Before heading to the bathroom, she shoved a scarred wooden chair in place to block the door. Then she stacked the only lamp on top with the unplugged cord wrapped around the knob. The chair belonged in one of those movies where it broke into a hundred pieces with one good smash.
If someone got the door open, the unexpected noise might slow them down and would alert her.
She left the shower curtain open to keep an eye on the room and showered fast, but the soap and that one minute of hot water had been priceless.
She dried off quickly and braided her hair for stuffing under the tattered blue cap in her bag. Worn jeans, a clean dull-brown T-shirt, and black hoodie covered her bruised body. She lifted mystery guy’s shirt and tried to throw it away, but her hand stalled before releasing it.
She sniffed the material and comfort spread over her again.
She’d never been foolish about a man’s possessions. Never held onto anything of Coop’s.
Just wad up the shirt and stuff it in the tiny trash can, Hallene.
Indecision annoyed her to no end. She threw the shirt on the bed and sat down to put on socks and shoes. Running through the tunnel barefoot had given her a few cuts, but she had a small first aid kit with antiseptic cream.
A ding from Midnight had her grabbing the phone.
Midnight sounded cheerful. “Found more. Could be useful.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone. “What?”
“Dug into ’is family. Leclair had a mum, father, and sister.”
“Had?”
“Yep. All dead.”
Why did that hit her in the chest? She didn’t even know this guy, but she had only her mother and might lose her soon. “That’s it for his family?” she asked softly.
“Mebbe, mebbe not. No record of ’is mum’s family. She was an orphan. ’Is father’s family hailed from West Virginia. Not much to scrape up on ’im. Leclair might ’ave been adopted. The other three shared the surname Benson. I ’ave not found Leclair’s birth certificate.”
“He couldn’t go to school without one.”
“Auck, we both know ’tis not true,” Midnight admonished.
