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She rewound that message to get Adam s phone number, then
forwarded to the next.  Dayne? We haven t heard from you . . . but
maybe next weekend won t be such a good time to stop by. That
was her brother with all the excitement, she d forgotten he and
his wife were hoping to come by, and worse, she d forgotten she
was supposed to get the weekend off if she could.
The next message was a hang-up.
So was the next.
On the following one, she heard a long silence, then softly, the
whispered word  bitch before the phone on the other end
slammed down.
Her stomach lurched. Maybe that will be the last time he calls,
she hoped. Maybe now he ll go away.
She took a deep breath and glared at her hands until they quit
shaking. Then she called her mother, and explained that everything
was fine; she called her brother and promised to try to get at least
one day of the next weekend off. She called Paige, and explained
her phone message, and that she couldn t come by because she had
a date.
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Then she called Adam.
 Satco, Executive Suite, this is Gwendolyn speaking.
The voice was beyond sexy. Dayne stared at the telephone for an
instant, unnerved, then said,  Uh, yes . . . this is Dayne Kuttner.
I m returning Adam D Agonostis call.
 Oh, wow, the voice on the other end said, and most of the
sexiness and a good part of the femaleness disappeared in an
instant.  The Dayne Kuttner?
That change and that sudden enthusiasm was even more
unnerving to Dayne.  I suppose so, she said, then followed up that
vague admission with a question which she hoped would
effectively change the subject.  Is Adam in?
 Oh. Yes, of course. The voice returned to its original form,
and its owner put Dayne on hold.
A moment later, Adam picked up.  Hi, there. That s some
message on your machine.
 I ve been getting unpleasant phone calls, Dayne told him.  I
decided I didn t want to get any more of them.
 That ought to do it. Adam laughed.  You ll be lucky to get
many calls at all. Anyway, are you going to be home tonight?
 Yes. I d love to have you over.
 Good. Oh, by the way, I have some terrific news for you.
He sounded so cheerful she smiled and leaned against the wall.
 Really? Terrific news would be nice.
 I m glad. I found an opening with Satco for an RN if you re
interested, I ll bring over an application for you to fill out.
Dayne considered the possibility of doing something that wasn t
related to the ICU, and her smile grew broader.  I m interested,
she said.  Bring it over. You can tell me what you know about the
job when you get here.
She hung up the phone and stared out of her kitchen window,
considering Adam and wondering at her reaction to him. She
couldn t blame it on being alone for too long; if that were the case,
she would have been drawn to someone else long before this. Dr.
Weist, who was handsome and considerate and intelligent, had
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been politely hinting he d like to take her out, and his was only the
most recent in a line of offers. Nor could she fool herself into
thinking that Adam was right for her in a way no one else to that
point had been she was pragmatic enough to admit she didn t
know anything like enough about him.
She smiled ruefully and watched the birds pulling berries off the
dogwood tree in the backyard. She was pragmatic, but not so
pragmatic that she hadn t fallen foolishly in love with a stranger.
 It isn t love, she muttered but it was. She d been in love only
once before; and that one time she had fallen in love, it had been
like this. She met Torry, she fell in love before she even knew
him. . . .
 And look where that got me.
There were times when she wished she could fast-forward her
life and look back at it the way biographers did on their subjects
lives; the biographers could always see what each choice meant.
They could always see, from their lofty height, where their subjects
were getting it wrong. Dayne, down in the thick of her life, had
gone badly wrong with Torry. Moreover, while she could not
believe that Adam was another version of Torry, the depth of her
emotions and their suddenness unnerved her. Somehow, she
feared, she was once again about to get it wrong.
Porthos jumped onto the counter and stared past her, his fur
standing straight up. He hissed, and she felt the hair on the back of
her own neck raise atavistic response. She looked where the cat
was looking, and caught only the briefest of flashes of blue from
something that was moving in the apartment s tiny laundry room.
She rose slowly, looking for a weapon. The baseball bat still
leaned against the kitchen door. She grabbed that and stalked
forward, silent and scared. She heard nothing from the laundry
room . . . but the sense of presence was unmistakable. Porthos
maintained his vigil on the counter, unwilling to move closer.
She took a deep breath as she reached the partly open door
then she kicked it open and jumped in, screaming, slamming the
bat down at the same time in a short, vicious arc. . . .
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Onto nothing. The tiny laundry room had only one door the
one through which she had come. It had no window, neither
cabinets nor cubbyholes. She opened both the washer empty
and the dryer one still-damp pair of jeans and a few pairs of
white cotton underwear. The intruder had neither a place to hide,
nor a place to flee, yet he was not there. Rationally, she knew she
should take that as proof that she had seen nothing, and that
Porthos had been hissing at a phantom of his own imagining. She
would have been happy to be rational.
The stink of rotten eggs, however, hung in the air.
The doorbell rang, and she jumped. Porthos yowled and fled
from the kitchen she could hear him thundering up the stairs as
she walked to the front door. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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