The Belial Stone(33)
She swallowed and breathed out as her memories returned. Right. They were in Baltimore.
They’d flown in last night. She’d passed out almost as soon as she’d buckled herself in on the Chandler private jet. She vaguely recalled waking as the plane landed and stumbling to a waiting SUV. She’d fallen asleep again in the car and couldn’t remember waking after that.
The blanket was still clutched in a death grip to her chest. She forced herself to relax her hands, and smooth out the blankets. Images of Drew and Paul, Rocky and Mike, clashed in her head, dredging up a mixture of sadness and fear.
“You will not cry,” she ordered herself, feeling the familiar tightening of her chest.
She inspected the room, looking for something, anything, to take her attention from her thoughts. White plantation furniture highlighted the pale yellow of the walls and pristine white of the moldings. Splashes of color came in the shape of bright blue accents. The morning light shone through a set of French doors opposite the bed that led to a little patio, overlooking a garden in full bloom. And a giant bouquet of hydrangeas, freesia, and tulips in a crystal vase brought some of that garden inside.
She smiled. Nothing bad should be allowed in a room like this.
She inhaled, the peaceful surroundings chasing away the last aftertastes of fear. But an ache in her ribs reminded her of the last twenty-four hours. She stretched her arms above her head. Wincing, she held back a cry of pain. It felt like she’d been hit by a truck.
“Or attacked by a superhuman,” she mumbled. She needed a shower and then she could face the world.
Stifling a groan, she threw off the blankets. But please, God, let today be less exciting.
Thirty minutes later, she felt better. It was amazing what a really hot shower and fresh clothes could do for a person. She’d found new clothes, all in her size, waiting for her in the attached bath. She chose jeans, soft brown leather boots, and a pale lilac sweater.
She fingered the cashmere with a smile. Someone had good taste. She wasn’t sure who had placed them in her room, but she was thankful. Her old clothes were only fit for the garbage pail at this point.
After drying her hair, she sprayed on some perfume she’d found in the bathroom. Lavender. Feeling more like herself, she headed for the stairs.
The soothing neutral tones and white trim of the bedroom continued throughout the small cottage. She rounded the stairs into a living room with overstuffed white furniture that invited her to sit down and relax. With difficulty, she ignored the invitation, following the smell of coffee to the kitchen.
Her uncle sat at a round wooden table in the little nook, just off the open kitchen. He’d changed as well, wearing a charcoal grey sweater and dark jeans. He didn’t look up as she approached, his attention completely focused on the papers in front of him. Eggs lay untouched to his side.
“Uncle Patrick?”
With a start, he looked up, his face pale and tired. “Hey, honey. Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
She gestured at the papers in front of him. “I can tell. Is that Drew’s paper?”
“Yes. It fell out of your sweatshirt on the plane last night and I picked it up.”
Grabbing a mug from the kitchen counter, she filled it with coffee. Warmth flowed through her with the first sip and she closed her eyes, embracing it. Oh, yes, she needed that.
She sat down across from him. “Did you sleep at all?”
He gave her a wan smile. “Not much, I’m afraid. After yesterday’s excitement and this,” he gestured at the papers, “my head was swimming.”
“Well, I didn’t have that problem. I don’t remember much after we got to the plane.”
“I’m not surprised. After all you went through, you practically shut down. You needed the rest.”
She nodded. Yesterday’s events seemed unreal, like a movie. “I still can’t believe everything that happened. It just doesn't seem possible.”
“Violence can have that effect.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all of this.”
He covered her hand with his. “You’re in it, I’m in it. You know that.”
She felt a catch in her throat. He had always been there for her. Every school play, soccer game, martial arts tournament. He’d been there for every single one. And she knew he’d be there whenever she needed him. Tragedy might have made them a family, but it had made them a damn strong one.
“Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand. “I called Rocky earlier this morning. She’s fine, some stitches, some blood. Mike got out of surgery all right as well. It was touch and go, but he pulled through.”