window and closed the blind within the double glazed panel. This visit was off the record and he wanted to keep it that way.
He still felt wired. The dominoes lining up in his head were all set to tumble. He needed to get home where he felt secure, where he felt Kit’s reassuring presence more strongly. And he would, as soon as he was certain about Nell.
When he turned ba ck around she was watching him, her violet eyes unblinking, and he wavered beneath her gaze, his resolve dissipating, his curiosity, like the virus, growing exponentially.
“How are you, Joe?” she breathed, lingering as she softly sounded out his name.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if she had run her fingers across his skin. He contained the resulting shiver and stepped closer.
“I’m fine,” he lied. This was madness. She was a witness, he was a policeman, all he had to do was clarify a few points and get things straight in his head. But caught as he was, like a stunned rabbit in the glare of her gaze, all thoughts of his planned questions began to fade and muddle in his head.
“Are you quite sure about that? You don’t look it.” She shuffled up on the bed, tucked her legs up beneath the covers and rested her elbows on her knees. “What’s wrong, Joe McNeil? You can tell me.”
“I … I’m not here to talk about me.” He screwed his eyes shut, scrubbed at them with the heel of his hand and tried hard to think about why he was actually there, why he was standing next to her hospital bed going through the motions, pretending to do his job when inside he was slowly dying. For a drink. For an end to the torment. For Kit.
When he reopened them she was still watching him. “I told you, I’m fine,” he said, for his own benefit as much as hers.
He stepped away, turned slowly on the spot, gathering his composure as he made a casual inventory of the stark room. All the while she watched him like a cat with a mouse, flexing her claws as she waited. He turned back and caught her raised brow. She didn’t believe a word he said, and why should she? He’d been living a lie since the day Kit had gone. Lately he’d even been fooling himself, tying himself up in ever-tightening knots of hopes and dreams, white lies and black lies … lots of dirty black lies. It was little wonder that his sincerity and sanity was in doubt.
“Don’t worry, Joe,” she purred soothingly, “the effects will soon wear off.”
His concentration, shaky at best, wavered further as he struggled to get past the hypnotic rhythm of her breathless sound to the actual words beneath. “The effects? You’ve lost me. What do you mean?”
“Of course,” she continued with a soft sigh, “it requires a strong will. However, I’m sure you have one, Joe, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
Strong will? She couldn’t be further from the truth. If she’d offered him a drink, he would have taken it. If she’d offered him a gun, he would have gladly put it to his own head.
She held his gaze, unblinking and he had a real urge to rub his palm where they had touched, to erase any trace of her from his skin. Had she poisoned him, infected him? Was there a yellow flag outside the door that he’d overlooked? Get a grip , he murmured silently. She was playing games and he was allowing it.
“It’s the same with any addiction: once in your head, under your skin, it’s difficult to relinquish it, to withdraw and accept that it’s over and time to move on … don’t you agree?”
She wasn’t referring to alcohol, and they both knew it.
“My head and what might be in it has nothing to do with you,” he muttered. “I … I just …” He cleared his throat, forced himself back on track. He needed information and that was all, nothing else. “You implied earlier that you were in danger, that you needed my help. That’s why I’m here, the only reason I’m here. Do you want me to help you or not?”
She inclined her head briefly.
“Good, then you
He still felt wired. The dominoes lining up in his head were all set to tumble. He needed to get home where he felt secure, where he felt Kit’s reassuring presence more strongly. And he would, as soon as he was certain about Nell.
When he turned ba ck around she was watching him, her violet eyes unblinking, and he wavered beneath her gaze, his resolve dissipating, his curiosity, like the virus, growing exponentially.
“How are you, Joe?” she breathed, lingering as she softly sounded out his name.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if she had run her fingers across his skin. He contained the resulting shiver and stepped closer.
“I’m fine,” he lied. This was madness. She was a witness, he was a policeman, all he had to do was clarify a few points and get things straight in his head. But caught as he was, like a stunned rabbit in the glare of her gaze, all thoughts of his planned questions began to fade and muddle in his head.
“Are you quite sure about that? You don’t look it.” She shuffled up on the bed, tucked her legs up beneath the covers and rested her elbows on her knees. “What’s wrong, Joe McNeil? You can tell me.”
“I … I’m not here to talk about me.” He screwed his eyes shut, scrubbed at them with the heel of his hand and tried hard to think about why he was actually there, why he was standing next to her hospital bed going through the motions, pretending to do his job when inside he was slowly dying. For a drink. For an end to the torment. For Kit.
When he reopened them she was still watching him. “I told you, I’m fine,” he said, for his own benefit as much as hers.
He stepped away, turned slowly on the spot, gathering his composure as he made a casual inventory of the stark room. All the while she watched him like a cat with a mouse, flexing her claws as she waited. He turned back and caught her raised brow. She didn’t believe a word he said, and why should she? He’d been living a lie since the day Kit had gone. Lately he’d even been fooling himself, tying himself up in ever-tightening knots of hopes and dreams, white lies and black lies … lots of dirty black lies. It was little wonder that his sincerity and sanity was in doubt.
“Don’t worry, Joe,” she purred soothingly, “the effects will soon wear off.”
His concentration, shaky at best, wavered further as he struggled to get past the hypnotic rhythm of her breathless sound to the actual words beneath. “The effects? You’ve lost me. What do you mean?”
“Of course,” she continued with a soft sigh, “it requires a strong will. However, I’m sure you have one, Joe, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
Strong will? She couldn’t be further from the truth. If she’d offered him a drink, he would have taken it. If she’d offered him a gun, he would have gladly put it to his own head.
She held his gaze, unblinking and he had a real urge to rub his palm where they had touched, to erase any trace of her from his skin. Had she poisoned him, infected him? Was there a yellow flag outside the door that he’d overlooked? Get a grip , he murmured silently. She was playing games and he was allowing it.
“It’s the same with any addiction: once in your head, under your skin, it’s difficult to relinquish it, to withdraw and accept that it’s over and time to move on … don’t you agree?”
She wasn’t referring to alcohol, and they both knew it.
“My head and what might be in it has nothing to do with you,” he muttered. “I … I just …” He cleared his throat, forced himself back on track. He needed information and that was all, nothing else. “You implied earlier that you were in danger, that you needed my help. That’s why I’m here, the only reason I’m here. Do you want me to help you or not?”
She inclined her head briefly.
“Good, then you
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