Page 7 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“Don’t,” Elyse warned. “I risked my damned neck for you, so the least you could do is be interested or say ‘thank you’ or ‘good job,’ but do not, do you hear me, do not belittle me. I won’t stand for it.”

“Testy, aren’t we?” Marla muttered.

“Yes, we are. Both of us!”

Marla composed herself. “All right,” she said slowly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just so damned tired of being cooped up.”

“That’ll change soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

Elyse scraped her hair away from her face in frustration. That was the problem with Marla, she was so damned moody. “Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you, but I had to work fast when I learned that Eugenia would be home alone. Crap, it’s not easy, you know.”

“It’s not easy for me either. I’m the one who’s been in prison, and now…now this.”

“You knew you’d have to keep a low profile for a while.”

Marla frowned, but didn’t argue, thank God. “I think I just need some time to adjust.”

“Yeah, well, me too. Go on, eat and watch…” she glanced at the television. “Whatever it is.”

“House Arrest.”

“Perfect.”

Marla laughed then at the irony of it all.

“I’ll be back. Tomorrow or the next day, whenever I can be free, and I’ll bring things we can use as your disguise. Then you can chance getting out again. How’s that?”

“Better,” Marla agreed as the show on the television broke for a commercial for some kind of light beer. “Next time you come, make sure the food’s at least tepid.”

“Right.”

As Elyse left she wondered why she even bothered with the bitch.

For the money, remember? The Cahill fortune? Just put up with her for a little while longer. She’s your ticket to wealth.

But you’re right: she’s a first-class bitch.

Live with it.

Heart in her throat, Cissy hunted for her eighteen-month-old son. Please let him be okay. Please!

“Beej! Honey? Where are you?” Fear pounding through her brain, a dozen horrid scenarios flashing behind her eyes, Cissy jogged the grounds of her grandmother’s house. Her gaze scraped the undergrowth, searching in the darkness. Her heart pounded a horrifying tattoo as the rain began to fall in earnest.

What if she couldn’t find him?

What if he somehow slipped through the bars of the gate?

He was so small…so innocent.

Oh God, please let him be safe!

“B.J.?”

Where were the damned cops? They could help!

For the last two days they’d been hanging out and…thank God! She saw the first set of flashing lights, flaring red and blue on the hill below. The sirens screamed ever nearer, just as she spied her little boy cowering under an azalea. “Oh, B.J.” She splashed across the cold puddles in the yard and scooped him into her arms, hugging him tightly. He was dirty. And clinging. And crying. His hat was tilted drunkenly on one ear, tied around his neck like a noose. She untied it and pulled it off. He was safe. Safe. She drank in that special B.J. scent of his and swallowed the lump in her throat.

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