Travis put the bowl down. It was one of a set that were cream colored and scalloped in blue, each with a different farm scene. He guessed that they were another of Kiera’s craft-sale finds. He’d just whipped eggs, and the cheese, tomato, onion and assorted spices were ready to go. He’d been in the midst of making her an omelet for breakfast. It was six o’clock, an early start to the day. It had been a day with a rough start. Getting the third set of anonymous calls had been upsetting for Kiera and something he needed to follow up on with Serene and beef up security.
He glanced over his shoulder. Kiera was nursing her coffee with a hand on either side of the cup. She was looking gaunt, as if it had all been too much. And he wondered how it could not be. It took a special kind of person to bounce back from what she’d endured. He was going to make sure that she started the day out right. With something that stuck to her ribs, as his grandmother was fond of saying. It was from her and his mother that he’d learned the art of cooking.
“It seems like a never-ending nightmare,” she said.
“It will end,” he assured her.
“I hope so,” she said. But her voice seemed dull, almost absent of emotion.
Damn, he thought. Despite how well she’d been doing, right now she didn’t look fine at all. She was sitting like a pale statue at the table. Her mind was obviously somewhere else. He could only imagine that that place was the recent and very ugly past. Was she thinking about her ordeal or about the phone call and her belief that the killer wasn’t acting alone? While he had yet to admit anything to her, his gut told him that there might be some validity to her theory. But instinct and gut feelings wouldn’t convince the FBI on the matter. He flipped his thoughts.
“Can I get you some more coffee?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Kiera?”
He sat down beside her, pulling his chair close to hers. Had he overestimated her resiliency? If needed, he’d be willing to change the shift schedule more than he already had and stay with her through all of today, as well. She needed familiarity; she needed him. He didn’t allow himself to consider that last thought.
There was something that spoke of desperation in the look she gave him. He squeezed her hands, too tightly.
“Ouch. It’s okay, Travis.”
“Sorry,” he said but even as he let her hands go, he remained beside her. He’d be her support for as long as she needed him. But her eyes were dark, brooding, filled with memories that were deep and soul disturbing. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He felt for her on a level that he couldn’t quite quantify. It was as if everything about her mattered—to him.
The connection caught his breath and left him speechless. It was as if there were something special that bonded them in a way neither of them could fathom. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Seconds slipped into a minute and then two.
“I’m lucky to be alive,” she murmured. “And I want to live. But someone out there wants me dead.”
He didn’t dispute what she was saying. There was no disputing the reality of the threat.
His mind went back to the report. A transit driver, Sophia Antonia, had found her minutes before dawn. The driver’s report stated that she’d seen a woman’s silhouette under the glow of the streetlight. At the time, she’d thought she’d been seeing things. But as she got closer, she’d seen Kiera weaving at the entrance of the alley. She’d seemed fragile, broken even, but she’d waved her hands over her head in a plea for help. At first, Sophia thought she was drunk or high. She said the torn medical scrubs and tunic made her realize that something was very wrong.
He marveled at how luck had both saved Kiera’s life and almost taken it. She had been lucky that Sophia had been there that morning. It was a rough area of town and not the bus driver’s usual route to work. But she was much earlier than usual. As a result, she’d taken the unusual route to grab a cup of coffee at a place that catered to truckers and was open at that hour of the morning.
Sophia had been blocks from her destination when she’d seen the woman stagger from the alley into the light of a nearby streetlight. At first, she hadn’t intended to stop. The fact that she’d backtracked was amazing in itself. It wasn’t a place or time where most would have stopped to help an unknown woman. But Sophia had claimed some instinct told her that Kiera was different, that she desperately needed help. Then, as she’d turned her car around and the headlights had shone on Kiera, she’d seen the state she was in and known then that there was something very wrong. She knew despite the time and place, she had to stop. It wasn’t total bravery; Sophia admitted that she wasn’t unarmed. She went nowhere without her inherited Colt Special. And with that in her hand and her phone in her back pocket, she’d gotten out of her vehicle to investigate. As she’d approached, she claimed that Kiera had stood there unmoving with her torn tunic and pants flapping in the breeze.
Then Kiera had spoken the only words she was to speak until she arrived in the hospital.
Help me.
And the transit driver had.
She’d taken Kiera to her vehicle, put her in the backseat, then called 911 and waited for help to arrive. The state Kiera was in had the woman nervous as to who might have done this to her. And she’d admitted to locking the doors and sitting poised at the wheel, with the engine running, ready to take off if necessary.
“I’m fine, Travis. It’s just…” She brought his attention back to where it needed to be, on her.
“You’re sure?” he asked, taking her hands in his and squeezing them.
“Positive,” she said with a smile and pulled her hands free. “Hungry,” she said with a tentative smile. “What’s the time on that omelet?”
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER she took the last bite and pushed the plate to the side.
“This is the best omelet I’ve ever tasted,” she said. “You’re a fantastic cook. Thank you.” She stood up, picking up her plate and reaching over to pick up his. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“My grandmother insisted I learn,” he said with a smile as he put his hand over hers. “And my mother,” he finished. “Let me clean up.”
“No,” she replied. “I need something to do and you said you had to go into the office.”
“You’re sure?” He didn’t feel concern at leaving her alone. She wasn’t a runner. That he was sure of and that was what the FBI had been concerned about. He knew that for the most part, James trusted his assessment. He’d make sure she was safe and he wouldn’t be gone long. But, in that time, he’d arranged for the area to be patrolled by a police officer and later this afternoon Devon would take over. In the meantime, he had no qualms about her safety. He’d covered all the angles.
“Positive,” she said. “I need to get back to a routine. Nothing better than dishes to take one’s mind off things.”
“Alright,” he said, appreciating the way she was able to return to normal despite the trauma she’d been through. He guessed much of it was pretend on her part. And, while it wasn’t healthy in the long run, in the short term it helped her cope. “I won’t be gone long. An hour tops. You know my number—call me if there’s any trouble, anything at all,” he said. “I’ll get a patrol car in the area while I’m gone.” For she might not be a runner but he wasn’t one hundred percent confident, considering her belief and the calls, about her safety.
“I’ll be alright.”
“Keep the doors locked,” he said a few minutes later with his hand on the doorknob. “Call me…” he repeated.
“No worries,” she said.
And she stood on the step as he pulled away, a lone figure who looked too small, too vulnerable. The memory of her standing there, of her vulnerability, stuck in his mind. As a result, he drove a little too fast, trying to shorten the time he was gone, the time she might be alone.